I’m disgusted by how grossly mistreated Beth Moore has been on social media lately. If I feel that way from my distant and privileged position, I can’t imagine how she feels. Here is a woman who has had a greater impact on conservative churches than almost any Bible teacher, and she’s being treated like garbage.
Here’s what happened most recently. Owen Strachan wrote a blog post to promote his new book, and in that post he authoritatively presents one view on what the Scriptures say about women teaching in the church. He presents a narrow subset of the Complementarian view and then accuses anyone who differs even slightly (e.g., most Complementarians) of being unbiblical and choosing the “word of men” over the “word of God.” I’m not exaggerating. He is, of course, entitled to his view (and entitled to get attention for his forthcoming book). Many share his view. But he uses phrases like, “it cannot be otherwise” in reference to passages that have historically been hotly debated. And in the process, he calls out Beth Moore for accepting an invitation from a Complementarian church to preach a Mother’s Day sermon. In so doing, started a firestorm in which his followers began attacking, condescending to, belittling, and slandering Beth Moore. It’s so fre*king ugly. (And it’s far from the worst stuff you’ll see people writing about Moore online.)
Beth responded pretty forcefully to Strachan’s “polite” article and terse Twitter post. She said:
“Owen, I am going to say this with as much respect and as much self restraint as I can possibly muster. I would be terrified to be a woman you’d approve of. And I would have wasted 40 years of my life encouraging women to come to know and love Jesus through the study of Scripture.”
In response, biblical language was used to attack and demean. Bible verses were quoted as weapons. Few seemed to care who Beth really is or about her track record of faithfully teaching the Bible and doing her best to play by the conservative rules. She eventually went further in a Twitter thread:
“I want to stoke the fire I’m in the middle of right now about as much as I want to amputate my toes without anesthesia. I’d much prefer to change the subject and move on and ignore the fury. I also want my family to have relief. But after intense prayer, I need to say a few things.
“The first one is that I have a very active daily practice of repentance. I never have nothing to repent of. You need not worry if I am aware of my own sin, flaws and weaknesses. I am. You can know I am hashing out things on my face on the floor before God every day.
“That said, I am compelled to my bones by the Holy Spirit—I don’t want to be but I am—to draw attention to the sexism and misogyny that is rampant in segments of the SBC, cloaked by piety and bearing the stench of hypocrisy. There are countless godly conservative Complementarians. So many. There are countless conservative Complementarians I very much respect and deeply love, even though I may not fully understand their interpretations of certain Scriptures as the end of the matter. I love the Scriptures. I love Jesus. I do not ignore 1 Timothy or 1 Corinthians.
“What I plead for is to grapple with the entire text from Matthew 1 through Revelation 22 on every matter concerning women. To grapple with Paul’s words in 1 Timothy / 1 Corinthians 14 as being authoritative, God-breathed!, alongside other words Paul wrote, equally inspired, and make sense of the many women he served alongside.
“Above all else, we must search the attitudes and practices of Christ Jesus himself toward women. HE is our Lord. He had women followers! Evangelists! The point of all sanctification and obedience is toward being comformed to HIS image. I do not see one glimpse of Christ in this sexism.
“I had the eye opening experience of my life in 2016. A fog cleared for me that was the most disturbing, terrifying thing I’d ever seen. All these years I’d given the benefit of the doubt that these men were the way they were because they were trying to be obedient to Scripture. Then I realized it was not over Scripture at all. It was over sin. It was over power. It was over misogyny. Sexism. It was about arrogance. About protecting systems. It involved covering abuses and misuses of power. Shepherds guarding other shepherds instead of guarding the sheep. Here is what you don’t understand. I have loved the SBC and served it with everything I have had since I was 12 years old helping with vacation Bible school. Alongside ANY other denomination, I will serve it to my death if it will have me. And this is how I am serving it right now.”
“It’s not wrong to be a Complementarian. But it’s wrong to treat human beings like garbage. Your theological certainty does not give you a pass on the command to love.”
