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My Camp, Your Camp, and Virtual Shunning

June 19, 2013

A few months ago I wrote an article that caused a bit of a firestorm among some of my writing compadres. Perhaps I gave it a provocative title, but I maintain its truth: Mark Driscoll is Not My Pastor.

Amongst the backlash of that article there was also a curious phenomenon on the twitter chat: the affirmation of the virtual church.

What was being espoused by person after person was the reality that they considered their online friends their church. “Twitter is my church” and “You guys are my church and my pastors” were among some of the statements I read. The definition of virtual is “Existing or resulting in essence or effect though not in actual fact, form, or name.”

Hear me out, one of the ministries to which God has called me is of the online variety. This blog and other publications I write for take a good amount of mental and spiritual energy. You are my ministry. But you are not my local church.

More and more I read articles lumping authors into clear and present camps. You have the Jesus feminists, the red letter Christians, the social justice-cause driven, the reformed, the story-tellers, the orthodox. There are these hard and fast lines boxing authors to a particular movement or theological framework, and once they have been flagged as such, they are blacklisted or embraced. There is little room for grace in this world because if I confess I agree with Rob Bell in this one area, that is a blight on my character to those who disagree with him. If I confess I agree with John Piper in this area, well, count me out of an entire sector of the blogosphere.

If we are in an age of the virtual church, then we are also in an age of virtual shunning.

You won’t ever hear me disavow the importance of the global Church. That I can consider someone who lives thousands of miles from me one of my closest friends—that is the power of the bond we have in Christ.

But love for the global Church does not negate the biblical importance of the local church. Too often I hear great passion in my brothers and sisters for the health of the Church, without seeing evidence that they value it at its most local level. I see bloggers calling men and women to task, and shunning those who associate with them, without seeing any accountability to authority in their own lives. I see much concern for orthodoxy and discipleship and brotherly love, without seeing evidence of those things in their lives.

I am not saying those things are not happening, what I am saying is that I don’t see it.

I don’t see it because they are not my local church and I do not know them in the way I know the people alongside whom I walk. I don’t see it because I am not privy to the conversations they have with their pastors (if they have pastors) or elders. I don’t see it because I don’t see them taking meals to new moms or visiting the sick or weeping with those who weep. Seeing those things is reserved for those who are not virtual, but real life, flesh and blood.

I’m writing this because too often the assumption is made that the virtual groups with whom I am associated are somehow the people to whom I am submitted. The assumption is we ascribe to the same set of theological ideals, we have discussions behind closed doors, spit-shake on how we’ll handle certain situations, administer church discipline and the sacraments together. And it’s simply not the truth.

I have pastors and a local church. I write for publications, enjoy friendships, but they are not my local church or my elders. Simply because a publication for which I write or a group of online acquaintances embrace a certain stance or ideal, does not mean I agree with them.

A year ago I had a conversation with one of my pastors. I met with him to discuss an opportunity put before me to participate in a publication where I would share the platform with some diametrically opposing authors. Should I do it? was my question. Yes, was his answer. Why? Because every opportunity we have to proclaim the gospel is good and we should prayerfully consider taking it. Some of the places I write, I write because I do disagree with their stance on certain issues. I write because it is my prayer that the gospel would go forth. My name doesn’t matter, but Christ’s does.

We proclaim Christ best by loving what He loves. What Christ loves best is the glory of His Father, and the Father is glorified when we are his disciples, when we love one another—at the most difficult, personal, beautiful level: right here, locally.

Love the Church, friends, but start by loving the church.

In balance, church, community, Deeper Church Posts, gospel, Project TGM, spiritual growth, The Gospel Coalition, theology, Uncategorized, Women and Theology, writing
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A Few Thoughts on SGM, Silence, & Sayable

May 24, 2013

I’m loathe to take a camp, step off the fence, call my cards, or slap a label on myself, but all it takes is one quick glance through Sayable, a brief perusal of the publications for which I write, and the local church I call home for others to safely land me in with the neo-reformed. I won’t reject the title, but in normal fashion, I will not lay claim to it. However, there’s been something rotten in the state of Denmark recently and all fingers are pointing back at, well, I’ll say “us” for the sake of this post.

