Two weeks ago the Alabama basketball team announced to the world our new head coach, Nate Oats. Coach Oats comes from the University of Buffalo and seems to be the real thing—strong offense, heavy conditioning and most importantly, a winning record. Roll Tide! What struck me in this transition, however, was how quietly and quickly it happened. For cryin’ out loud, the season wasn’t even over (at least officially) and Avery Johnson had fled town like a criminal. Well, almost. Coach Johnson left with eight million dollars in his pocket. That was his contract buyout.

Eight million dollars. 

I’m having trouble getting my head around that number. I think the reason I’m imbalanced by this news is twofold. First, how much does a college have to dislike a coach, be unhappy with his methods, and want the coach to disappear to pay him the net worth of Pamela Anderson? Even more disgusting is this: The University of Alabama could have paid Coach Johnson two million dollars less if they had just waited two more weeks. So again, how much do you have to really dislike someone to shell out the extra two mil? A lot, apparently. 

The second reason I’m disturbed by this news is because this problem isn’t simply relegated to University systems in which points on the board are often translated into how well an institution can brand itself. My real problem is that I’m seeing this same phenomenon in the church world.

PASTORS ARE NOT COACHES

I’ve been to enough church growth conferences for five lifetimes and the consistent message is that pastors are coaches. When I hear that these days, I cringe a little. And I whisper to my frail little heart and say, “No, you’re a pastor.” For clarity, I understand the metaphor. I don’t disagree that pastors teach, like coaches; pastors encourage, like coaches; pastors discipline, like coaches; pastors unify, like coaches. I understand why conference leaders like this metaphor. 

Except that it’s just not true. Pastors are not coaches. Pastors are pastors. 

This distinction is important for three reasons: 

First, when a pastor sees himself as a pastor and not a coach, it helps him solidify a pastoral theology that will carry him through decades of selfless ministry. In contrast, if a pastor sees himself as a coach, he will always be looking for a better team; will blame the players for their own woes and insecurities; will never feel burdened to be on the field himself. However, when a pastor knows who he is—a pastor—he is able to create a pastoral theology that is rooted in longevity and gospel wholeness. This theology creates a lens in which we see people not as a team to build, but as a family to walk with. It helps young pastors endure rejection and pain they weren’t expecting out of seminary. It helps older pastors finish well and embrace the heavenly “well done.” It helps those they lead to see their pastor as a person in need of grace, not as a coach to be graded.

Secondly, when churches see their pastors as coaches, those same churches will naturally create unhealthy and unhelpful metrics for their pastors. That is, if a pastor is seen as a coach, he will be graded as a coach. Questions like, How many wins did we have? How many fans are showing up? Are we building our brand? These kinds of questions become normative in coach-led churches. These are truly demonic, anti-biblical metrics. Pastors are not coaches. Instead, when a church sees their pastor as a person who has been divinely placed to shepherd broken people with frail egos and short-sighted vision, the pastor is seen not so much in light of what he can do to move the organization forward, but how he can help us become more Christ-like. 

Lastly, when churches see pastors as coaches they see them as commodities to trade. Like any NCAA team with a losing record who raids the coffers of alumni to attract a winner, so too the church digs deep to lure the best communicator, leader, or coach on the market who can “turn things around.” This buying and selling of pastors minimizes their calling, elevates unhealthy metrics, and confuses the world. 

So I’m pleading—pastors, please stop saying you’re a coach. And church folk, stop treating your pastor like one.