Amen, Beth! Look, it’s not wrong to be a Complementarian. But it’s wrong to treat human beings like garbage. It’s wrong to think that your theological certainty gives you a pass on the command to love (which, by the way, Jesus said was the greatest!). You can work your hardest to tell everyone that Paul wants every church to function exactly like yours, but you don’t get to go around attacking everyone who disagrees as though they don’t love the Lord, as though they don’t have a brain, as though anyone who is not you is an idiot. (To be clear, I think there are overtones of this in Strachan’s initial statements, and I think his Twitter followers made these overtones explicit.)
Exactly a year ago, Beth Moore reluctantly wrote a blog post about things she had previous said she’d share only on her deathbed for fear of the backlash. But she wanted us to see “what it’s been like to be a female leader in the conservative Evangelical world.” You should honestly read the whole blog post yourself, then follow Beth on Twitter (her feed is fire). But here are a few excerpts that stood out to me:
“As a woman leader in the conservative Evangelical world, I learned early to show constant pronounced deference—not just proper respect which I was glad to show—to male leaders and, when placed in situations to serve alongside them, to do so apologetically. I issued disclaimers ad nauseam…”
“Several years ago when I got publicly maligned for being a false teacher by a segment of hyper-fundamentalists based on snippets taken out of context and tied together, I inquired whether or not they’d researched any of my Bible studies to reach those conclusions over my doctrine, especially the studies in recent years. The answer was no. Why? They refused to study what a woman had taught.”
“About a year ago I had an opportunity to meet a theologian I’d long respected. I’d read virtually every book he’d written. I’d looked so forward to getting to share a meal with him and talk theology. The instant I met him, he looked me up and down, smiled approvingly and said, ‘You are better looking than _.’ He didn’t leave it blank. He filled it in with the name of another woman Bible teacher.”
“I’m sorry for the times when I’ve been mean and exclusionary in the name of being biblical. Jesus isn’t like that, so I know I’m not biblical when I do this.”
None of this is okay. We can’t let our faithful sister be treated like this. Complementarians like Strachan and his followers should be fighting to uproot this misogyny, not acting all grieved because a mother’s voice would be heard on Mother’s Day. It’s not “conservative theology.” It’s not “being biblical.” It’s sin and it’s hate and it’s disgusting.
Being a pastor in a denominational church has great benefits. It also offers unique opportunities for jackassery. My favorite thing about our denomination right now is pastoral cohorts that Ryan and I are a part of. A few times each year we’ve been flying across the country to join other pastors in our denomination for training, encouragement, and support. These times have been rich and ministry-shaping.
But it struck me on one of our trips that in order to meet with these pastors, we were driving past hundreds of churches in our immediate area, then flying over thousands upon thousands more. We have a connection with a handful of pastors across the country through our denomination. And that’s great.
But I wonder: Does it make sense that we partner with churches who share a doctrinal statement rather than churches that share a mission field?
“Does it make sense that we partner with churches who share a doctrinal statement rather than churches that share a mission field?”
I’m not talking about smoothing over real differences or pretending like theology doesn’t matter. The mission of the church I’m part of will be very different than the mission of a church that worships Zeus, for example. Differences make partnership difficult. And partnership can only happen if each party avoids selling out what they’re passionately committed to.
But associating only with churches in my denomination, I’m skipping over several churches whose doctrinal statements are virtually identical to mine. To the unchurched, our churches would be indistinguishable except perhaps for the size of the congregation.
I don’t have a great answer for this, but I’d love to see churches join together around a common mission and “mission field” to AT LEAST the same degree we partner with denominations, associations, and coalitions.
I actually feel blessed in this area right now. I meet monthly with a few of my counterparts in nearby churches. Ryan does the same. We share ideas, problems, and resources. We pray for each other. Our churches aren’t doing a ton of events together, but it’s clear we’re on the same team, clear that we’re rooting for each other.