If you have no idea what rotten piecemeal is being bandied about, I have no interest in educating you. Others have done so much more thoroughly than I, with much more anger than I, with many more bones in the game than I. I weigh in today because May was supposed to be my sabbatical month and instead I have been peppered with more questions than ever on why I haven’t written on the SGM civil suit.

Here are the main reasons:

1. I am not affiliated in any way with SGM. Though I may be affiliated with those who are affiliated with them, we can play that game all day in every which way. Kevin Bacon anybody? These days everyone knows everyone somehow. It is a small world after all.

2. I am not a lawyer, but I think I am a fairly intelligent person, and even I had a bit of trouble getting my mind around the legal jargon of all the documents. And I’ve been in my share of courtrooms, with my share of lawyers spouting legal jargon—two can play that game. All I’m saying is, someone wants to win and so it’s hard to trust a system where winning is the goal. Last shall be first and all that.

3. I’m one of those fools who trusts the men who keep watch over my soul. Maybe that play isn’t for everybody, but I figure the Bible spent a lot of time talking about it, so nuff said.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Just because I didn’t say anything about it, though, doesn’t mean I didn’t feel complicit in the alleged ongoing silence by “us.” I was a bit confused as to why men and women I respected within the Church at large weren’t weighing in on the suit at all, save from a post by Tim Challies. It is good to be slow to speak, yes, but not speak at all? It didn’t seem right. I knew I didn’t have anything to add to the civil suit conversation, but surely something could be said to acknowledge the situation period?

(Adding my voice to the cacophony of the Christian blogosphere wouldn’t assuage those out for an admission of guilt, though, if you’re wondering why I didn’t say anything. I’m under no illusions—I might be affiliated with those affiliated with SGM, but I’m no Kevin Bacon, if you get my drift.)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

In the light of more recent occurrences, though, and now that some of “us” have issued a public statement, I thought a few things might be said. Take them for what they’re worth to you. Remember comments aren’t open on Sayable ever so I’m not shutting you down and there’s no need to respond. They’re just my simple thoughts for those who might need them.

If you are a pastor:

Please protect your sheep. I meant what I said above about trusting those who keep watch over my soul. I mean that because the Bible says it and I trust the words of God. However, you, by nature of your position and your God-given authority, help illuminate those words for your sheep. You can use or abuse your authority and position, and you can, unknowingly, be the voice of the accuser to people—even in your silence. Always protect your sheep. If one of your talented, seemingly godly, charismatic sheep turns out to be a wolf, go after him. If one of your sheep leaves the fold, go find her. Pastor your people, don’t just preach at them.

If you were abused:

This case feels like the nail in the coffin, trust me, I know. Even if it wasn’t the same as your experience, you can easily relive your experience every time someone dismisses the concerns of the victims, every time someone seems complicit with their silence. Your heart means well here. The grace of God for you takes a horrific experience and gives you the tools to minister to these issues in a way those higher-up might never be able to do. That is not your blight or your stain, that is the precious work of grace to take the broken and make beautiful. Now is your time to speak in and with grace.

If you were an abuser:

You did wrong and you know this. You ought to make recompense for what is considered a crime in the eyes of God and the judicial system. But this does not mean forgiveness is withheld from you, or should be withheld until you “pay for what you did.” Forgiveness doesn’t work that way. I pray you know the fullness of the gospel covers your crimes, but does not blot them from history. Repent, accept the judicial punishment, and if you are His Child, look forward to a lifetime of His grace and an eternity in His presence.

If you want to leave the church because of this:

Part of me wants to say, please do, and trust me, there’s no snark in that statement. I’m fully convinced that no matter how far you run, you cannot outrun the wild, ferocious, loving heart of our God. If leaving the Church for a while helps you clear yourself of the clutter of its underbelly, please do. You have the freedom to leave abusive situations, Christ sets us free to do that, and you should. But I will also say this, as a child who has seen her fair share of the underbelly, if you’re His? You’re grafted in. You’re knit so tightly into His body and flesh, his scars and blood-bought redemption that you can’t leave the Church because you are part of it. And it’s beautiful. Really beautiful when you see it like that.

