March 31, 2006

Kingdom Confusion 2: The danger of believing in a Christian America

When Gregory Boyd, pastor of Woodland Hills Church in St. Paul, Minnesota, preached about the danger of mingling the mission of the church with conservative politics he ignited passionate responses on both sides, and 1,000 people left the church. In part two of an excerpt from Boyd’s new book, The Myth of a Christian Nation (Zondervan 2006), he says much of this passion is fueled by the false belief that America is a Christian nation and that the church’s role is to reinforce that belief.

What gives the connection between Christianity and politics such strong emotional force in the U.S.? I believe it is the longstanding myth that America is a Christian nation.

From the start, we have tended to believe that God’s will was manifested in the conquest and founding of our country — and that it is still manifested in our actions around the globe. Throughout our history, most Americans have assumed our nation’s causes and wars were righteous and just, and that “God is on our side.” In our minds — as so often in our sanctuaries — the cross and the American flag stand side by side. Our allegiance to God tends to go hand in hand with our allegiance to country. Consequently, many Christians who take their faith seriously see themselves as the religious guardians of a Christian homeland. America, they believe, is a holy city “set on a hill,” and the church’s job is to keep it shining.

The negative reaction to my sermons made it clear that this foundational myth is alive and well in the evangelical community — and not just in its fundamentalist fringes. That reaction leads me to suspect that this myth is being embraced more intensely and widely now than in the past precisely because evangelicals sense that it is being threatened. The truth is that the concept of America as a Christian nation, with all that accompanies that myth, is actually losing its grip on the collective national psyche, and as America becomes increasingly pluralistic and secularized, the civil religion of Christianity is losing its force. Understandably, this produces consternation among those who identify themselves as the nation’s religious guardians.

So, when the shepherd of a flock of these religious guardians stands up — in the pulpit no less — and suggests that this foundational American myth is, in fact, untrue, that America is not now and never was a Christian nation, that God is not necessarily on America’s side, and that the kingdom of God we are called to advance is not about “taking America back for God” — well, for some, that’s tantamount to going AWOL.

The myth of America as a Christian nation, with the church as its guardian, has been, and continues to be, damaging both to the church and to the advancement of God’s kingdom. Among other things, this nationalistic myth blinds us to the way in which our most basic and most cherished cultural assumptions are diametrically opposed to the kingdom way of life taught by Jesus and his disciples.

Instead of living out the radically countercultural mandate of the kingdom of God, this myth has inclined us to Christianize many pagan aspects of our culture. Instead of providing the culture with a radically alternative way of life, we largely present it with a religious version of what it already is. The myth clouds our vision of God’s distinctly beautiful kingdom and thereby undermines our motivation to live as set-apart (holy) disciples of this kingdom.

Even more fundamentally, because this myth links the kingdom of God with certain political stances within American politics, it has greatly compromised the holy beauty of the kingdom of God to non-Christians. This myth harms the church’s primary mission.

For many in America and around the world, the American flag has smothered the glory of the cross, and the ugliness of our American version of Caesar has squelched the radiant love of Christ. Because the myth that America is a Christian nation has led many to associate America with Christ, many now hear the good news of Jesus only as American news, capitalistic news, imperialistic news, exploitive news, antigay news, or Republican news. And whether justified or not, many people want nothing to do with any of it.

The kingdom Jesus came to establish is “not from this world” (John 18:36), for it operates differently than the governments of the world do. While all the versions of the kingdom of the world acquire and exercise power over others, the kingdom of God, incarnated and modeled in the person of Jesus Christ, advances only by exercising power under others. It expands by manifesting the power of self-sacrificial, Calvary-like love.

To put it differently, the governments of the world seek to establish, protect, and advance their ideals and agendas. It’s in the fallen nature of all those governments to want to “win.” By contrast, the kingdom Jesus established and modeled with his life, death, and resurrection doesn’t seek to “win” by any criteria the world would use. Rather, it seeks to be faithful. It demonstrates the reign of God by manifesting the sacrificial character of God, and in the process, it reveals the most beautiful, dynamic, and transformative power in the universe. It testifies that this power alone — the power to transform people from the inside out by coming under them — holds the hope of the world. Everything the church is about, I argue, hangs on preserving the radical uniqueness of this kingdom in contrast to the kingdom of the world.

[Taken from Myth of a Christian Nation by GREGORY A. BOYD. Copyright ? 2006 by Gregory A. Boyd. Used by permission of The Zondervan Corporation.]

Posted by UrL at March 31, 2006 | Comments (42) | TrackBack

March 29, 2006

Kingdom Confusion: Is the quest for political power destroying the church?