To be clear, I’m NOT saying that denominations or associations are bad. I find real benefit in ours. I’m NOT saying that individual churches shouldn’t be distinct. Each church must pursue its unique calling. I’m also NOT arguing against valuing doctrinal agreement. I wish we had more. And here’s the big one: I’m NOT saying I have any of this figured out.
What I AM saying is that prioritizing an association over a mission is dangerous. At best, it misses the point. At worst, it compromises the purpose of the Church’s existence. Choosing to work with people who formulate their theology exactly as we do rather than with people who are actively loving the same people we are seems wrong. It seems like a jackass move.
“Prioritizing an association over a mission is dangerous. At best, it misses the point. At worst, it compromises the purpose of the Church’s existence.”
It’s easy to get along with people who think like you do. It’s easy to be “unified” when your only contact is gathering to talk about the things you already agree on. It’s not bad, but it’s not full-fledged unity. It’s not an all-out pursuit of the mission. At least, not if that’s all it is.
It’s often harder to love someone living in your town than someone across the country. But which matters more? Should I feel accomplished because I’m able to love the pastor in Texas who believes what I believe, teaches the way I teach, and reads all the same books I read? That’s easy. How much better to love the pastor down the street who has different emphases, different style, but is trying to bless the same neighborhood I’m trying to bless? (When I type it out, it all seems so obvious. Should I be embarrassed to be writing this like it’s some kind of realization? Has it been obvious to everyone but me this entire time?)
It’s not the associations that makes us jackasses. It’s the tendency to hide in echo chambers rather than partnering with the people who are around us. I’m not going to stop learning from and encouraging people from around the world. But I want to keep doing the same with people around the block.
In 431 AD, the leaders of the Western Church gathered to discuss the validity of a single Greek word: theotikos, “mother of God.” The phrase was in use by many church leaders to refer to Mary. It was meant as an affirmation of Jesus’ deity. A bishop named Nestorius, however, resisted the phrase. Nestorius’ concern was that calling Mary the “mother of God” was categorically confusing (how can a human give birth to deity?) and underplayed the humanity of Jesus. He was more comfortable calling Mary the “mother of Jesus,” which he felt upheld the dual natures of Christ as both human and divine.
Before you click away—and trust me, I get it if you want to—give me a couple more paragraphs. The boredom of this debate is where the jackassery sneaks in.
Enter Cyril and a whole lot of drama. He and other bishops were furious over Nestorius’ dissent on this issue, so they convened the Council of Ephesus to give an official Church ruling.
Let’s put this in perspective. Here are our spiritual ancestors meeting to discuss something important: Jesus. But they’re not trying to worship Jesus, nor are they working to draw closer to him, imitate him, or introduce others to him. No, they are gathering the heavy hitters so they can decide whether or not Nestorius should be allowed to call Mary “the mother of Jesus” instead of “the mother of God.”
It’s the perfect recipe for jackassery.
Before Nestorius’ supporters could arrive at the Council of Ephesus, his opponent Cyril rushed a vote on the theotikos question and had Nestorius excommunicated from the Church and exiled from the empire.
You know, because he wanted to make sure we saw Jesus as both human and divine.
Never mind that a statement uncannily similar to Nestorius’ view was agreed upon at the next Church Council (Chalcedon). There were Church politics to attend to and “truth” to be upheld.
“The Church once split over the Greek word theotikos and later over the Latin filioque. What are our modern debates where we’re splitting hairs and also splitting the Church?”
(Don’t worry too much about old Nestorius. In his exile, he left the Western Empire and started churches and mission training centers in India and China. The movement Nestorius founded bore incredible fruit, and Nestorianism continues to have an impact in Asia.)
If this chapter of Church history sounds petty, consider that it’s not all that unique. The Western Catholic Church and Eastern Orthodox Church split from each other (via mutual excommunication) in 1054 AD when they could not agree on whether the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father only (the Eastern Church’s view) or from the Father and the Son (the Western Church’s addition to the established creed). Once again the debate was over a single Latin word: filioque (“and from the Son”).
