Objectification, Idolatry, Comparison... enemies of being a Christ-exalting neighbor

Speaking as an introvert...  People often strike me as strange, distant, unpredictable, and intimidating creatures.

As a member of the fallen human race, it's in my nature to compare and contrast myself with others of the species, in an effort to better define and understand my own identity.  As beings created to worship, it is fearfully easy to give people the ultimate say, escalating their opinions and ideas to the place of ultimate truth in my life.  At the opposite extreme, it comes as no surprise that it's so easy to misuse, misjudge, or otherwise abuse the people around us -- typically, those who are more different than alike.

Ironically, my pastoral profession requires me to engage with people despite my personality traits!  Even more importantly, as a Christ-follower, it is my spiritual responsibility to move toward others -- no matter who they are or what they have done -- with the undeserved love that was shown to me.  I don't have the excuse of my natural wiring to avoid my neighborly obligations.

When it comes to relating to others, here are some important truths I need to keep in mind.  I'd be willing to bet you do too.

People are not objects -- things to be used for our own benefit

Matthew 9.36: When [Jesus] saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.

Do you remember being a kid and wanting to hang out with the friend who owned that thing you didn't?  Maybe your friends had a trampoline or a pool.   My parents didn't particularly want TV consoles in our house, and Jeff and Brian both owned the N64.  While I genuinely liked those guys as friends, I also really wanted to play Goldeneye...

In adulthood, maybe it looks like accepting the invite from a neighbor you don't really like, but who said you could come watch the big game on their 4K HD screen.  Or maybe it's asking your friend out to a slightly more expensive restaurant than usual when you know he or she is likely to offer to cover the bill. Maybe it's via the conscious objective to "only surround myself with positive people," or maybe it's the choice to attach ourselves to the project team at work that has potential to garner the boss's attention.

There are so many ways we use people in simple, everyday moments to benefit ourselves.  The example of Jesus, however, was to see people not as means to an end, but as the purpose into which we should pour all of our compassion and care.  When we intentionally focus on modeling the Savior's heart to dignify the personhood of others, along with all of their unique challenges, hurts, and needs, it becomes increasingly unlikely that we will treat them as if they only exist for us.

People are not a source -- functional saviors that we elevate and depend upon

Matthew 10.28: Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. 

Even those among us who may be more confident than their peers still have a tendency to fear certain people.  It might not always look like hero worship.  Sometimes it looks like needing to be the hero for others, because we all hold a deep-seated need to be respected and valued by others.  Whenever we make other human beings ultimate, we subject ourselves to a sneaky and hard-to-see idolatry that can actually be a form of arrogance, couched in false humility.

This is especially visible in family relationships.  I can obsess over what my wife thinks and how she makes me feel.  I can crave the sense of purpose and fulfillment I feel when my kids respect and obey me.  I might be totally fine with some of my siblings making certain comments about me, but get bent out of shape when the one whose respect I don't feel I have chimes in.  When your in-laws don't honor expectations, or your parents still treat you like a child after a decade of marriage, and you find yourself reacting from a surprisingly deep well of frustration, you have attached high value to what you believe these people can/should provide you.

Our confidence and our awe must be staked in the God we serve.  Father, Son, and Spirit deserve our adoration.  Our rest and well-being come from the Godhead.  Any approval we know is purely by the merits of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

A proper view of ourselves and a proper view of God rightly puts the people we tend to depend upon, fear, or subjugate all in their rightful place.

People are not obstacles -- things to get past

1 Corinthians 13.4: Love is... not arrogant 5 or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful...

Philippians 2.3: Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. 4 Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.

Romans 12.10: Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor...  16 Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight. 17 Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. 18 If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.

Not everyone is an antagonist.  Not everyone designs and aims for our cruel downfall.  Not everyone who fails to live up to our expectations deserves our ridicule and scorn.