Midterm elections are heating up across the country, and many analysts expect evangelical voters to remain a potent political force. But not everyone is encouraged by the church’s ascent in recent years to political power. Gregory Boyd, senior pastor of Woodland Hills Church in St. Paul, Minnesota, has written a new book addressing the dangers of intermingling the gospel and the GOP. The Myth of a Christian Nation (Zondervan, 2006), outlines Boyd’s concerns and chronicles his pastoral attempts to extricate the cross from the flag. Below is an excerpt.

Like many evangelical pastors in the months before the 2004 election, I felt pressure from a number of right-wing political and religious sources, as well as from some people in my own congregation, to “shepherd my flock” into voting for “the right candidate” and “the right position.” Among other things, I was asked to hand out leaflets, to draw attention to various political events, and to have our church members sign petitions, make pledges, and so on. Increasingly, some in our church grew irate because of my refusal (supported by the church board) to have the church participate in these activities.

In April of 2004, as the religious buzz was escalating, I felt it necessary to preach a series of sermons that would provide a biblical explanation for why our church should not join the rising chorus of right-wing political activity. I also decided this would be a good opportunity to expose the danger of associating the Christian faith too closely with any political point of view, whether conservative or liberal. The series was entitled, “The Cross and the Sword."

The response surprised me.

For one thing, I had never received so much positive feedback. Some people literally wept with gratitude, saying that they had always felt like outsiders in the evangelical community for not “toeing the conservative party line.” Others reported that their eyes had been opened to how they had unwittingly allowed political and national agendas to cloud their vision of the uniquely beautiful kingdom of God.

But neither had I ever received so much intensely negative feedback. I felt as though I’d stuck a stick in a hornet’s nest! About 20 percent of my congregation (roughly a thousand people) left the church.

Many who left sincerely believe there is little ambiguity in how true Christian faith translates into politics. Since God is against abortion, Christians should vote for the pro-life candidate, they believe — and the preacher should say so. Since God is against homosexuality, Christians should vote for the candidate who supports the marriage amendment act — and a Bible-believing pastor should proclaim this. Since God is for personal freedom, Christians should vote for the candidate who will fulfill “America’s mission” to bring freedom to the world — and any American pastor, like myself, should use his “God-given authority and responsibility” to make this known. “It’s that simple,” I was told. To insist that it’s not, some suggested, is to be (as I was variously described) a liberal, a compromiser, wishy-washy, unpatriotic, afraid to take a stand, or simply on the side of Satan.

My thesis, which caused such an uproar, is this: I believe a significant segment of American evangelicalism is guilty of nationalistic and political idolatry. To a frightful degree, I think, evangelicals fuse the kingdom of God with a preferred version of the kingdom of the world (whether it’s our national interests, a particular form of government, a particular political program, or so on). Rather than focusing our understanding of God’s kingdom on the person of Jesus — who, incidentally, never allowed himself to get pulled into the political disputes of his day — I believe many of us American evangelicals have allowed our understanding of the kingdom of God to be polluted with political ideals, agendas, and issues.

For some evangelicals, the kingdom of God is largely about, if not centered on, “taking America back for God,” voting for the Christian candidate, outlawing abortion, outlawing gay marriage, winning the culture war, defending political freedom at home and abroad, keeping the phrase “under God” in the Pledge of Allegiance, fighting for prayer in the public schools and at public events, and fighting to display the Ten Commandments in government buildings.

I believe that this perspective is misguided, that fusing together the kingdom of God with this or any other version of the kingdom of the world is idolatrous and that this fusion is having serious negative consequences for Christ’s church and for the advancement of God’s kingdom.

I do not argue that those political positions are either wrong or right. Nor do I argue that Christians shouldn’t be involved in politics. While people whose faith has been politicized may well interpret me along such lines, I assure you that this is not what I’m saying. The issue is far more fundamental than how we should vote or participate in government. Rather, I want to challenge the assumption that finding the right political path has anything to do with advancing the kingdom of God.

[Taken from The Myth of a Christian Nation by GREGORY A. BOYD. Copyright ? 2006 by Gregory A. Boyd. Used by permission of The Zondervan Corporation.]

Posted by UrL at March 29, 2006 | Comments (35) | TrackBack

March 28, 2006

Mark Driscoll's Apology: Blogging means sometimes having to say "I'm sorry"

In January, Out of Ur ran an editorial written by Brian McLaren on a pastoral response to homosexuality. Hundreds of readers posted comments either supporting or condemning McLaren’s perspective. But none caused as much uproar as the rant written by Mark Driscoll.

Driscoll, who is pastor of Mars Hill Church in Seattle, now regrets the tone of his remarks as well as taking what he calls "cheap shots" at Brian McLaren and Emergent pastor Doug Pagitt. On Monday, Mark Driscoll issued an apology to McLaren, Pagitt, and readers offended by his comments. You may read his full apology at his blog, Resurgence. Driscoll writes:

And after listening to the concerns of the board members of the Acts 29 Church Planting Network that I lead, and of some of the elders and deacons at Mars Hill Church that I pastor, I have come to see that my comments were sinful and in poor taste.