To be clear, the Church has had many faithful reformers who have stood up for key doctrinal matters (one thinks of Martin Luther and Martin Luther King Jr. as examples). We in no way want to imply that doctrine is trivial or that there is never a time to stand firm on the plain teaching of Scripture. But we are saying that when it comes to extra-biblical terms like theotikos and filioque, there may be room for gracious disagreement.
And to take it one step further: even when we disagree over what the Bible actually says, we have to always choose to posture ourselves like Jesus. If our theological disagreements make us less like Jesus, then we’re flat out wrong, regardless of how “right” our doctrinal assertions may be.
“If our theological disagreements make us less like Jesus, then we’re flat out wrong, regardless of how right our doctrinal assertions may be.”
What are our modern theotikos and filioque debates? The ones that basically come down to hair splitting but that we’re still willing to divide over? I’ve seen the Bible Project condemned (“I can no longer recommend these videos”) by a credible source because these short animated videos didn’t feature the right atonement model. I’ve seen Francis Chan farewelled (the Protestant version of excommunication) because he wasn’t willing to condemn specific people (“I now feel an obligation to warn people about Francis’ teaching”).
What else? Do you believe in miraculous healing or not? Do you preach out of one passage per week or jump around? Do you baptize babies or only adults (and do you put those adults through a ten-week class/exam or dunk them on the spot)? Is the book of Revelation history written in advance or is it using symbolic language? How normative is the book of Acts?
Be careful who you associate with. Stay away from those people—and teachers in particular—who are spreading dangerous doctrine. It would be great if everyone stuck to biblical truth, but that’s not the case, so we have to be ready to break company with those who are outside the bounds of orthodoxy.
It’s clearly good advice—it’s biblical after all—and we all believe it.
But Jesus didn’t.
In his day, Jesus was accused of being morally loose. Why? Because he hung out with people who were morally loose (Matt. 11:19). He “associated with” them. Jesus was pretty strong against the Pharisees for being false teachers, but he didn’t shun them. We see Jesus eating in their homes (Luke 14) and meeting with them for theological discussion (John 3).
“Jesus didn’t divide the way we do. He wasn’t afraid of who he was seen with or who others would assume he was partnering with. Yet this drives much of Evangelicalism.”
Bottom line: Jesus didn’t do the kind of dividing we tend to feel is our biblical obligation. He said strong things to people, but he wasn’t afraid of who he was seen with or who other people would assume he was forging partnerships and sharing a lifestyle with. Yet this drives much of Evangelicalism.
I’ve seen Romans 16:17 flying around recently as a warning against associating with people who teach false doctrine:
I appeal to you, brothers, to watch out for those who cause divisions and create obstacles contrary to the doctrine that you have been taught; avoid them. For such persons do not serve our Lord Christ, but their own appetites, and by smooth talk and flattery they deceive the hearts of the naive. For your obedience is known to all, so that I rejoice over you, but I want you to be wise as to what is good and innocent as to what is evil.
Pretty straightforward, right? But read it again. It doesn’t at all say what I’ve always assumed it says. Paul isn’t telling us to divide from people who disagree with us theologically. What does he say? He tells us to avoid people who cause divisions and create obstacles! I don’t see how to take this other than as a warning against the very people who are constantly warning usabout people who teach different doctrine. Am I missing something? Or is that just what it says?
Some of the watchdog theologians I have read seem to be experts in identifying dangerous doctrine or doctrine that may not seem terrible in itself but that leads down a dangerous path. I wonder what this means in connection to Paul’s statement to “be wise as to what is good and innocent as to what is evil.” Is this just Paul’s way of saying focus on the positive?
The truth is, I have been this watchdog theologian. If you had mentioned Rick Warren in my presence several years ago, I would have given you several reasons why his ministry was deficient. Dangerous even. Guess how many of Rick Warren’s sermons I had heard or how many of his books I had read? Zero. I literally knew nothing about him firsthand, but I was in this watchdog culture that taught me that he was dangerous.