My worldview should not be like my particular attitude toward rush hour traffic: as if everyone between me and home is -- at best -- an annoying inconvenience I can't wait to get around, or -- at worst -- a blight on civilization for their criminally negligent inability to drive the speed limit, use their turn signals, and safely operate their vehicles.

For the Christ-follower, there is no acceptable alternative to loving people -- not even the difficult ones.  Not even those who think, believe, and live in ways that challenge our conventions.  Avoidance or the facade of cordiality might feel like the lesser of two evils, where distance can pause open conflict and create the illusion of peace, but pursuing real shalom with all men requires far more intentionality and self-sacrifice than we are often willing to commit.

When everything is reduced to competition... when I'm not willing to work with someone who I fear will slow me down or damage my reputation... when I can only tolerate a particular person or group in increasingly minimal doses... when I can no longer regard a neighbor charitably... when I resort to character defamation and slander...  when I lump a certain group or ideology under one irredeemable umbrella... I have taken up this damaging perspective, reducing fellow image-bearers to neanderthals or one-dimensional Bond villains, incapable of learning and perpetrators of incredible evil.

People are image-bearers: unique and to be loved as neighbors

I'm not actually sure which mischaracterization is the worst.  Objectification demeans others to the point of antipathy.  Deification elevates to the point of idolatry.  Vilification demonizes to the point of grotesque caricatures.  None is acceptable or prescribed for healthy Christian relationship.

My calling, as a member of New Creation humanity (per 2 Cor 5.17 and Eph 2.19), is to represent the goodness of God by embodying Christlike compassion, respect, and charity toward others.  There is no room for animosity or idolatry if I am to love the lost through the gospel and build up my brothers and sisters in a sharpening, Spirit-inspired fashion.  If I am to truly honor others as fellow image-bearers, then I must intentionally combat my fleshly tendencies to categorize people according to my own preferences.

I cannot justify antipathy as emotional self-care or self-protection.

I cannot couch idolatry of self or others in a sense of self-respect or personal confidence.

I cannot straw-man or slippery-slope opponents via the claim that I have a responsibility to speak gospel truth.

While I do not bear the same level of responsibility toward random passersby in my life that I do to family, co-workers, and geographical neighbors, I nevertheless owe my fellow image-bearers a look into Christlike compassion, respect, and charity -- whenever, wherever, and however I interact.

If I ever dare to pray, "Father in heaven, hallowed be Thy name," then I bear responsibility of making certain I truly represent His name as holy in all of my words and actions before men.  Living under this prayer means taking seriously my role of introducing others to the One in whom I have believed, and -- by my own actions -- portraying Him as being outstanding in His divine, moral character.  

I do all of this best by being a Christ-exalting and self-surrendering neighbor.

Kaylee, 2013-2025

Not long after we were married, Tara and I started talking about getting a dog.  She wanted a lab of some sort, and I wanted a German Shepherd.  So it seemed like divine confirmation when we were out grocery shopping and just so happened to see a sign on a car window saying, "Ask me about my black lab / German shepherd puppies!"  For that reason, we liked to tell people we got Kaylee from Aldi: we simply followed the sign inside, inquired of the cashier, and from there found ourselves in a private home a few days later, observing a litter of about 15 lab/shepherd puppies all in one massive, wrestling bundle on the kitchen floor...  All except for one sweet little girl off to the side who just sat there, looking up at us, quietly wagging her tiny tail, waiting with such expectancy for us to pick her up.  When I did, and she instantly snuggled into my neck, Tara and I both knew we'd found our girl.