If you are neo-reformed (or whatever it is called these days), but embarrassed by the silence or complicit responses:

Can I implore you to press in close to your leaders, your elders, your editors, and your pastors. Sometimes they know things about a situation that you don’t know, isn’t public knowledge, isn’t on some legal document, and isn’t widely known. Sometimes they’re withholding comment because it could actually make it worse for the most helpless of the situation. You don’t know. There’s a lot of speculation, regardless of who you are and who you know and who you know who knows someone else. You aren’t Kevin Bacon, you just saw one of his movies once or twice. Reserve judgement.

If you know someone who knows someone (who was abused, who went to an SGM church, or anyone at all):

One of the things I love about the Bible is there are all these portions where it’s just one man or one woman and God (or the enemy). There are no eye-witnesses, it’s just Moses and the burning bush, Daniel and the lions, David and the bears, Jesus and the enemy. We get this birds-eye view into the situation, but really, when it happened it was just them there.

So we have perceptions of how things looked or played out, but I’ll bet you could poll any thirty of us and we’d all have a different setting in mind for Moses and his burning bush. There would be similarities, of course, but it would be different. This is how it is to hear any story second hand. We can know that some things are true, but some things are simply perceptions. Because of this, it is almost always better to reserve your own words about another person’s experience. There may be truth to it (and in this case specifically, it seems like there is definitely much truth to it), but the retelling of it multiple times will never end well. Mourn with those who mourn, bring it to the authorities if need be, but keep silent about the specific matter unless you know you speak the canonized truth.

If you are a mere onlooker:

If you’re just a casual reader, a blog reader, a curious atheist, a questioning agnostic, I am sorry. This entire situation, from twenty years ago until today is unfortunate and shameful. This is not becoming to the Church and I deeply regret it happened. However, let me say this, I am firmly convinced the Church tries to keep its wedding dress too squeaky clean, and this case is a perfect example of it. The reality is we’re blemished and broken, spotted and wrinkled, and Christ is the only way we’re getting presented cleansed. He’s it. It’s not through a denomination, a pastor, a friend, a court system, or a blog post that the resolution of all things comes, it’s Him. Him alone. Be encouraged, there’s room at the table and we don’t mind if you’re messed up. Really. We’re messed up too.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

That’s all. I know this is long, and I’m breaking sabbath to share it, but I couldn’t sleep and I love to sleep.

Go in peace, brothers and sisters, pastors and sheep, abused and abusers, doubters and finders, He is faithful to complete His work. He seals it with His spirit.

In church, community, life, pride, sin, spiritual growth, suffering, The Gospel Coalition, time, trust
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Blemish

April 14, 2013

“It’s just so messy,” she said, and I nodded through the phone, tears making paths down my face.

We’re talking about a bride. A wanton, wayward bride who keeps soiling up her wedding clothes and back-handing the face of her groom. We’re talking about a bride who wreaks havoc on the wedding guests and who is never satisfied with the direction of the aisle, the taste of the cake, the reception, and the feast.

We’re talking about the Church and we’re talking about us—because the Church is so grand and marvelous and becoming, and it is made up of messy, selfish, petulant us.

I’ve been covenanted at my church for a little more than two years now. Two years is nothing, a drop in the bucket, but when you have a shelf-life of two years, “a little more” can feel like an eternity. There’s nothing I love more than the Church and so there’s nothing I love more than us, the church local: the men who lead us, the ministries that serve us and fail us, the people who break and bless us. I love this mess. But you can’t be around mess for too long before you begin to carry a bit of the mess yourself.

It’s all fine, well, and good to have thoughts and theologies about how Church ought to be; it’s easy to point fingers at all the ways Church has failed us; it’s more common than not to leave when we feel the push of life against life, mess against mess, broken against broken. I know this because this is what I have done, more times than I know. I may not have left physically, but my heart unknit itself from the mess around me long before my body did.

I love the Church, but sometimes it is so very hard to love the church.