So I barked along.
I’ve been devastated when friends turned charismatic. I no longer considered them ministry partners. I’ve prayed for friends who identified themselves as—dare I say it?—Arminian.
I followed many in my watchdog crowd in taking shots at the “Emerging Church”—even years after it stopped existing in recognizable form. I can’t tell you how many books I’ve read just because I knew I would disagree with themand wanted to be able to warn people about the dangers therein.
I am the watchdog theologian. I still have this knee-jerk impulse to bark at certain groups.
“In my former life, warnings against false teaching were infinitely more important than calls to unity. But I completely missed how much the New Testament emphasizes unity.”
But I’m beginning to see that some of the passages I’ve used to justify this approach don’t say what I thought they said. I’m beginning to see that unity is a FAR bigger deal in the New Testament than I ever would have imagined. In my former life, the warnings against false teaching were infinitely more important than admonitions to be unified. I’d make statements like, “There can’t be any unity without the truth.” I was being a jackass.
I don’t know how it all works. I’m still learning, processing, and discussing. But I know unity is worth working toward. And for the first time in my life I’m trying to take seriously Paul’s warning to avoid those who cause divisions.
Here’s a perfect way to get everyone hot and bothered: talk
about politics on a religion website. But we’re talking about the things that
make us act like jackasses, so we can’t skip politics.
The Political Jackass is not the person who votes for a
specific candidate. Nor is it the person who cares deeply about politics. It’s
the person who is rigid in their adherence to some political view, party, or
official. Is this you? I’ll confess that it’s been me.
The problem with the Political Jackass is rigidity. When
something is overly rigid, it will not bend. When pressure is applied, it can’t
bend, so instead it cracks. This is exactly what has happened in our political
landscape, and that includes within the Church.
“Many people in our churches are discipled
more by Fox News or CNN than by Jesus. And that’s a major
Right now, we are politically polarized. Mention Donald
Trump at a dinner party and the only guarantee is that you won’t hear an
apathetic response. Identify yourself as a Republican or a Democrat and the
people around you won’t be indifferent. Ryan and I have become convinced that
many people in our churches are discipled more by Fox News or CNN than by
Jesus. And that’s a major problem.
You might think that rigidity lies at the heart of
Christianity. But you’d be wrong. Sure, there are concrete truths and
unchanging realities. But over the last 2,000 years, Christianity has thrived
in a shocking variety of settings, cultures, continents, political regimes, and
time periods. Christianity thrived while ancient Rome tried to stamp it out. It
adapted when it was legalized under Constantine (and later became the official religion).
When the “barbarians” destroyed Rome, Christianity was flexible
enough to transform the new rulers. Christianity was at home in Charlemagne’s
empire even while it flourished in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East. It has
found a way to make people feel at home in fundamentalist churches, modern
megachurches, pentecostal churches, and tiny house church gatherings.
As much as we think of Christianity as unyielding and rigid,
the gospel has always found a way to grow in many different types of soils.
“As much as we think of Christianity as
unyielding and rigid, the gospel has always found a way to grow in many
different types of soils.”
Over the millennia, Christianity has shown remarkable
flexibility. The current trend of divisive rigidity on the part of
conservatives, progressives, and liberals in the Church is causing us to crack.
And it’s making us less like Jesus.
Since the drama of the 2016 campaign and election, we have
all been especially tuned in to the increasing polarization in America and the
negative effects of our extremely partisan news outlets. The whole thing feels
like a reality TV show, which shouldn’t be surprising since we have a reality
TV star for a president and receive much of our news from TV shows.
While Jesus walked the earth, there was political
polarization as well. There were Pharisees who believed that salvation would
come in response to their radical obedience to the Law. There were Sadducees
who found their salvation in a political alliance with their Roman overlords.
They were given status and control over the temple in exchange for complying
with Roman politics. There were even Zealots who believed that salvation would
come through a revolutionary Messiah who would violently defeat the pagans who
held them in exile.
