Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Gordon MacDonald has been a pastor and author for more than fifty years.  He serves as Chancellor at Denver Seminary, as editor-at-large for Leadership Journal, and as a speaker at leadership conferences around the world. His books includeBuilding Below the Waterline, Who Stole My Church, A Resilient Life, and Ordering Your Private World.  Gordon and his wife, Gail, live in New Hampshire.

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GOING DEEP

Thomas Nelson

Chapter One

The First Summer

To: Hank Soriano From: GMAC Subject: Re: Red Sox

Hank, Gail and I really enjoyed the game yesterday. But most of all I appreciated the chance to spend time with you and Cynthia. Thanks so much for lunch, the game, the conversation. I've thought about your question and here's my first-draft answer. I think it can be read in twelve floors.

It was on July 6, at an evening baseball game In Boston's Fenway Park, that the great idea first started coming to life.

Gail and I were the guests of our next-door neighbors, Hank and Cynthia Soriano. Hank's company—he's a VP for sales—has season tickets just behind the Red Sox dugout, and that evening we four were the beneficiaries of his boss's largesse.

The game was at the midpoint of the seventh inning and the women were involved in a conversation of their own. Hank and I (typical of most men) had been silent for a few minutes, watching the action on the field. Suddenly, he asked me this question: "Hey, what would you say is your church's elevator story?"

You should know that, except for weddings and funerals, Hank Soriano hadn't gone to church since he was a kid. Cynthia, once a casual church attendee, dropped out completely when she married Hank six years ago. For both of them, this is their second marriage.

If Hank and Cynthia are what some call unchurched, then Gail and I are the opposite: churched up to our eyeballs. I've been a pastor for forty-plus years, before that, the son of a pastor.

Despite our contrasts in church involvement, the Sorianos and the MacDonalds are good friends. Proof ? Well, to borrow a biblical comment: "Greater love hath no man than he who provideth his friends with Red Sox tickets." I'm sure Hank and Cynthia know a lot of people, but when it came to sharing an evening at Fenway Park, they chose us.

Being "unchurched" has never prevented Hank Soriano from showing interest in my work. He has always been curious about how various kinds of organizations, even churches, operate and, even more so, how they are led. So when we get together, it's not unusual for him to ask some off-the-wall question about my current activities. I should add that he likes answers couched in business language.

Actually, my neighbor, Hank, does not visualize me as a pastor or priest; rather, I am, in his eyes, something like a company president. Let me illustrate. One day he asked me how my compensation package was structured. Did my contract with the church—he assumed I had one—include a percentage of the offerings? For Hank this was not an unthinkable possibility. "Hey," he said, "I hear the church is growing on your watch. Revenue's got to be up ... you're due a bigger piece of the pie. Understand what I'm saying?"

When I related Hank's comment to our church leaders (we call them elders) in our next meeting, they thought it was funny ... and then dropped the subject immediately.

Now, here at Fenway Park, Hank had hit me with another of his wild questions. This one was about our church's "elevator story," which, to be honest, I wasn't sure existed.

I was silent for a moment and then sheepishly confessed to Hank that I couldn't tell him our elevator story. In fact, I further admitted, I didn't even know what an elevator story was.

Did that ever bring Hank Soriano to life! Instantly the ballgame was forgotten.

"You saying that you don't know what an elevator—" Hank got that far, paused, and then started again. He knew a teachable moment when he saw one.

"Well, say you and another guy get on an elevator at the Pru together ... first floor." Hank was referring to Boston's Prudential Center, a few blocks away. "You've both punched the thirtieth-floor button. Get what I'm saying here?"

I nodded that I did ... so far.

"So as the doors are closing, the other guy sees your company pin on your jacket's lapel and says, 'So, what's that company of yours do?' Got that? Huh?"

I indicated a second time that I got that. I should mention that sometimes Hank tests your patience with his filler phrases like "Got that?" and "Understand what I'm saying?" It's a verbal habit, part of his Boston brogue, which, if you're short on patience, can drive you nuts.

Hank went on. "Okay, here's the point of an elevator story. You've got the time it takes to reach the thirtieth floor to tell this guy exactly what your company does." Then with a big Soriano smile, he added, with a hint of drama, "And let's just say that if—if, I said—your company story is dazzling enough, this guy'll pull out his card and suggest getting together to talk about doing a twenty-mil deal with you. Twenty million dollars! Get it?"

I assured Hank that I got it.

"So." Hank sat back and folded his arms as if satisfied that he'd thoroughly instructed me. "What's your church's story? Dazzle me in thirty f loors. Pretend there's twenty mil on the line here."

Put yourself in my shoes. You're in sold-out Fenway Park. The score's tied. The Red Sox are coming to bat, and the crowd is singing "Sweet Caroline (Oh, Oh, Oh)," a nightly Fenway Park ritual. And suddenly, the guy who brought you to the game asks to be dazzled by your church's elevator story. And remember that you only learned a minute ago what an elevator story is. Understand what I'm saying?

The first thing that came to me as I struggled to respond to Hank was the doctrinal statement on the nature of the church that I'd hammered out years ago in a seminary theology course. But it is hardly a dazzling document, especially for someone like unchurched Hank. Besides, it would have required at least six hundred or more floors to rattle off, and his elevator apparently only went up thirty floors. I also thought about our fifteen-word mission statement—"to point people toward Jesus Christ and his invitation to a full and purposeful life." But that wouldn't have dazzled Hank either.

Here's what Hank Soriano was asking: What is your church doing today that would cause anyone (maybe even your neighbor, Hank Soriano) to be attracted to it?

I finally dodged the question by asking for a day or two to think about it. That experience at Fenway was not my finest hour as the "president" of our church.

July 6 – 8

The First Summer

To: Tom O'Donnell From: GMAC Subject: Elevator Story

Tom, question for you. What's an elevator story?

To: GMAC From: Tom O'Donnell Subject: Re: Elevator Story

Hey, Pastor Mac. Where'd you find that in the Bible? I thought elevator stories were only for business types. An elevator story is a brief description of an organization, its products or services, and how it gets the job done. Some businesses go mad trying to formalize one and get everyone to agree with it.

Over the next few days, I kept thinking a bout what our church's elevator story might sound like. Several times I sat down with my laptop and tried writing one. But when I read some of my drafts to Gail, she was decidedly undazzled. I came to realize that Tom O'Donnell was right: thirty-floor elevator stories—the dazzling kind, anyway—are not easy to produce.

Finally,...