Because loving the church means mourning with those who mourn—the family who just found out their nine year old daughter has an inoperable tumor. Loving the church means standing in the hallway while a young girl grips your arm and confesses dark things that mirror your own heart. Loving the church means pressing close when you feel like pulling back, when you have been wronged and no one wants to right it for you. Loving the church means loving what Christ, the groom, loves, and He loves you and me and all of us soiled and broken.

I wake this morning, the sun streaming across my messy bed, and I feel the wrinkled mess deep in my soul. I feel the stains and the need to be washed in the water of the word. And I want to do it on my own, I do. I want to clean myself up, clean my brothers and sisters up, eradicate injustice and eliminate tumors.

But I cannot.

A groom sees past the irregularities and blemishes, he sees beauty beneath the strains and stretches of what life has done to his bride’s body, he sees what he has chosen to be his—and He has called it good from the very beginning. And there, with that in mind, He presents us blameless, spotless, stainless to Himself. He reconciles what is broken and messy, and brings us whole to the Father for the eternal wedding feast.

And only He can do it.

…Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish.
Ephesians 5:25-27

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In church, community, gospel in community, life, spiritual growth
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Why I Don’t Tithe II

January 31, 2013

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I’ve written on why I don’t tithe before. The original comments from that post were lost in the site migration this past summer, but that post stirred up some pretty heated discussion and passionate thoughts on semantics, giving, and theology. My position remains, though, and I don’t see it changing. In fact, I ask the Holy Spirit regularly that He would not change my heart on it because to live open-handedly takes more faith for me than tithing regularly does. I want to put myself in positions that require more faith over less. I’d recommend you read this post as a preface before reading the post below.

Today I’d like to write a bit about how we should give and why I think it’s important not only for me, but for the Body of Christ.

We give humbly (Eph. 4.2) because we can never repay what He has done for us. That we are breathing and walking is grace enough, but that we spend eternity with Him? There is no cost too high. We are not repaying him by giving to others, but we are making a tangible expression to others of His love for us. Giving is tangible evidence that God has come down and changed our lives. We give of the overflow of that—even if the overflow feels only a trickle.

We give circumspectly (Mark 12:42-44) because it is possible to wrongly attribute worth to something that has no worth in God’s eyes or is priceless in God’s eyes. For example, the widow’s two pennies were worth more than the pharisees loud millions, not because the pennies could accomplish more, but because God determines worth, not man. We may be presented with a need in the amount of $2000, but can only give $200, so we ought to give the $200. God accomplishes His purpose, we just get to partake in the process.

We give joyfully (2 Cor. 9.7) because there is a need to be met and we are equipped to meet that need. What other reason should we need to give joyfully?

We give prayerfully (Rom. 12.15) because investing even two pennies into a need invests us in the brokenness of a situation. We acknowledge by giving that we are broken people in a broken world desperately in need of the Father’s care. So we do so prayerfully, not flippantly, because we need to feel a measure of the brokenness into which we’re entering. This is good for us.

We give quickly (Matt. 6.33) because the Kingdom of God is at hand. There is work to be done and we can help get it done.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now I’m going to say something that might be mildly unpopular to talk about, but I think if we make it personal, it becomes very, very important to the health of the local church:

First let it be said that I work for a non-profit that brings the gospel to third world countries, rescues women/children from sex-trafficking, puts water wells in poverty stricken villages. I am not unaware of the needs of the nations, nor am I advocating that we ignore those needs (though I think the way the US gives needs a radical overhaul). Second let it be said that my salary is paid by men and women who are invested in the local church, giving regularly to their churches which in turn support us. So I am not in any way advocating that we stop giving to our local churches. I am on the giving and receiving end of this, and I will continue to invest in the nations and receive the blessing of those giving to their local church.

The Church ought to be the first place we invest our finances—not because we want to build bigger buildings or buy better communion crackers, but because the Church is not a building or a staff or a pastor or a program. The Church is you and me, and we might be pastors or teachers or writers or designers or engineers or laid-off or working three jobs or under some financial strain—but we are doing the work of the ministry. When I say the Church is the first place we invest, I’m not referring to an offering plate or joy-box—I’m referring to the people who make up the Church.