It shouldn’t surprise us that Jesus didn’t align with any of
these camps. In other words, every political affiliation was wrong. Jesus
wasn’t at home in any of them. Not one had it right. Should it surprise us that
the same is true now? Could we possibly imagine that Jesus would register to
vote as a member of any political party?
Affiliate with any party you want. Vote for whomever you
want. But don’t assume that Jesus is on your side and against anyone else’s.
He’s for us—all of us. He wants our hearts, not our sound bites or talking
points. The path forward is not found on a news show, let’s stop acting like it
In Miguel De Cervantes’
classic novel Don Quixote, the
eponymous hero is a knight on a quest. He is brave, chivalrous, and relentless.
You won’t find a more committed knight in any of the classical literature. But
there’s one problem: the entirety of his knightly career is misguided.
Whenever he engages
in brave combat, he is always confused and always mistaken. In one famous
episode he charges ahead to attack a windmill with his lance, believing the
windmill to be a giant terrorizing the countryside. It doesn’t end well, but Don
Quixote doesn’t learn anything from the encounter. He manages to miss the fact
that they were never giants; he was fighting against windmills the entire time.
classic novel, he attacks the innocent and wins meaningless prizes. He is
sincere in his passion and utterly fearless. But it all means nothing, because
he is misguided from the moment he steps out the door. Don Quixote’s life is
tragic—not because he was a hero who fell tragically in the end, but because
his every brave endeavor was tragically foolish from beginning to end. The
story is humorous, but if Don Quixote were a real person, we wouldn’t be
Hard as it is to
say, I believe Don Quixote is a good
parable for much of the modern Church. It’s a caution for all believers
throughout history (from Israel to the Modern Church). God’s people have a
propensity to drift from the main thing (relationship with God and others) to
empty things. This is why the prophets spoke tirelessly against Israel’s
wanderings and Paul wrote letters to correct drifting churches.
One of the effects
of the Fall is that our human hearts have to fight hard for the things that
matter. It doesn’t come naturally. But another effect of the Fall is that we
end up fighting for the wrong things. And fighting in the wrong ways.
Brokenness prevails, even in hearts that have been redeemed.
I’d love to leave
it at that, but I have to go a step further. I am Don Quixote. I pursue so many things with a righteous zeal,
but many of those things turn out to be weird, insignificant, or harmful. I can
never tell in the moment. (Honestly, I can’t say for sure if
jackasstheology.com is just a place for me to be a jackass. I’m not even
confident that’s not true for this post I’m writing right now.)
I wish I weren’t
Don Quixote, but I know I am. And I’m positive I’m not alone. How many of the
areas in which we Christians have scolded, reprimanded, and diminished people
could be considered “close to the heart of Jesus”? Be careful how quickly you
“Don Quixote was fully sincere in his quest. Nothing had mattered more in his life than defeating those giants. But the giants were just windmills. Is it possible some of the battles we are fighting are just as misguided?”
As Ryan and I have
started Jackass Theology, it’s honestly been difficult for us to look at our
own tendencies and the emphases of the American Church and not see much of it
as misguided. Maybe we haven’t gone full Don Quixote, but it seems clear that
we’ve been charging more than a few windmills.
being propagated and protected is not Jesus himself, but a subculture produced
by followers of Jesus. Not Jesus, but a derivative of Jesus, with all of its
own battles and preoccupations. This is nothing new, but the Pharisees are a
reminder that derivatives can be dangerous!
The problem, of
course, is that Don Quixote was fully sincere in his quest. Those windmills
were real giants to him. Nothing had ever mattered more in Don Quixote’s life
to that point than courageously battling that particular giant. The error lies
not in his sincerity or passion, but in the misguided nature of his pursuits.
generations of Jesus followers look back at our preoccupations and wonder how
we could have gotten so concerned over these things?
might Jesus disagree with the things we spend our passions on? Having
encountered Jesus in the four Gospels, does it seem like he’d be uptight and
restrictive about the same things we are, fighting all of the same battles we
devote ourselves to?