Therefore, I am publicly asking for forgiveness from both Brian and Doug because I was wrong for attacking them personally and I was wrong for the way in which I confronted positions with which I still disagree. I also ask forgiveness from those who were justifiably offended at the way I chose to address the disagreement.

Jay Rosen declared in 2004 that blogging has shifted the media from a lecture to a conversation. The problem with conversation, both the old fashioned and the new digital variety, is the likelihood that eventually we’ll say something we regret. That likelihood only increases when the subject of conversation is controversial and passionately debated.

Dr. Craig Blomberg from Denver Seminary wrote a piece for Out of Ur questioning the benefit of blogging for Christians. “With unprecedented ease of access comes the temptation to ‘shoot from the hip’ and respond with little thought or care for how one comes across.” Dr. Blomberg reminds us that the blogosphere is a dangerous realm where temptation lurks behind every “submit” button, and we must rely upon the Spirit of Christ not only to control our tongues but also our keyboards.

One visitor to Out of Ur during January described the experience as like being in a foxhole during a gun battle—he was hesitant to post a comment fearing he’d get hit in the crossfire. Others disturbed by the conversation disengaged entirely. But Mark Driscoll’s apology reveals there may be a redemptive blessing to remaining engaged. Sure, blogging can lead to regretful or even harmful dialogue, but within failure is always the opportunity for growth.

Henri Nouwen said that, “Community is the place where the person you least want to live with always lives." This observation takes on new meaning when applied to a Christian blog. We are guaranteed to encounter brothers and sisters online with divergent opinions, theologies, and perspectives, and passionate conversation is unavoidable. Some of what we read may bother us, some things may infuriate us. Still, engaging in dialogue with a diverse community, although challenging, provides us the opportunity to grow in tolerance, patience, and even humility by apologizing when necessary.

Posted by UrL at March 28, 2006 | Comments (19) | TrackBack

March 27, 2006

Is Ministry Leadership Different? Andy Stanley and Jim Collins in an unexpected point-counterpoint

How is ministry leadership different from other kinds of leadership? In the next exciting issue of Leadership, Pastor Andy Stanley and business expert and author Jim Collins (Built to Last, Good to Great) offered answers that left me scratching my head. Can they both be right? Read some excerpts below.

“What is distinctly spiritual about the kind of leadership you do?” I asked Andy Stanley. Nothing, he said. “There’s nothing distinctly spiritual. I think a big problem in the church has been the dichotomy between spirituality and leadership.”

His answer surprised me.

As pastor of a thriving megachurch north of Atlanta, with an additional ten satellite locations fed his sermons by video, Stanley is becoming the model for the next generation of large church pastors.

Younger by about a decade than Bill Hybels and Rick Warren, Andy really seems to connect with younger leaders. We noticed it among the attenders at the annual Catalyst conferences. Organized jointly, at first, by Stanley’s North Point Community Church and John Maxwell’s InJoy Ministries, the Catalyst conferences have increasingly featured Andy. He is the headliner, opening the gathering as incentive for attenders to arrive on time, and presenting the closing session in hopes that they will stay to the end. It works. Andy’s frequent speeches on integrity hold the crowd’s attention better than Maxwell’s chestnuts on momentum and irrefutable laws.

Because Andy connects well with younger leaders, who in general are bent more toward spiritual formation than church growth, I expected Andy to talk about the spiritual nature of leadership. He did not. He did talk about prayer and seeking good counsel and the crucial nature of integrity in the leaders with whom he surrounds himself; but leadership, even church leadership, is not distinctly spiritual, he said.

“I grew up in a culture where everything was overly spiritualized,” Andy said. “I don’t want to be a cynic, but raking out all the spiritual versus non-spiritual, I think, is healthy.”

He agreed with those who contend that good leadership is good leadership, whatever the setting. “One of the criticisms I get is ‘Your church is so corporate…’ And I say, ‘OK, you’re right. Now why is that a bad model?’”

Good business principles work for Andy and North Point. “A principle is a principle, and God created all the principles,” he summarized.

I must admit I felt a bit incredulous. I thought I’d hear something that backed up the pendulum swing we have heard prominent emerging leaders identify--that younger leaders don’t buy all the church growth stuff, that the models that built megachurches worked for boomers, but for Gen-X and younger? Fuggidaboudit. That business models, while they may inform church leadership, do not define it; that church leaders are spiritual leaders and spiritual leadership must be, well, spiritual.

