First published by the Baptist Times - OUTSIDE EDGE column - 9 April 2010
Many churches these days have wonderfully creative outreach programmes and see impressive numbers of new Christians coming to faith.
Last year one of the megachurches, though, confessed it had failed to devise a successful discipleship programme to enable members to grow in faith.
New believers who started with enthusiasm faded away or reached a comfortable plateau and stagnated.
Elsewhere, other new Christians report being driven away by church politics or class culture.
It seems that some churches make excellent fishers of men, but then tend to lose the fish, let them go off, or fry them.
I was alone in the house one evening, having a leisurely bath, when a live creature started charging up and down under the bathtub. I leapt out of the water faster than Archimedes, put my ear to the bath panel, and jumped back when whatever-it-was thumped against it.
I did the logical thing and ran to phone my husband, a hundred miles away. He said, ‘Either a rat or a bird. Shut the bathroom door, go to bed, and phone someone in the morning.’
Next morning, all was quiet but I phoned a friend anyway. She kindly volunteered her husband to come and risk getting eaten.
He came and removed half the bath panel. There was no sign of life but he spotted a hole leading to the airing cupboard, which had a hole leading up to the roof.
‘More likely to be a bird, then,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope it’s flown off.’
As soon as his van disappeared down the road, the banging started again. I tiptoed into the bathroom, cautiously stuck my head round the edge of the bath and came face to beak with a large dark brown bird that appeared to have no legs.
We squawked at each other in mutual alarm and I ran to phone a birdlover.
‘I don’t know what it is but it’s injured,’ I explained. ‘I think it’s got broken legs.’
‘It’s a swift,’ she said, arriving swiftly and examining it. ‘It’s not injured. They don’t stand; they live in flight.’
Grasping it firmly she went down the garden and hurled it into the air like a rocket launcher. The bird I thought was injured and legless spread powerful wings, stretched its perfectly healthy legs, and flew off.
Next day, there on the lawn was a dark brown bird, legless and passive. At least I knew what to do now. I picked it up and flung it heavenwards.
It flumped.
Murmuring reassurances to both of us, I re-launched it. It landed with a sickening thud.
I phone-panicked the birdwoman. She flew round.
‘It’s a young starling,’ she said.
‘Why won’t it fly?’
‘It hasn’t got its flight feathers yet. Probably tried to fly too soon.’
I didn’t dare tell her what I’d done. ‘Will it survive?’
‘It might. But it seems to be dying.’
When she’d gone, I knelt down by the bird and apologised tearfully. It looked at me wearily and closed its eyes.
And that’s why I think we may never find the perfect discipleship programme.
Because, whereas it’s relatively easy to attract fledgling Christians into the church, the garden, the airing cupboard and under the bath, finding the right way to keep them alive and nurture them is a very individual thing.
Some recent arrivals in church may appear wounded, helpless and even legless, but what they need is not TLC but a prompt launchpad into adventurous outreach and a chance to spread their wings and fly.
Others, who may appear more mature, would have their faith flattened by being pushed into such challenges and need careful nurturing.
The same strategy can’t meet the needs of everyone, and there’s no way of knowing the swifts from the starlings, the robust from the injured, or the mature from the immature - except by spending serious time consulting the Expert on how to treat each of his children, worth more to him than many sparrows, swifts or starlings.
We may only have one chance to get it right.
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