"Lady," as she'd been named, came home with us the next week, when she was old enough to leave her mother.  Naturally, we wanted to give her a name we'd picked out, so we decided to call her "Kaylee."  For the Firefly fans out there, I always intended to find her a "Simon."  But Kaylee (who also went by "K-snaps," "Kayleebean," "Puppernickels," and a wide variety of other affectionate nicknames) was more than enough dog for us, all on her own.  As a matter of fact, she was the reason for both of our moves: when we disclosed her to the apartment management at Forest Creek, they told us we couldn't keep her, but by that point she'd already become part of our family.  The Woodstown bungalow we moved into was a perfect first home (bat infestation notwithstanding), but it only had a tiny little triangle of a yard out back, and Kaylee loved to run.  And so, three years later, we sold that property and moved to Swedesboro, back to the neighborhood in which Tara and I had both been born and raised, knowing we needed a bigger yard for our pup, in addition to a few extra bedrooms since Tara was two months pregnant with Zeke.

Kaylee loved our yard here in Swedesboro.  She was a black, furry missile, streaking from one end to the other, chasing out rabbit intruders and greeting passing neighborhood dogs.  In fact, before we finished fencing in the yard, she gave several passersby near heart attacks by racing up to them when we weren't paying attention.  I did not get off on the right foot with one neighbor for that very reason...  As much as she loved her outdoor spaces and our various chairs and couches, Kaylee also loved going just about anywhere with us.  Of course, her eagerness was always a bit of a trade-off with how nervous she would be en route.  The DNA evidence would be left all over the car seats, dashboard, and windows by the time we reached our destination.  Up until we started traveling with two or three car seats, she would tag along just about everywhere we went -- across town to visit either set of parents, to a local dog park, all the way down to Cape May on family vacations.

 

She had quite a few friends over the years: Apple, Tony, Gus, Rocky, Tinkerbell, Kilikina, Sushi, and Han & Leia to name just a few.  One morning when I was walking her around our Swedesboro neighborhood, a rottweiler leapt clear over his fence and came after us.  Not knowing what else to do, I yelled at him, "Stop!" and pulled Kaylee along (she was very eager to meet him).  Purely by God's grace, the dog halted in his tracks and didn't follow us across the street.  Another rottweiler we used to pass in Woodstown would spin in dizzying circles behind his fence every morning when we'd walk by.

Kaylee spent her very first night with us crying nonstop in our apartment kitchen.  Penning her up in there was part of our efforts to housebreak her.  While she didn't have any accidents, we also ended up with the soft top of our card table shredded (we didn't own a puppy gate), zero sleep, and tons of anxiety that our nextdoor and downstairs neighbors would complain about us to management.  Night number two, Kaylee slept in the bed with us.  In fact, she did so basically from then on, snuggled under my arm, right up until the time Tara was way too pregnant with Zeke for us all to fit comfortably in on a queen mattress during the summer months.  From there, a disgruntled Kaylee moved under the bed on Tara's side -- probably because I was the bad guy who kicked her out.  We used a wooden cradle from Tara's parents for each of our kids during their first few months ex-utero.  Zeke was a heavy sleeper from day one, but Nora was a restless fidgeter whose sudden, thrashing movements and gasps (all while still being fast asleep), rattled the old cradle and terrified Kaylee so that she became too nervous to sleep near her anymore.  She fled to the other side of the room, or out into the adjoining hallway (our playroom) until each baby finally moved upstairs and the cradle moved out.  Melody was a lot more like Zeke when she finally came onto the scene, but Kaylee was so traumatized by the Nora experience that she stayed away from the cradle preemptively.

In her early years, we oscillated between crating and leaving her to free-roam while we were out.  She never had many accidents, but she often got into things.  Stray hair clips and pens were the primary targets of her boredom.  As a puppy, she chewed through the patch cables on my guitar pedalboard once.  Another time, we came home to the entire (and I mean ENTIRE) apartment floor covered in a layer of plastic shopping bags.  I can only imagine her discovering the pile of them in the corner by the microwave and excitedly zipping back and forth and spreading them everywhere.  Thankfully, they were all intact -- if she ate any of them, we never saw evidence at the other end!