“Churches should quit saying, ‘Oh, that’s what business does,’” Andy said. “That whole attitude is so wrong, and it hurts the church. In terms of the shifting culture, I say thanks to guys like Bill Hybels and others who have been unafraid to say we have a corporate side to ministry; it’s going to be the best corporate institution it can possibly be, and we’re not going to try to merge first century [with the 21st ].”

The ground shifted a little at that comment. Then I heard an opposite view from an unexpected quarter. It was, in fact, Jim Collins, author of the paradigm-altering business book Good to Great, who pointed out some of the uniquenesses of church leadership. Some church leaders have put Good to Great on the same shelf with Purpose-Driven Life and the Bible. But Collins, who admits he is not an expert on churches, is beginning to see that not all his business principles apply to ministry settings.

“One of the things from Good to Great that really resonated with church leaders was the Level 5 Leadership finding,” Collins told us, “that leaders who took companies from good to great are characterized by personal humility and by a fierce determination to a cause that is larger than themselves.

“I was delighted how the Level 5 concept took hold, and yet the deeper I got into it, the more I realized that Level 5 leadership looks different in a non-business setting. A church leader often has a very complicated governance structure. There can be multiple sources of power, constituencies in the community, constituencies in the congregation. With all of that, you’re going to run into trouble if you try to lead a church as a czar. Church leaders have to be adept in a more communal process, what we came to call ‘legislative’ rather than an ‘executive’ process.”

Jim Collins recognizes that church leadership is different, and in many ways harder. That did my heart good. Not every business principle is right for ministry leadership.

Both men agreed on the dangers of unanimity. While it’s often posited as evidence of the Holy Spirit’s guidance, Stanley warned his own elders against requiring 100 percent agreement on big decisions. “It sounds so spiritual, but…I knew it would’ve been the worst possible thing we could do.”

Collins concurs: “I’ve never found an important decision made by a great organization that was made at a point of unanimity. Significant decisions carry risks and inevitably some will oppose it. In these settings, the greatest legislative leader must be artful in handling uncomfortable decisions, and this requires rigor.”

Thanks guys, I’ll think about that. Rigorously.

Andy Stanley and Jim Collins are interviewed in the Spring issue of Leadership, which will be published in April.

Posted by Eric Reed at March 27, 2006 | Comments (34) | TrackBack

March 24, 2006

Your Own Personal Jesus: Is the language of "a personal relationship" biblical?

The song "Personal Jesus" by Depeche Mode describes the faith of many: "Your own personal Jesus. Someone to hear your prayers. Someone who cares." In this post, John Suk, a professor of homiletics at Asian Theological Seminary in Manila, The Philippines, challenges popular evangelical jargon by questioning whether having a “personal relationship with Jesus Christ" is poor theology or, worse, a capitulation to theraputic secular values? Below is an excerpt. You may read Suk’s full article at Perspectives Journal's website.

Evangelicals generally insist that “the meaning and purpose of life is to have a personal relationship with Jesus.” That’s how a Methodist pastor I was listening to a few months ago put it. Philip Yancey says it another way in his Reaching for the Invisible God (Zondervan, 2000): “getting to know God is a lot like getting to know a person. You spend time together, whether happy or sad. You laugh together. You weep together. You fight and argue, then reconcile.”

But we also confess that Jesus is not physically present on earth. So how does one have a personal relationship with someone you can’t talk to, share a glass of wine with, or even email? We need to do some fundamental reflection on the whole notion of having a “personal relationship” with Jesus Christ. While, on the one hand, I respect the longing for intimacy with God that these words reflect, they also concern me because they betray a creeping sort of secularization of our language about God.

The phrase “a personal relationship with Jesus,” is not found in the Bible. Thus, there is no sustained systematic theological reflection on what the phrase means. In fact, people experience the personal presence of God – in a wide variety of idiosyncratic and highly personal ways. Publicly, however, when people say they have "a personal relationship" with Jesus, it sounds like they are saying they have a relationship characterized by face-time, by talk-time, by touching, by all the things – and especially the intimacy – we usually associate with having a personal relationship with another human being.

As a result, using the language of personal relationship is bound to lead to all sorts of confusion. As a pastor I met more than a few people who experienced doubt, or perhaps anger, because they didn’t experience Jesus the way their Christian friends claimed to.

The language of personal relationship with God has become popular due to the pervasive influence of the language of secularity. So Marsha Witten cogently argues in her book, All is Forgiven: The Secular Message in American Protestantism (Princeton, 1993), a close textual analysis of fifty-eight sermons on the parable of the prodigal son as found in Luke 15:11-32. Twenty-seven of the sermons were preached in mainline Presbyterian churches, and the rest to conservative Southern Baptists. In both traditions, Witten discovers, preachers respond to secularity by accommodating their language to it. Biblical language that emphasizes God’s transcendence is replaced by language that emphasizes God’s immanence. Jesus is not in heaven, at the right hand of God; he lives in our hearts. God is primarily seen as a “daddy,” as sufferer on our behalf, and as extravagant lover. In these sermons the traditional language for God is accommodated to the human desire for connection and intimacy.