I want my brothers and sisters to do the work of the ministry. I want to lift up the hands that hang down, strengthen the feeble knees (Hebrews 12:12). Friends, I know how hard it is when you really don’t know how you’re going to make ends meet this month. But God knows how He’ll meet them. And He’s saved and equipped us for that purpose: to build up and unify the Church (Eph 4:11-14). The Church in turn then meets the needs of the world.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

So look to your left and your right today. Which of your brothers and sisters are straining under the weight of financial pressure? You don’t have to meet all of their need, you probably can’t. But you probably can purchase today’s bread and maybe tomorrow’s too.

And are you perhaps in need of some bread yourself? Ask. Please ask. Ask the people who have committed to walk alongside you in life, not because you’re asking for a handout or because you feel they owe it to you. Ask because we all need bread we cannot buy and He has bought it for us with his broken body and poured out blood.

Come, all you who are thirsty,
come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without cost.
Isaiah 55

I know some of you will have thoughts on this, and I’d love to hear them. As usual, comments on Sayable are closed, but head over to the facebook page if you’d like to share your thoughts.

 

In church, gospel in community, why I don't tithe
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Chasing David With All My Soul

January 23, 2013

chaseWe’re talking about David and Jonathan in my Old Testament class. Sunday-School felt-boards, crackers and juice aside, I’ve never given either man much thought.

………………..

A friend is thinking of leaving our church. She isn’t the first and won’t be the last, and I’ve left my share of churches in life, so I know whatever I say won’t matter much. So instead I’m thinking of covenant these days, the Old Testament, grab the inner thigh, share the sandal, slaughter the lamb kind of covenant.

At my church we don’t sign a membership document promising to agree with everything my church teaches, promising to never question authority, or to turn a blind eye to what seems unjust. We sign a Covenant saying we’ll wrestle every demon to the ground before we turn our backs on these brothers and sisters. We’ll turn over every stone before we’ll call anyone a heretic. We’ll come to our senses as quickly as possible and run from the pig’s pen to a Father who meets us.

We sign up for Covenant, not a pansy pot-luck.

Not really.

But kind of.

………………..

This morning in class we read the first part of I Samuel 18 three times. Three times is a holy number and so I listen close.

Three is also the number that made a covenant in those first few verses: David, Jonathan, and an unseen God who wouldn’t leave them, not ever.

Three is also the number of times the author made mention of Jonathan’s soul being knit to David’s.

A soul is a funny thing. In my circle I never ask how someone’s doing, or how is their heart. I ask how their soul is and people always turn their head sideways, maybe laugh a bit at me. Their soul? Their soul? Ask about my car, or my health, or my day, or my family, but not my soul. Not that precious, beautiful, broken bit of me. Not the bit of me that is secure and fashioned deep in the crevices of God, but oh, so tender still.

Souls are the one thing about us and within us that are truly lost or truly found, but all the peripherals crowd around and lie to that soul, telling us we are not okay and never will be. And sometimes our souls lie to us in other ways, telling us we are okay when we’re clearly not.

………………..

I think of my friend this morning, and myself, and all the others. Friends who have left the Church, been burned by the Church, can’t figure their way around the Church. I think of David and Jonathan, and Jonathan’s soul. And I think of God who cares about souls.

The Covenant I signed with my church is not a failsafe; it does not keep me from harm or knit me to the people there. It is not my badge of glory or my shame. It does not give me special privilege or grant me favor. The Covenant is a promise between them and me, us and God. It says we will chase, we will run, we will warn, we will fight, we will wrestle, and someday, some final day, we will win. Our souls are knit together, see?

And that is the God who Covenants with me too, and I can’t get over this today: He runs, chases, meets me at the end of the lane, throws his cloak on me, and welcomes me at long last home.

………………..

If you’re interested, I’m also talking about covenant Church living over at Deeper Church today in a provokingly titled post: Mark Driscoll Isn’t My Pastor 

In church, community, gospel, serving, Uncategorized
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