The Woodstown season was a sweet one for us, being a young couple with a furry plus one.  While we lived there, Kaylee would play hide and seek with Tara when we'd both come home at the end of the day.  Tara would hide in a closet while I'd let Kaylee out to use the yard.  Once back inside, she'd tear around the whole house sniffing and wagging until she found whichever closet "Mommy" was hiding in.  A retaining wall ran behind that house at a diagonal, creating our triangle property, and Kaylee would often hop up onto the wall and sit there, haunches deep in ivy, daring the landscape workers who parked their trucks in the gravel lot behind us to come closer.  Sometimes she'd jump down and bark her head off at them, running back and forth as far as her lead would allow.  She also got to ride in the back of a pickup truck in the Woodstown 4th of July parade one year, when Tara worked for a local CPA who featured his business in the event.  One of our bedsheets still has stains on it from the time she put her paw in wet tar while we were walking around the block near where the township was resealing the streets.

How Kaylee adjusted over time to the kids was a special thing to watch.  Before we had any children, she was always nervous around any of the small humans our friends had the audacity to bring into her realm.  It was partly in her Shepherd nature to be hyper alert and quick to defend, so anything loud and unpredictable that violated the quiet sanctity of our home was a potential danger.  Over time, however, she warmed up to Zeke taking the bones she was chewing on right out of her mouth and Nora trying to climb on her (sort of).  By the time Melody came along, she'd mellowed into a mostly unflappable old age and had to be coerced to get up and move, even when a child was trying to step over her.  As soon as Mel would be in the high chair though, Kaylee was up in the blink of an eye, eager to clean up after her.

Kaylee was a kisser.  We had a ton of incentive early on to train her not to nip, since she had those razor sharp puppy teeth that made tug of war, wrestling, and fetch serious dangers to the digits. So kissing was our replacement mechanism.  "No bite!  Give kisses!"  Instead of nipping, she would lick unabashedly, jumping up to get your face if she could, and would coat your hands, arms, and legs with affection if you allowed her.  On the day we had to say goodby to her, it had been a while since she'd given any of us kisses, probably in part because she'd become so stationary and the five of us weren't practicing much stillness with her.  But when the time came, she had one final kiss in store for Tara, some precious licks that reminded us of better days.

I feel so grateful that Kaylee was a such a healthy dog throughout her years with us.  Aside from visits to pet clinics for rabies boosters and Frontline treatments, she really only made four visits to the vet for health-related issues.  One trip came when she managed to pull out a few stitches following her spay.  Another time she had to be sedated, following some kind of panic attack in her crate where she managed to break a few of the metal bars and also bite through her upper lip, getting the tooth stuck in the inside of her mouth, and we couldn't help her get it out ourselves.  Legend has it she had to be given enough sedative to calm a Great Dane before the vet could perform the five-minute operation.  In the spring of this year, she had to see the vet for pneumonia.  At the time, I thought she had something stuck in her throat, but X-rays revealed pneumonia in her lungs, and also an enlarged liver that probably was a sign of something cancerous.  Although the medication cleared up her breathing, she never fully recovered from the illness, and her appetite dwindled away to nothing.  Her last visit to St. Francis was on Monday, September 22nd, 2025, the day we knew her quality of life had deteriorated, both because whatever was going on in her belly had caused her to rapidly lose weight and stop eating, and the hip dysplasia was making it impossible for her to go up and down our steps or even to stand up by herself on the hardwood floors of our home.

It's so hard to let an animal go.  Growing up, I remember being sad about family pets passing, but I didn't quite experience those losses the same way.  For Tara and me, Kaylee has been a part of our family almost from the very beginning.  It's weird to go around corners and not trip over her, to feel crumbs on the floor under my bare feet while walking through the kitchen or dining room, to come in the door and not be greeted by a wagging tail, to not get down on the floor next to her and give her belly pats.