Furthermore, these sermons lack much sense that Christianity has anything to say beyond one’s personal relationship to God. In both conservative and liberal denominations, the language of conversion has been replaced by the language of personal relationship. The language of personal relationship fits with secularity; the traditional language of conversion, of trading faiths through a dying to self, does not.

One cannot fail by recall David Wells’ warning:

They labor under the illusion that the God they make in the image of the self becomes more real as he more nearly comes to resemble the self, to accommodate its needs and desires. The truth is quite the opposite. It is ridiculous to assert that God could become more real by abandoning his own character in an effort to identify more completely with ours. And yet the illusion has proved compelling to a whole generation. (God in the Wasteland, Eerdmans, 1994, 100-101.)

Is this possible? Do many Christians have a personal relationship not so much with Jesus, but with something in their heads, with something that they’re comfortable with, a social construction driven by their need to go easy on themselves?

I’ve tried to pastor parents who just gave birth to a child with Down’s syndrome. After a car accident, once, I buried a man’s wife and only child. I’ve seen hundred of rotting bodies in a little church in Nterama, in Rwanda – victims of genocide. I have a foster daughter who gets calls from her real parents in Zimbabwe saying that their whole neighborhood has just been bulldozed by Mugabe’s henchmen. Everyday I go to work, here in Manila, I see malnourished street children begging for coins.

In such a world I think that rather than focusing on “personal relationship,” we need to recover the Psalmist’s language of lament because it fairly represents how we ought to feel about Jesus’ absence until he comes again to make all things new.

Second, we need to revisit Scripture’s assertion that we are “in Christ.” Being in Christ – even if it isn’t a personal relationship – is a wonderful and cosmic reality, the new history begun in Christ. A further consequence of being in Christ, Lewis Smedes argues, is that it makes us “part of a program as broad as the universe,” as opposed to a narrow, pragmatic, and personal program of that type described by Witten.

Rather than saying, “I have a personal relationship with Jesus,” why don’t we say instead, “I have faith in Jesus,” or “I believe in Jesus.” Where the language of personal relationship has a very questionable pedigree, amidst a therapeutic culture, to cut God down to a manageable size, the language of faith is deeply rooted in Scripture. The apostle John put it this way: “This is [God’s] command: to believe in the name of his Son, Jesus Christ, and to love one another as he commanded us” (1 John 3:23).

Posted by UrL at March 24, 2006 | Comments (101) | TrackBack

March 21, 2006

March Madness: What a fan and a foreigner learned from a basketball liturgy

In February last year, my best friend flew down from the Midwest for a delightful, week-long visit. While she was here in the Carolinas, I introduced her to one of my most favorite experiences in the world: a Division I college basketball game. The home team shall remain nameless, except to say that its arena now features a 2005 NCAA Championship banner.

Anyway, I was thrilled to have my friend join me and share my passion for an evening. It was her first major college game, so I made sure I explained as much as I could beforehand about what she could expect from the experience.

I could tell she was a bit overwhelmed when we entered the buzzing arena, but we soon found our seats and settled in for the event. As the horn sounded after warm-ups, the house lights were dimmed to focus attention on the court, and the players readied themselves for the opening tip-off.

For the next two hours, I stood up, sat down, shouted, sang, jumped, raised my hands, swayed, and clapped with 22,000 other devoted fans. I grinned as I participated in rituals and chants that had become so familiar to me over the years. And after the victory, I joined the band, the team, and the rest of the crowd in a devoted rendition of our alma mater, which ends with everyone lustily condemning our bitter rivals (appropriately named the Devils) to eternal punishment.

I was so energized, I barely noticed the chilly night air as we hurried to catch the park-and-ride shuttle. While we stood waiting outside of the arena, I turned and asked my friend, "Well, what'd you think?!"

"I wonder if that's how people who don't go to church feel the first time they visit somewhere," she replied.

My friend, who is also a pastor's wife, went on to explain: she had a great time; she likes basketball, and it was fun to watch the game. She enjoyed experiencing the emotion and enthusiasm of the crowd. Still, she felt like an outsider because she didn't know our "liturgy."

At first, I felt disappointed. I was so excited for her to experience the same thrill that I feel when I enter the building, greet friends on my way to my regular seat, and cheer the celebrities on the court during what is essentially a large-scale worship experience. But my friend's observation begs important questions we probably don't ask ourselves enough as ministry leaders:

-How do "outsiders" view our church if they're not familiar with the tradition, routine, and ritual?

