Trevor Noah, comedian and host of The Daily Show, was featured on 60 Minutes last week. I’ve been thinking about one sentence he said. “Everyone is trying to belong.”
The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill is captivating the Christian podcast world. It chronicles the ministry of Pastor Mark Driscoll and Mars Hill Church in Seattle. Mars Hill’s explosive growth sparked one of the largest church planting movements in American history. Driscoll was a voice for a new generation of church leaders at the turn of the millennium.
The podcast uncovers all the issues under the energy of the movement. Money, celebrity, scandal, and power. Driscoll’s stated goal was a church of 50,000 people and a media platform reaching millions. He was (and is) a brash, controversial personality. In 2014 he left the church under a myriad of accusations from abusive behavior to plagiarism. Mars Hill dissolved shortly after.
The church is not immunized against the lust for celebrity. We prize the platform. “Build a brand. Get noticed. Reach the masses.” We all want to be admired, to be liked, to be someone.
My counselor is “retired.” He is the former director of his counseling agency, but maintains a part time caseload of clients. Last week he told me, “I have never been busier in my whole career. And I’m retired!”
He shared how unique this present moment is. “No one alive has been through this before. In my career I witnessed Vietnam, the Civil Rights movement, 9/11, and the 2008 economic crash. But this is different. I’ve never seen as much anxiety in nearly 50 years of work.”
“How are you?” she asked. He usually says, “Good.” But today, his eyes were dark, almost bruised underneath. His hair was a mess.
“How are you?” she repeated. His only response was a five second sigh.
Inexpressible exasperation. You feel like you’re carrying a backpack full of rocks and you’re not allowed to put it down. Pandemic anxiety. Masks and vaccines. Political toxicity. 9/11 remembrance. Afghan tragedy. Hurricane devastation. Future uncertainty. Families fractured . . .
It is a moment in history when only a sigh will work. There are no words. At times like these, I’d like to make a case for revival. I know. You’re thinking of a big tent revival with a fired up charismatic preacher shouting and sweating behind a podium. But “revive” is a biblical word. It means to “restore to life” or “to give new strength or energy.” I want to show you this word in the Bible and how you can use it in your life.
I know. You’re tired and stressed. We’re in the middle of a long, multifaceted crisis. It’s not just COVID and health. It is a crisis of convergence – medical, societal, racial, economic, and political. Any one of these would be a burden to carry. All together, they feel like an elephant on your shoulders. Here are seven pieces of godly wisdom for living faithfully under stress. (Some of these arose from a Zoom call with Rick Warren. A story for another day . . .)
On Wednesday, January 6th, 2021, I saw a flag charging the Capital steps. It had two names on it. The name of our Savior and the name of our president. I was angry. Not for political reasons, but for theological reasons. Why?
A pandemic. A monumental election. Wildfires and hurricanes. Cries for justice. Economic disaster. Societal confusion. Is this THE END? Is this the Apocalypse?
This is an email sent to my congregation in St. Louis, MO. It is an attempt to provide pastoral guidance and perspective to our congregation when so many people are frustrated, angry, and confused. With my colleagues, Pastor Bobby Walston and Pastor Paul Dickerson, we desire for our people to follow Christ faithfully in days of uncertainty.
In a contentious election week, your pastors desire to share a response to some common statements we hear. Our heart is for you. Our desire is for you to walk faithfully in Christ, without fear or despair. Our role is not to advocate for a political system. We are pastors. Our calling is higher, to guide you in the ways of God that you might walk faithfully in service to him.
When I visit family in Minnesota, I notice that my "o's" lengthen on words like "boat" and "snow." The accent returns. After a while, we start to sound like the people around us.
Last night I walked my neighborhood during the presidential debate. In nearly every window I saw the glow of a TV tuned to Trump and Biden. I caught the end of the debate. It was a tone and language that I warn my children against.
Language has the power to shape and form us. We are influenced by the voices around us, picking up their "accent." Our own language is often normed by what we hear. As a pastor in this cultural moment, I have a simple desire for my congregation.
I want us to listen to Jesus more than Fox News or CNN. More to Jesus than to Facebook, Instagram, or TicToc.
I want us to be more attuned to Christ than to a candidate.
I want us to echo the talking points of the Sermon on the Mount more than a Democrat or Republican platform.
My congregation will be hanging around Jesus in Matthew 5-7 in the coming weeks. I want us to absorb his language in the Sermon on the Mount as we go through an election season. I want us to be steeped in his distinctive accent. I want us to see how radically different his kingdom is.
In this sermon, Jesus says things that no one else is saying. In a world obsessed with power, position, and popularity, Jesus' stump speech sounds foreign. For instance, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" (Matt. 5:3). The "poor in spirit" stand in contrast to the world's "winners," "victors," and "influencers." The values and virtues of the Kingdom of God contrast the trinket kingdoms of the world.
Poverty of spirit over power.
Dependence over control.
The humble over the proud.
The meek over the loud.
I want us to be formed more by the Kingdom of God than by the ways of the world. For the next month, I invite you to join me in digesting Kingdom language:
Pick up the accent of your King. Then people might even ask where you're from.
After the death of George Floyd, there were an abundance of statements on racism and justice. For better or worse, I was hesitant to add to the list of "statements." Instead, I invested time in one-on-one conversations. Scores of them. Two of those conversations were with the brothers pictured above, Pastors Gerard Bolling and John Schmidtke.
In those conversations, I learned something: my assumptions were off. Assumptions about what people thought about racism. Assumptions about what they expected from the church. It prompted me to make a clear statement to our congregation. In retrospect, I should have done it sooner. But this is a long road and demands more than a single statement. Here’s a letter I sent to my church a this week. It's start.