In many ways, our still-young family has experienced a charmed life to this point.  By God's providence, loss and grief have as yet been removed from us.  Kaylee's passing is a bit of a practice in sad affairs with our kids, who prior to this had only ever lost a hermit crab before (and even he lived way past his life expectancy).  It gave us a window to carry something together, to rehearse good memories, and to be reminded that life this side of heaven is precious and very, very temporary.  But also that death is not the end.

We buried Kaylee behind the house, no more than 15 feet removed from where she used to sleep under Tara's side of the bed.  As we laid her to rest, I was thankful to read the words from Every Moment Holy Vol II, "Loss of a Living Thing."  I'll close this already-way-too-long eulogy with an excerpt.

Here was your good creature,
and here were the spaces and the days we
shared, enjoying the glad company
and cheerful fellowship of a fellow creature.

We made room in our lives,
room in our home, room in our hearts,
to welcome your unique creation.
And we gave your good creature the name
Kaylee.

We were filled with a right and fond affection
for another living thing your hands had made,
delighting daily in its presence.

Now this season of our shared lives
is ended by death.
Our hearts are unprepared for such loss,
and we are deeply grieved.

We are thankful for the many blessings
of knowing this creature,
and for the lingering imprint
of such a cherished presence in our lives.
We are grateful for these good memories of sweeter times... 

We know that the final working of your redemption
will be far-reaching,
encompassing all things in heaven and on earth,
so that no good thing will be lost forever,
so that even our sorrow at the loss
of this beloved creature will somehow,
someday, be met and filled,
and, in joy, made forever complete.

Comfort us in this meantime, O Lord,
for the ache of these days is real.

Amen. 

 

 

Stop reducing your statement of faith to fit on your front marquee

There are many legitimate reasons to leave an organization.  Where I've been planted for over a decade, it would take quite a change of culture, ministry philosophy, or vision -- or a specific calling from the Lord -- for me to uproot.  However, I have made it clear to the team with whom I serve that there is one hypothetical situation that would unquestionably send me packing...

One of my biggest pet peeves is church marquees.  To borrow a friend's analogy, they are like the worst of Twitter (X).  The example included here (courtesy of ChatGPT) is far less offensive than some actual ones I've seen in my area recently.  But even this attempt at wordplay, though adopting a humorous posture, is nevertheless offering commentary about this imaginary congregation's not-so-generous view of other faith traditions.

Digital, screen-printed, or old-school plastic, marquees come in a variety of distasteful flavors.  In no particular order, here are just a few types of content that especially make me cringe, groan, and/or low-key rage every time I drive by:

• Dad jokes
• Political commentary or patriotic slogans
• Clunky attempts to make faith pithy
• Sappy invitations that presume to know the audience
• Out-of-context Bible verses or phrases
• Inflammatory or mean-spirited statements presenting one-dimensional theology
• Sadly out-of-touch attempts to be culturally relevant
• Weak efforts to de-legitimize other churches, faiths, or denominations

Who doesn't love a good dad joke, right?  I'm a dad.  It's like my emotional currency with my kids.  But is the church marquee where I want to unload those classic groaners, particularly in association with ideas that I believe are sourced from divine and timeless truth?

How imperative is it that passersby know that the unborn right to life is the capstone of your church's statement of faith, and why does that precede the gospel as the thing of first importance for the community to know about your belief system?

Is it truly helpful to encapsulate in simple catchphrases complex Scriptural teachings that entire volumes have been written to address and expound?

While the inspired words of the Bible have great power, and even an excerpt can be a mechanism the Holy Spirit might use to open eyes to the truth of the gospel, should we continue to feed into soundbyte culture that wants everything condensed into pill form?  Or should we instead make it our practice to be inviting them to participate in a much larger, longer, and richer conversation?

I'm just asking questions.  I may, in fact, share a church's viewpoint on a particular issue, and yet I cannot align myself with their manner of communication.

As far as I'm concerned, there is only one reason for a church to have a marquee, and that is to communicate relevant information about times for gathering.  Even then, I'd still be a proponent of ripping that thing out of the ground and planting a shrubbery instead.