-How do we treat newcomers? Do we look at them as "foreigners" or even "opponents" if they don't dress the right way or know the songs, the cheers, the physical expressions, and the lingo?

-What does a visitor experience at church? It may be an excellent event in every respect, but the experience is still foreign to most people outside the church's walls.

-How do other people view us, the dyed-in-the-wool fans? To me, my cheers are an expression of my passionate devotion. But to the uninitiated, my loyalty can be viewed as fanaticism; to those who root for other teams, it can be construed as outright snobbery. Even when I know my team is better, is that the way I want people to think of me?

My friend's response to the game reminded me that at one time I, too, found my experience of basketball to be foreign. While I had a longstanding relationship with the game, I married into this particular expression of the religion. (And believe me, where I live, basketball is a religion, and it is a powerful influence in a marriage.) The colors were different; the cheers were new to me; the rituals rooted in the familiar, but on the surface strange. However, it didn't take long for me to adopt my new team to cheer as fervently as those who were born into this "faith."

Given time and a generous welcome, newcomers to the true faith, and our expression of it in our local congregation, will take the resident fans and the new locale to heart as fervently as those who have been there all along.

Interestingly, by the end of her visit, my friend had become a true-blue basketball fan. It didn't take her long to dress the part and talk the talk. Still, her experience—from our invocation (The Star-Spangled Banner) to the closing hymn (the school's alma mater)—served as an effective reminder to me: In the sanctuary as in the arena, everyone needs an intentional introduction to the liturgy.

Angie Ward is a ministry leader, pastor's spouse, associate director of the Innovative Church Community, and fan in basketball-crazy Durham, North Carolina.

Posted by UrL at March 21, 2006 | Comments (3) | TrackBack

March 17, 2006

Pimping Jesus: consumerism and the red-light gospel

Jesus' image can now be found on every imaginable commodity from t-shirts to poker chips. But has our material culture made Jesus' invitation to "new life" itself into a consumable product? Jonathan Yarboro, a church planter from Boone, North Carolina, explores the influence of consumerism on our understanding of the gospel and conversion.

I was standing before 200 people at church when I said it: “Salvation is not a walk down the aisle, a prayer, and wham bam, thank you ma’am, you’re done.” Jaws dropped; some faces turned white; some turned red. I was clueless, so I just kept teaching. It turns out that the phrase, “wham bam, thank you ma’am,” meant something different to me than it did to the rest of the world. Afterward some of my listeners enlightened me. I was embarrassed. I didn’t intend to equate one’s conversion experience to some sort of sexual encounter in the red light district.

Over the last few years, I have pondered the statement, and despite the fact that I originally meant nothing so profound, I believe the statement to be true—we are tempted to turn conversion into something of an act of prostitution. We are the consumers, and we might as well say it—we’ve turned Jesus' invitation into a seductive, greasy, trick-turning lifestyle. Doesn’t that make your blood boil?

The Bible, especially the Old Testament (see Hosea), is full of prostitution language. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that I am calling the Jesus of the Bible, the Jesus who ate and drank with sinners, the Jesus who was executed on a Roman cross, and the Jesus who rose on the third day, a whore. There is another Jesus, one we have created, who is a seductive, slick-talking, trick-turning object of our self-pleasure. This is the Jesus that I, along with countless others, assumed I'd met when I was 14 years old. But it was only a wham bam, thank you ma’am gospel.

When you get past the initial response of derogatory disgust, the phrase can shed light on how our consumerist culture has even changed how we think about the gospel. We have changed the life-changing act of introducing people to the real Jesus into an act of prostitution.

We’ve all seen it numerous times. The guy walks into your worship gathering. His life is falling apart. He has no meaningful relationships. He has given his life to foreign substances. He is in touch with nothing good. He comes to your community because he has nowhere else to go. He is looking for something. He begins to reveal the horrible hell he has been living through. He knows his life is going nowhere, and that’s when we speak up.

“Say this prayer and you’ll be saved.” He may continue to live in hell, but at least he won’t die in hell. He can’t believe it’s so simple. He can’t believe it’s so quick. He jumps at the opportunity. He says the prayer/incantation and walks out thinking his life is transformed. Wham bam, thank you ma’am, he’s done. Everyone feels better. He’s finally gotten his big break, and you’ve just brought another one into the Kingdom. Or have you? What if you just sold him a false gospel? What if the reason he couldn’t believe it was so simple and quick was because it’s not? What if you just pimped out Jesus, a false Jesus that you brought out to provide a quick answer?

