A few weeks ago four middle school girls came up to me and said they wanted to be baptized. We did some Bible study, talked about what baptism means, and came to the realiza- tion that what they were really signing up for was a lifetime commitment to Jesus. They still wanted to do it. Excellent.

One of them went rogue and got baptized with her parents the Sunday before the other three were immersed. But on the appointed weekend I found myself standing backstage in our church with the remaining three girls who were about to commit their lives to following Jesus.

I was thrilled. These girls were fairly new to our congregation, not really too Bible savvy, but felt a stirring after having heard the gospel for several weeks in a row at our church. Either a friend had invited them to an event or shared Jesus with them for the first time—I came pretty late in the process. (I didn’t even know their names until I met them face-to-face to discuss, at first, baptism.) But I was ecstatic to see the church doing what it’s supposed to do: Point people to Jesus. It felt right. There was nothing flashy about what drew them. Just some girls, the gospel, and a response that merged everything in a giant bathtub before a few hundred people on a Sunday morning. It was rad.

On the same day a guy about my age was making the same decision. I know this be- cause we changed clothes in the same room. While it could potentially be uncomfortable to stand in your underwear with some guy you don’t know, only a shower curtain separating you, I ignored all social decorum and struck up a conversation.

His name was Anthony. He was driving down the interstate a few weeks before and saw a billboard for our church. A married father of two, Anthony had been searching for a church to call home. The verbiage on the billboard matched perfectly what he was feeling in his heart, and he decided to visit. One thing led to another, and he made the decision to be baptized. So there we stood, getting back in our dry clothes, celebrating his faith. Yet I couldn’t help but revisit a conversation I’d had with my- self months before when we decided to pay several thousand dollars for that billboard:

Do we really want to spend so much money on that? Couldn’t we feed some hungry kids instead?

Do we want to be viewed in the same light as Harry the Used Car Dealer and Dr. Smiles, the guy who does $99 dentures?

Will it even work? And just because it works, does that mean its okay? What will people think?

Shouldn’t relationships be central to our evangelism? How can mass marketing really inspire change in others’ lives?

I found myself wanting to take a harsh stand against the billboard, but I couldn’t. For one, I thought it would be kind of cool. Secondly, our lead minister had vowed not to put his face on it, but instead to make Jesus prominent in the message—a good move that settled my spirit a bit. Third, it was hard to argue with plopping a giant advertisement on a busy stretch of road where more than 100,000 people each day would see it. Jesus used the “come and see” method—why couldn’t we? Back in the dressing room, still dripping on the carpet, I wondered if my initial cynicism was poorly placed: What’s so wrong with a little marketing? It got Anthony through our doors where he had a face-to-face with Jesus and was changed. Was Anthony’s decision less valid than the decisions of the girls who came through our doors because of relationships with a friend?

The Influence Is Real

The influence of society’s propensity to buy and sell on church culture and tradition is real.

Visit a mega-congregation, and you may feel a bit disoriented—if you’re not used to them. Designed in the manner of shopping malls, these massive structures often include cafes, bookstores, and comfortable gathering places for shoppers—er, I mean worshipers. So large are these church structures that often escalators, elevators, and maps guide attendees where they need to go. Are some folks hesitant to enter the sanctuary for the service? No problem. They can just sit on couches and watch the festivities on flat-screen televisions. And in- stead of going out to eat after the service, you can just swing by the Faith Café and grab a bite. In really big churches, there might even be several options—a Mc- Donald’s, a sandwich shop, a cafeteria. You can buy almost any- thing there—sermon DVDs, witness wear, a little fish decal for your car, etc.

But while large churches have more options, smaller congregations often promote the same philosophy. There’s a plethora of options in almost every church. Programs for toddlers, for children, for teens, for college kids, for young adults, for men and women and singles and the elderly—the number of programs we offer is one of our measuring sticks for church success, after all. Even smaller churches measure success via statistics—attendance, offerings, and return on investment.

I admit having a problem with these practices. Why? I believe they’re poorly motivated. Rather than being Christ-focused, our goals are often results-focused: Should our effectiveness be measured by how many people come? By how much money they give? By whether or not they return? Are these measurements different from what “the world” (whoever that is) uses? How many shoppers were out on Black Friday? How much money did they spend? The latter defines a successful shopping season, sure; but should it define a successful church?