Now that I've complained, let me do some explaining.

Everything communicates, and first impressions are often the most enduring (not the most endearing).  The Church's purpose -- being salt and light, a city on a hill, a redeemed and anointed priesthood to the nations -- does not mean we have to take an aggressively outspoken and public stand on every divisive cultural issue.  How helpful is it to proclaim what we stand against?  Shouldn't we strive to be known only by our love for the simple, uncluttered gospel of Jesus Christ: God Himself freely offered for sinners?  Those outside our gatherings need only the invitation to come.  There, they will hear from us -- personally and over time! -- our particular views on and practices of all other matter of ethics, faith, and theology, where they can be more fully treated and understood.

There is no possible way to encapsulate a rich and nuanced theological point in the amount of characters available on a marquee.  One-liners are a butchers knife or a cudgel while truly pastoral teaching requires a scalpel, wielded with laser-focused precision.  Churches should never prefer bluntness over carefulness, especially not in their most forward and exposed statements to the community around them.  It's easier than ever to be misunderstood in a TikTok-trained, media-saturated, ADHD soundbyte culture, so why feed into the trend?

Attempts at cleverness directly undermine compassion and care.  Is it really a good thing for people to get the sense that your church is "down-to-earth" and "doesn't take itself too seriously?"  Do we not cheapen or tarnish something precious and of infinite value by making light of it?  Are not the things pertaining to following Christ of eternal importance?  Is not the gospel a message of hope and rescue to hurting and needy people?  We should adopt the Apostle Paul's sincerity: he insisted that believers must not be like street peddlers of worthless trinkets, just trying to make a buck for themselves, but rather present ourselves as ambassadors of the New Covenant, proclaiming the triumph of Christ over sin and death, and inviting the lost into an eternal Kingdom of healing and hope (2 Cor 2.17).

Loud political opinions reflect poorly examined and badly applied theology.  It's worth remembering that there are genuine, grace-covered followers of Jesus Christ on both sides of almost every single issue that divides us.  After all, Jesus called both Matthew (a tax-collecting stooge for Rome) and Simon (an anti-imperialist Jewish zealot) to walk together with Him in their shared ministry to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.  Even if you can argue your view from Scripture as the "right" one, truth cannot be properly articulated without grace, because our beliefs are not isolated or disconnected from our conduct.  Our manner of speech, verbal or in print, should always reflect Christ's heart of compassion for those who are lost, and a willingness to pursue unity even in our various perspectives.  Broadcasted marquee opinions are, by their very nature, devoid of tact and opposed to the spiritual discipline of good listening (Jas 1.19).

Personal invitation is always more gospel-centric than enticement or provocation.  By their messaging, some churches seem to favor luring the spiritually curious into their services.  The marquee is like a movie teaser for the jaw-dropping blockbuster release of the sermon.  Others use intentionally divisive language as a challenge to outsiders, daring them to react.  Either approach reeks of arrogance.  If our goal is to be mysterious and coy, we reveal our pride over our own spiritual insight and imply that we delight to make theologically uneducated people feel small.  Faithful preaching is neither entertainment, nor should it be an opportunity to flex our spiritual muscles.  On the other hand, if our intent is to use our marquee to spout fire and brimstone, it may as well be a bullet-riddled "No Trespassing" sign, declaring to the community that anyone holding a different viewpoint is unwelcome and beyond the saving hope of the gospel.

Bottom line: it's problematic for a church to misrepresent Christ, the gospel, and God's intent for His people.  As churches, God's people should strive to be as clear, thoughtful, and intentional as possible in all of their communication efforts, especially those targeting the community outside, who have no context to understand our levity or passion.  As individual followers of Christ, it's likewise critical that we be purposeful and winsome in how we communicate.  Everything from bumper stickers to t-shirts to social media posts must be weighed carefully.  These things don't nearly point to Christ as much as we might think they do.  More often, they just serve to highlight our own ideas and opinions, not the gospel.