Prostitutes fulfill a need. It’s a primal need. It’s not something that we’ve made up. They are a solid, sure answer to a real longing. The customer wants sex; the prostitute gives sex. The wham bam, thank you ma’am gospel does the same thing. Someone comes with a real longing: a new life of forgiveness, belonging, purpose, absolution, strength, or sympathy. We pimp out a fake Jesus to meet the need. The problem is that it is the wrong answer.

There is an underlying need for intimacy behind the need for sex, and the need for intimacy can’t be met with a casual, impersonal romp. There has to be something more. Specifically, there has to be relationship and commitment. A prostitute doesn’t want intimacy, she wants you to give her the cash, and get back to your life. The wham bam, thank you ma’am gospel wants the same thing. Make your confession, say your prayer, and maybe pay some dues, then get back to your life.

While we’ve been pimping out the gospel, the real Jesus is weeping because he wants a lifelong relationship that includes joy, forgiveness, brokenness, hardship, and intimacy.

When I was 14, I had a need—I was afraid of spending eternity in hell. So, I paid my dues, I recited the prayer, but I was essentially just paying for a service--a service of self-protection. It wasn't a real relationship. It was the Jesus created by a gospel of consumerism. The real Jesus isn’t so cheap. He will not accept a one-time payment for his services or cater to my consumer needs. He makes real demands, and he wants nothing less than an eternal relationship. The red lights have no more allure now that I’ve found the real Jesus—the Jesus who has called me into his eternal Kingdom.

Posted by UrL at March 17, 2006 | Comments (31) | TrackBack

March 14, 2006

Really Old School: What 1st Century Judaism Says About the Public/Private/Home School Dilemma

Some congregations experience doctrinal divides. Others wage worship wars. But an increasing number are experiencing schooling squalls. Public school, private school, or home school—how should followers of Christ educate their children? And what does the answer reveal about our belief in mission, culture, and the nature of the gospel? Dave Terpstra, pastor of The Next Level Church in Denver and the father of young children, has been wrestling with these questions and looking to an unlikely source for clarity—first century Judaism.

My oldest child is only two and half, but already my wife and I are having conversations about where we will send our kids to school. The more we discuss the issue the more I realize that where followers of Christ send their children to school says more about their perspective on the interaction of Christianity and culture than any other issue I’ve encountered.

Where I live, the Denver metro area, there is a full spectrum of educational options for my family: public, private, charter, homeschool, Protestant, Catholic, etc. There are certainly varying degrees of excellence among the teachers and administrations of these schools; but for the sake of argument, let’s say all things are equal as far as talent is concerned. How is a Christian parent to choose?

I’m not sure our school choices today are all that different than the religious options of 1st century Jews. I’d like to draw some parallels. There were four major sects in 1st century Judaism: the Essenes, the Sadducees, the Zealots, and the Pharisees. Each of these sects interacted with the Roman culture differently. I see a similar pattern in how families interact with the educational options of metropolitan America.

The Essenes lived in communes away from the influence of the Roman occupiers. Their philosophy of cultural interaction was to stay as far away from the surrounding culture as they could. They simply didn’t like what they saw. The parallel I see is with parents who choose to homeschool their children. They have looked at the options, and they have chosen to exclude their families from that aspect of cultural interaction.

The Sadducees seemed similar to the Essenes in that they didn’t try to change the culture. However, they chose to live right in the middle of it. They embraced their Roman occupiers (for the most part) and were rewarded for their loyalty. The parallel for the Christian parent is of those who choose to send their kids off to public school without thinking twice. They don’t interact with teachers, PTA meetings, or even inquire about what’s in the textbooks their kids read. After all, it’s a government approved curriculum.

The Zealots were similar to the Sadducees in that they existed right in the middle of the Roman culture, but unbeknownst to the Romans, they were trying to take down their government from the inside. The parallel I see is to the Christian parents who use their children’s presence in public schools to affect change on the system. While the Zealots of the 1st century used guerrilla tactics, these parents quote scripture at PTA meetings and try to get evolution out of the classroom (or at least intelligent design in).

The Pharisees shared the Zealots disdain for the culture, but not their hostile attitudes. They wanted to separate themselves, but not to the same extreme degree as the Essenes. The Pharisees tried a balancing act and they almost succeeded. They embraced some realities of the Roman culture, but they really were living in a subculture of their own. I see a parallel to parents who send their kids to private Christian schools. There is some separation, but not as much as the home schoolers. There is some embrace of “the system” since their kids still attend the same grades, learn the same subjects, and play the same sports. Yet having attended private Christian schools my whole life, I can attest to its sub-culture nature.

So my problem is this: Jesus was born into a four sect system in the 1st century world. And instead of embracing any of the systems that already existed, he rejected them all. As a parent I am equally discontent with each of my education options, even in an affluent metropolitan area like Denver. So what’s a Christian parent to do?

