Tired Labels and Worn-out Wineskins
Would you visit a church called The Holy Assembly of the Fire-Baptized Brethren? Probably not, because it sounds elitist, self-righteous and really old-fashioned. Your unchurched neighbors would most likely drive a few extra miles to avoid passing the place.
Yet many church names today sound almost as strange and unwelcoming. We insist on using religious vocabulary from previous centuries to define ourselves, and then we wonder why people consider us out of touch.
I realize I am grazing into sacred cow pasture when I suggest that we reevaluate the terms we love. We like our labels because we are fond of our history. But if we want to reach our culture for Christ, we had better become willing to let go of the past.
Have you ever asked a non-Christian how he reacts to words such as Pentecostal, charismatic, Southern Baptist, Nazarene, Presbyterian, Mennonite or Foursquare? Do Methodists use methods? Do you have to be Anglo to be an Anglican? Why do some churches include “First” or “Greater” in their names? Greater than what?
I am not trying to devalue what God did when the Holy Spirit birthed these movements. But all labels have a shelf life. My hunch is that many names we use today carry expiration dates that have passed.
I don’t mean to pick on any particular group. Since I am Pentecostal I’ll point these questions in my direction. Let’s play word association. When I say “Pentecostal,” people usually say it conjures up images of old women in beehive hairdos, preachers in polyester suits or tent meetings with sawdust floors. Not exactly the best way to reach a younger crowd.
The word “charismatic” is even worse. It can sound like a chronic back problem, an allergic reaction or an energetic politician. I don’t recommend using it in a church name unless you are deliberately trying to keep people away. What worked 30 years ago has outlived its usefulness.
Names are important in the business world. Some trusted brands of food, medicine and household products have been around a long time, while others ended up in the cluttered dustbin of retail history—along with Duz detergent, 666 cold medicine, Black Draught laxative (people actually drank that stuff?), Fizrin antacid and Orphan Boy tobacco (my choice when we have a worst product name contest.)
We trust products such as Crest, Coca-Cola, Band-Aid and Listerine because our parents used them. A good name carries a legacy. But sometimes even good brands need updating.
Take Aunt Jemima, for example. The lady is still around, but her portly image has been revised several times since she first appeared in 1889 in her Mammy head scarf as she slaved—literally—cooking pancakes on the plantation. Today she is a hip, stylish grandma who could have her own show on the Food Network.
Or look at Betty Crocker, who began her cake-baking career in 1921 looking like the Madonna of Domestic Servitude. Today, after seven trademark redesigns, the “first lady of food” looks more like a multi-ethnic businesswoman than a stay-at-home mom from the June Cleaver era.
Times change. And we will become irrelevant if we don’t adjust our language to our culture.
Jesus told his disciples that old wineskins can’t hold new wine. Although we can’t compromise biblical values, we must constantly renew, renovate, remodel and reconfigure our strategies and terminology as the Holy Spirit directs us. If we cling to the past—even when that past is glorious—we could end up in a dry religious rut.
It is no surprise that some of the largest churches in this country changed names when they decided to grow. The leaders of Saddleback Community Church were wise to remove the words “Southern Baptist” from their moniker since California is a long way from Alabama. Willowcreek Church sounds like a safe, inviting place to take your family. Gateway Church sounds like a haven of opportunity and fulfillment.
Today many churches have dropped archaic titles to embrace friendlier names such as Harbor Light, New Life, Renovation, High Point or Grace Church. Lightning did not strike them when they removed their denomination labels.
I am not suggesting that our spirituality can be reduced to marketing gimmicks or that people will flock to your church just because you put up a new sign. When God renamed people in the Bible (and this happened often) it was indicative of a deeper change in the heart. My plea is an honest one: Let’s discard tired terms that prevent us from taking the fresh message of Jesus to a culture that is burned-out on stale religion.
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J. Lee Grady is editor of Charisma.
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