In addition, I don’t believe this philosophy works. I can sponsor an event that draws 150 middle school students, and it can be deemed a “success.” I can even spiritualize it by saying we “planted a lot of seeds.” But did we, really? Will we ever see those kids again? Will they ever make decisions to follow Jesus? Is that event “better” than a Sunday school lesson in which two out of 10 kids are challenged and decide to adopt a child from a developing nation? Is a church actually better because it’s larger?

More troubling is that Christians flock to churches where their needs are met most readily. These days loyalty to congregations is rarely based on what congregations believe, but on what they offer. That’s no deeper than loyalty to cars—once more attractive models are spotted, the swap is made. (It goes without saying that, unfortunately, this practice is all too common in marriages, friendships, and other relationships as well.)

The “Selling” of Jesus

But then what happens if people stop wanting Jesus as we’ve marketed him? When consumers find something better than what we’re selling? Churches don’t fail because Jesus is a bad product (he’s not); they’re closing because they’re perceived as boring, old, or ineffective. In other words, their methods stink, and the consumers leave in favor of “better” places that serve their felt needs. Most churches that engage consumers with advertising seem to survive fairly well. But what if the American Legion or the corner bar or the Mom’s Book Club does a better job connecting people? What if the Boy Scouts or the 4-H Club or the Brownies do a better job of engaging people in serving the greater good? What if the A.A. chapter or the scrapbooking club is superior to the church when it comes to helping people deal with loneliness and addiction?

The knee-jerk reaction of most churches is to make sure this doesn’t happen. And that’s accomplished through innovation, hiring staff, customizing ministry to reach any number of demographics, and praying for success. But the latter moves are often based on trend lines, and consumers shape trend lines. So...who is it we’re trying to please? Could it be that we’re in- volving ourselves in a game we don’t want to play—one that leaves us worn out from selling something in a way that we don’t really believe in?

Living (and Ministering) in Tension

You can probably sense my inner-argument on this topic. My guess is that if you’ve stopped to think about it very long, you’ve argued the point yourself. (In the spirit of full disclosure, I just got done talking to a guy about the design of our new student ministry entrance. Earlier today I got a gorilla costume in the mail for our New Year’s bash. I also got a huge giant vinyl banner to advertise the event...to which we’re selling tickets at $10 a pop. And as you already know, I go to a church that advertises itself on an interstate billboard. Is this wrong? Is it right? I’m not sure I know.)

What I do know is that I’d rather struggle between two positions than staunchly defend one that bears no fruit. To strip everything down and avoid being the least bit consumer-minded doesn’t seem practical. Otherwise how do we get the word out about the ministry we’re doing? We’re dealing with teenagers— and with adults, too—who speak the language of advertising. They’re visual. They’re media-driven. So...is a youth group podcast amoral? I don’t think so. Are full-color postcards or a visually pleasing Web site unbiblical? Doubtful.

But to wrap everything in marketing and glitz doesn’t seem Christ-honoring, either. In a world of customization, churches with research-and-development budgets are a scary proposition, but one we don’t seem far from. Making our ministry about our stuff, our programs, our strategies—something about this approach creates pangs of guilt inside me. We’re not growing an organization, but people. We’re not selling a product; we’re sharing a message.

What are the answers? How can we minister to students with a clear con- science when it comes to our approach? Where does the line between marketing Jesus and evangelism really lie? Jesus never said, “Go and make consumers and salespeople, baptizing them in the name of the brand, experience, and cost-benefit analysis.” He told us to make disciples. If we can’t do that without selling out, then it’s time for us to close up shop.

And then there’s Anthony and the four girls. Each took a different path in their journey toward Jesus. Anthony’s was directly tied into a sort of over-the- top marketing ploy. The girls’ was more organic, grassroots, and relational. Not so with Anthony. He just saw a big sign.

Maybe the question isn’t if one method or the other is right or wrong. Maybe, the struggle between the two is the healthiest place. God-honoring strug- gle often leads us to greater effectiveness and understanding. In the meantime, we should keep doing what we’re doing. We should remember that we are ministers of the gospel, not salespeople.

We’ve been given a great mission—to introduce people to Jesus Christ. And we should be willing to do anything—well, almost anything—to accomplish that mission.