Posted by UrL at March 14, 2006 | Comments (43) | TrackBack

March 10, 2006

Cutting the Cord: Are Megachurches Birthing the House Church Movement?

In recent months the conversation on Out of Ur has explored why increasing numbers of Christians are opting to pursue Christ apart from a local church. The discussion began with Kevin Miller’s review of George Barna’s new book, Revolution. And, similar themes were addressed by Dave Terpstra in his post on why the spiritually mature leave the church. Church leaders; however, are no longer the only ones interested in this issue. Time Magazine ran a story on March 6 titled “There's No Pulpit Like Home” discussing the changes occurring in American Christianity and the rise of house churches.

Interestingly, the authors suggest it may be the megachurch advocacy of small groups that has fueled the house church trend:

[The megachurch] is made possible by hundreds of smaller "cell groups" that meet off-nights and provide a humanly scaled framework for scriptural exploration, spiritual mentoring and emotional support. Now, however, some experts look at [small groups]--spreading in parts of Colorado, Southern California, Texas and probably elsewhere--and muse, What if the cell groups decided to lose the mother church?

The Time article also explore the ideas of George Barna’s book, Revolution, including Barna’s beliefe that in 20 years “only about one-third of the population” will rely on conventional congregations for the spiritual development. To balance this radical forecast Time spoke with Jeffery Mahan from the Iliff School of Theology who agrees that a significant shift is happening in the American church, although it may not be as dramatic as Barna suggests.

American participation in formal church has risen and fallen throughout history, he notes, and after a prolonged post--World War II upswell, big-building Christianity may be exhaling again in favor of informal arrangements.

The “big-building Christianity” that Mahan refers to was another intriguing aspect of the article. It seems the mega-facilities the modern church has used to attract “seekers” may no longer be a draw for spiritually hungry Americans. The grassroots activism of house churches combined with their minimal institutional overhead may prove enticing to a new generation of socially active Christians.

Golden Gate Seminary's Karr reckons that building and staff consume 75% of a standard church's budget, with little left for good works. House churches can often dedicate up to 90% of their offerings. Karr notes that traditional church is fine "if you like buildings. But I think the reason house churches are becoming more popular is that their resources are going into something more meaningful."

All of this makes me wonder--is the house church movement a reaction against the megachurch, or the logical outcome of the megachurch?

In the end the significance of the Time article may not be found in its content, but in the existence of the article itself. The American evangelical church’s cultural and political influence can no longer be denied, and as a result the secular media is paying attention to church trends that once only intrigued pastors and denominational leaders. This much is certain, whatever direction the church takes in the years ahead (mega or mini) we’ll have plenty of secular scrutinizers documenting our journey.

Posted by Skye Jethani at March 10, 2006 | Comments (33) | TrackBack

March 7, 2006

The Paradox of Emerging Leadership

How do we organize a church without becoming “organized religion”? Dan Kimball, author of The Emerging Church and pastor of Vintage Faith Church in Santa Cruz, California, wrestles with this paradox in the upcoming Spring issue of Leadership. Here is a preview.

Leadership in the emerging church is a paradox. I am someone who fully sees the need and value of mission statements, organizational charts, and a strategic approach to leading. I read everything John Maxwell, Bill Hybels and Jim Collins write, and they really do fuel my heart and passion for leadership. The irony however, is that most growing up in our emerging culture are fairly critical of anything that looks like “organized religion.” So when it comes to developing a leadership culture, there is great suspicion of anything that seems to be “business” oriented or too structured, since that feels like a reinforcement of the exact thing they are critical of.

Where previous generations were more understanding and even related to more of a highly structured leadership culture in a church – many in the emerging church are drawn to more of a loose, lesser emphasis on strategic goals and a non-hierarchical approach to leadership. Much like what is emphasized in the writings of Henri Nouwen.

I’ve read Nouwen’s book, In the Name of Jesus: Reflections on Christian Leadership a dozen times. Reading that book convicts you to the inner core about motives and the heart of leadership. However, Henri’s leadership writings were directly about his experience in shepherding and loving a relatively few people. Leading a church that is growing, launching new worship gatherings, and building multi-level leadership teams needs Henri Nouwen, but also needs John Maxwell.

So I wrestle with this paradox. I find that in our church we live in the tension and try to do both. I dive into my John Maxwell books and focus on building leaders and setting up the organization of developing various leadership structures needed for a healthy Ephesians 4:11-12 equipping type of a church. After a while, I need to run back to Henri for a season. To some degree, these two paradigms seem polarized – but I think it is possible to still be “organized” without becoming “Organized religion”. In the end, it is the Spirit of God who does things through us anyway – but it is definitely a paradox we live in today with new thoughts and values of what is looked for in emerging church leadership.

Posted by UrL at March 7, 2006 | Comments (14) | TrackBack