There’s a force at work in our local churches. It’s a bit like gravity. You can’t see it, but you can see its effects everywhere — holding everything in its place. It’s embedded in the words people use, the songs they sing, the programs they expect, and the rituals they enjoy.
It’s the unrelenting pressure of the status quo.
Of course, the right amount of gravity is crucial for survival. It holds us to the ground in such a way that it actually gives us the freedom to move. In the church, we may call this tradition. And, the right amount keeps us from drifting uncontrollably.
But, often, the gravity becomes so strong that it freezes everything in its place. It resists change at all costs, and values comfort over calling. It turns freedom into enslavement and prevents forward gospel movement. And, if left unregulated, the weight of it will crush us.
When status quo rules
A few years ago (pre-pandemic), I was part of a team that was leading a youth mission trip to Schenectady, New York. The students, from church youth groups all across the country, were scheduled to arrive on Sunday afternoon. The staff, however, were required to arrive the night before. Our custom was to find a church to attend on Sunday morning before the students showed up. I’m not sure how we decided on which church to go to, but I suspect it had to do with the convenience of the worship time.
The church we picked that Sunday was a beautiful stone structure from the late 1800s with good parking (pastors, you get it). The outside edifice looked well-maintained. The plants had a fresh layer of dark brown mulch, and the grass was meticulously manicured. The inside, however, told a different story. Our group (about ten of us) walked through the front entryway into a large, squarish room with a high, vaulted ceiling. Maybe three or four people (who looked about seventy years old) were gathered around a large metal coffee urn on a foldable card table and sipping from white paper cups. Another was sitting on a leather couch with what looked like a homemade, multicolored afghan blanket draped over it. An eclectic mix of chairs were positioned in a kind of oval around an area rug. It looked like someone was trying to create a living room vibe but, to be honest, it looked more like a garage sale. It wasn’t dirty; it was just dated. It was hard to escape the feeling that I had just entered my grandma’s house after school in second grade …
As I entered the sanctuary, it was exactly as I expected. It had a long, red-carpeted aisle down the middle, flanked by symmetrical wooden pews. Red hymnals and black, hardcover Bibles were in racks. Two sets of yellowish stained-glass windows were on each side. In the front were a traditional wooden lectern, pulpit, and communion table. There was a U.S. flag on one side and a Christian flag (by the way, who decided that flag?) on the other. It was basically a carbon copy of most of the historic denominational sanctuaries in the Northeast …
There were maybe ten to fifteen congregants scattered across the sanctuary (our group effectively doubled the attendance). We brought the average age down by probably forty years (no exaggeration). Some looked up and smiled at our arrival. An organist was playing some prelude music, but it didn’t seem like anyone was really listening — they just gazed at their bulletins. There was no energy. Actually, it was an energy drain. I know this was a me problem, but I was looking forward to the end before it even started.
…the problem happening with churches all across the country: Younger generations have slipped away because we have become tone-deaf to their needs. We’ve insisted on preserving our traditions instead of seeking to connect …
As worship began, I started looking ahead in the bulletin to (you know) measure the length of the journey. The thing that caught my eye immediately was that a children’s message was planned (there weren’t even middle-aged people, let alone kids). I started to wonder how the pastor was going to handle it. Will he laugh it off? Or will he ignore it and move on to the next thing without skipping a beat? Will he use it as an opportunity to encourage the congregation to invite their grandkids?
He didn’t do any of those things.
When the children’s message came, he did the one thing I didn’t see coming: he gave the message anyway. When he first started, I thought he was kidding. I even let out a small laugh (true story). But this was no joke. He was fully committed to delivering the children’s message with no children in the room. If he shortened the message, the original must’ve been a doozy, because he went on for about ten minutes. It did not count as his sermon. He did that, too.
After the service, I wanted to ask about the children’s message. I had so many questions. But as I approached him back near the coffee urn, I could see he was elated by the larger-than-usual crowd, and I didn’t want to bring him down. I asked one of the members (a friendly-looking woman who was probably about eighty years old) as we drank from our white paper cups: ‘Do you usually get many children for the children’s message?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Maybe once or twice a year we have some families that come visit from out of town.’
‘Does the pastor always give the children’s message?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes!’ she replied. ‘Don’t tell him, but we like the children’s message better than the sermon!’
There was a lot more I wanted to ask, but I decided to leave it alone. Although this is an amusing memory, it is no joke. It’s a microcosm of the problem happening with churches all across the country: Younger generations have slipped away because we have become tone-deaf to their needs. We’ve insisted on preserving our traditions instead of seeking to connect …
The power of urgency
Are churches like this incapable of adapting? Are they simply too far gone? I’m not buying it. Why? Because the proof is in the pandemic. According to Lifeway Research, prior to the COVID-19 pandemic, a large number of Protestant pastors indicated that they didn’t utilize any online worship options. However, as the coronavirus began to spread and social distancing guidelines emerged, the vast majority of churches quickly provided digital options. By March 2020, Lifeway Research found 92 percent of Protestant pastors said they provided some type of video sermons or worship services online. That climbed to 97 percent in April 2020.1
That’s the power of urgency. It pushes through the obstacles. Most churches (including that church in Schenectady) found a way to offer online worship. Some small churches used Zoom. Some stuck an iPhone in the back of the room and recorded or streamed to Facebook. Churches that hadn’t made any significant change in decades found a way to make it happen — fast. How do you create a sense of urgency without needing a global pandemic? You start by facing the scale.
I’ve struggled with weight my whole life. I was an offensive lineman in high school. Lifting weights, getting stronger, putting on muscle — it all came easy because of my body type. But eventually, those testosterone-fueled, high-intensity exercise years subsided. Thus, I have a love–hate relationship with the scale. Mostly hate.
The toughest time is between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day. That timespan is when I tend to eat, drink, and be merry. But merriment comes at a cost. I procrastinate when it comes to stepping on the scale to assess the damage. Here’s a question: The longer I put it off, do you think the number on the scale gets better or worse? Worse? Why? Because until I face the pain, I won’t feel the urgency to make a change. You can’t address what you’re unwilling to assess …
I heard somewhere that you can either make progress or make excuses, but you can’t do both. I believe that’s true. Facing the scale creates the urgency to make a change. When you see how much weight you’ve gained (so to speak), then you discern what health strategies are available, decide which strategy to try, and decide when to start.
If all of us can get past the defensiveness and fears of failure and remind ourselves of the urgency of God’s mission, we can move forward.”
How can I help my church face the scale, break the status quo and get forward gospel movement?
Here’s a place to start: Perform a SWOT (Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, Threats) analysis for your church.
- What do the numbers tell us? Look at your metrics over the last 5 years: membership, attendance, small group/bible study participation, giving, etc. What is the story that it tells about what’s going on in the church?
- What do the people tell us? Put together 3 focus groups of 5-7 participants. Have one group for longtime members, one for newer members, and one for your staff/governance board. Ask them to share what they love about the church and what they believe the church can do better.
- Process the information and make an assessment. Identify the gaps between the church you are and the people you’re trying to reach. This will help shape the roadmap for your church’s health journey.
The content of this chapter/publication is a reprint of excerpts from “Chapter 2: Facing the Scale” by Jason Tucker from Speaking Their Language: Leading Your Church to Reach Younger Generations. © 2026 by Jason Tucker. Used by permission of Leafwood Publishers, an imprint of Abilene Christian University Press.