And really, should
we be devoting ourselves to any battles? Or should we just be pursuing Jesus
and the people he has placed in our lives to love?
can be compelling. You listen to people long enough and you realize that nearly
every conversation is a form of storytelling. Some are like, “Dude, the
other day I was moving my grandmother into her house and we dropped the dresser
down the stairs! That sucked!” Protagonist, antagonist, conflict, and resolution.
are more subtle in their plot line. “Did you hear what so-and-so said
about such-and-such? Can you believe that?” It isn’t some super long
narrative, but it is a narrative, told by a narrator.
get to decide who the heroes and villains of each story are. When your friend
tells you “so-and-so said such-and-such,” the intonation of their
voice, the purse of the lips, and the roll of their eye tells you what you
should think about the story. They are immediately, even if unintentionally,
offering you a hero or a villain.
counseling brings out the 9-year-old in everyone. This is why marriage
counselors like to meet with both partners. When it comes to conflict in a
relationship, each person truly believes the other is to blame. If you only get
one side of the story, you will often be wooed into perceiving the other spouse
to be the villain. Even the worst and most obvious of offenses (e.g., marital infidelity)
can be understandable depending on who controls the narrative.
know who else does this? 9-year-old boys. I know because I have two. They
tattle and twist, shift blame, and point fingers until they are blue in the
face. Every time they are offended or hurt or frustrated it is at the hand of
the other. They are constantly jockeying to get my wife and I to demonstrate
that we do in fact love one of them more than the other.
the Church, we have our heroes and we have our villains too. I read a critical
article from the Gospel Coalition Australia on “the dangers of the Bethel
Church,” which outlined the pitfalls of their global healing movement. The
author says “Jesus Culture, Bethel Music, and Awakening Australia”
are “gateway drugs” to Bethel’s weak theology and cultish revivalism.
As much as I love the Gospel Coalition (and I really do), the voice in this
particular article sounds awfully similar to my pre-pubescent twins. There’s so
much finger pointing and so little charity.
whole “unreliable narrator” phenomenon is actually happening right
now as you read this article. In this story, I am the hero, sent to fight all
the jackassery that turns us against our fellow believers and makes us feel
justified in magnifying other people’s shortcomings like bad caricature
artists. Meanie heads like the Gospel Coalition are the villains in this
chapter because they oppose the unity Jesus prayed for in John 17. Of course,
there’s always another way to tell the story.
narrators are unreliable, who can we trust? What is true? Who are the real
HEROES and VILLAINS?
this is the wrong question, derived from the wrong job description. Our primary
mandate is LOVE: love of God, love among believers, even love of one’s enemy.
spent a long time going over this.
narrators are unreliable, who will help us discern these things? Who CAN we
trust? Fortunately, loving human beings doesn’t depend on accurate story telling.
Justice does, but love does not. Justice must get to the bottom of who did what
to whom. Insurance companies need to calculate percentage of culpability, but
love doesn’t need that. In fact, love can be given, and is best received, when it
isn’t deserved in the slightest (insert the often told but never old story of
“The Prodigal Son” in Luke 15).
the Bible tells any story, humans have a single job: Love. Love God. Love
others. God has a more complicated role. He must love. He must judge. But he is
far more qualified, and is way better at seeing through our BS.
the biblical story, human beings often play the role of the villain (with some
help from the adversary). God is the hero.
“We are all unreliable narrators. So how will we determine who is the hero and who is the villain? Fortunately, loving human beings doesn’t depend on accurate story telling. Justice does, but love does not.”
we have our moments when we get to play like heroes. People at Bethel worship
Jesus with passion. It’s contagious. GLOBALLY CONTAGIOUS! In that way, and many
more, they are my heroes. Leaders and pastors at the Gospel Coalition fight for
the clarity of the gospel, and much more. Their passion for Jesus has carried
me through very low seasons in life and ministry. But if I need to choose which
child of God is the favorite, I can’t. I love them both. They are for now
Spirit and Flesh. Which means for now, they are hero and villain. As am I.
Judah Smith recently announced “church in the palm of your
hand” in the form of his new Churchome app. We have the technology to
easily connect everyone, so why not do it?
I thought of a few reasons. When I first saw Smith’s
announcement post, I laughed. Honestly, I thought for it might be satire. How
could this be serious? Smith’s video claimed:
“We’re passionate about connecting people with God and each
other and this is maybe the most effective platform we’ve ever used in doing
so… People can actually build real, tactile relationships all over the
I wondered, “Does he even know what the word ‘tacticle’
means? Or ‘real’?” Right away I saw so many tweets and comments and
articles confirming my instincts to shoot this thing down. It was a misguided
attempt to be relevant and it’s dangerous.
But then I thought about it a little bit. I talked to some of my friends. I talked to Ryan. And with a little reflection I came to a more profound realization: I’m a huge jackass.
The thing is, churches have historically been slow to adopt new
technology. We’re embarrassingly late adopters. But why?
Where would you draw the line with churches utilizing
technology? Is it bad for a church to utilize a website? A podcast? An
Instagram account? Most of us would say no. But each of these things were
slowly and reluctantly picked up by churches.
The same thing happened in the world of education (Christian and
otherwise). A few early adopters starting offering classes online, and everyone
else mocked them: “They don’t care about students or education, they’re
just trying to make a buck.” But then a few more colleges started offering
online classes. And then a few more. Now, almost every college offers online
classes. But they have found a way to offer real value through a
non-traditional platform. Is this the best possible way to do it? Maybe not
(though you could make a legitimate argument for it). Is it valuable? Basically
every college and tons of students think so.
When radio first became popular, a group of pastors were
actually fairly cutting edge in utlizing radio ministries. They saw the
potential to reach millions and had a lasting impact because they decided to
use that technology to carry the gospel.
When Mr. Rogers first saw television, he was appalled at the way people were using it to degrade other human beings. But he saw its potential, so he dedicated his career to investing in human dignity through this new technology. Here’s the remarkable thing: Mr. Rogers went to seminary because he was going to be a Presbyterian minister. But while all of his classmates graduated and went on to preach thousands of sermons, Fred Rogers started a kids television show. There’s absolutely no way that all of his classmates’ sermons combined had anywhere near the impact of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. He didn’t talk about Jesus on the show, but he utilized technology in a way that embodied Jesus’ mission and message, and he impacted millions of lives. (I can’t watch “Won’t You Be My Neighbor” without balling all the way through—something I have done several times already).
All that to say, I was a jackass for mocking Judah Smith. For
one thing, I made huge assumptions. I mocked his use of “real” and
“tactile” for app-based interactions, but later I learned that his
app can connect you with in-person gatherings. He knew what the words meant; I
just made uncharitable assumptions. I think Judah Smith knows what church was
designed to be, and I think he sees a way that technology can help to
“If we don’t think Judah Smith can use an app to facilitate interactions, then we’re being Amish. And we’re allowed to do that. But we’re not allowed to be jackasses about it.”
Here’s the thing. We’re all using technology in all of our
churches, whether it’s instruments, sound systems, projectors, websites, or
whatever. We have just drawn a line regarding how much is too much. That’s a
total jackass move.
Think of the Amish: they’re known for totally rejecting
technology. But it’s not true. Once upon a time, things like wagons and pulleys
and even shovels were new technology. The Amish use all of those things; they
just got to a point where they decided to avoid all technology developed after
1800 (or whenever, I have no idea). And good for them. As long as they’re not
being jackasses about it.
So the thing is, if we don’t think Judah Smith can use an app to facilitate interactions, then we’re being Amish. We’re choosing an arbitrary cutoff for which technologies are compatible with the gospel. And we’re allowed to do that. But we’re not allowed to be jackasses about it. I was. And I’m sorry.