So!  I'm routinely grateful that our church doesn't have a marquee out front.  If we ever do get one, well...

You can't have your cake and eat it too

I think I've put my finger on one of the most terrible effects of the Fall.  I'm sure I'm not the first.

I sense it on a long holiday weekend, when the enjoyment of anticipated rest time is overshadowed by the knowledge that the next day will be a return to routine.

I sense it when I'm sitting in my home library, looking at all my unread books, and all the books I've read but want to re-read, and also the 7 or so I'm currently in the middle of, and find myself paralyzed by the options and by the needling sense that I really only have 20 minutes to sit, and the seconds are ticking even as I peruse the titles.  I find myself wondering if it's even worth opening a volume, because by the time I'm engrossed in the subject matter, it will be time to move on to the next task.

I sense it when the glorious quiet of a Friday afternoon has arrived, when Zeke is at school and the girls are down for naps, and an hour's worth of productivity or rest is before us... and yet there is this acute awareness of the seconds passing even as we try to enjoy them, this persistent sense of the finite nature of the moment.  With or without interruptions, it often feels like those minutes have passed before we've even had the opportunity to enjoy them.

I sense it when, for whatever reason, I find myself awake in the middle of the night (usually because a child has made an unscheduled visit to our room).  I first check the time, let out a deep, relieved breath that there are still hours until dawn, but then immediately start doing the math: "Even if I fall asleep right now, that still only gives me x hours until the alarm goes off..."  The next day's weariness sets in right then and there, before the sun has even had the opportunity to rise.

I feel it in the conflicted desires I feel to run screaming and wild with the kids, but also sit with Tara and listen to our records and sip our coffee and talk... but what about the stack of books I want to get through (see above)?  And what about all the house stuff that has to get done, that we've been putting off because it isn't urgent?  And when are we ever going to clean out the cars and the garage?  And what about exercising (pfft!)?  There is simply not enough time to do all of these things.  Tara and I complain about our energy and productivity levels, and the frustration we experience of wanting to be home and resting on the days when our schedules are exploding, and of feeling productive and motivated on the days when all of our plans are falling through.  I desire to sit and write daily, but typically when I have time to actually do some uninterrupted typing, that cursed muse just doesn't want to provide any creative juices.  On the other hand, when we're scrambling to get out the door by a certain time, I am chock full of ideas that will all get lost in everyday errand-running and calendar-keeping.  Our desires resist our attempts to schedule them.

I sense it during the seasons when I have a full ministry calendar, chocked with great opportunities to preach, study, disciple, and meet with other believers.  And yet there's always a home I'm leaving to accomplish these things.  I am so energized by worship rehearsals and conferences and weekends away with brothers in Christ, but all of these things represent late nights, travel, and things that keep me from precious time with the kids.  Home with my family is my absolute favorite place to be.  And yet, I have a privileged calling to serve God's people, and I am truly fulfilled in carrying out that role to the best of my abilities, even if it means sacrificing much time to do so.

I feel it when I consider the places I would love to visit -- Greece, England, Israel, the national parks, etc -- and (cost notwithstanding) realize the unlikelihood that I will ever be able to put my feet on any of those soils and also be a financially responsible adult.  Even if we started planning yearly trips now, we will reach but a small fraction of the globe before our lifetime expires.

Maybe all of this strikes you as cushy and simple.  Selfish, even.  It feels that way to me too.  And doubtless, lots of privilege is being exposed here.  Maybe it's just the product of getting older or being a parent, or maybe I've lost my ability to be truly and fully present in any given moment.  Whatever the root cause, I sense such a heaviness around time passing that I don't remember feeling in years past.  And so, I keep coming back to that tired old adage that it's impossible to hold on to the things we want to enjoy, and that by trying to hold onto them so tightly we make it impossible to truly enjoy them.  We shouldn't cling to what is meant to be enjoyed in the present.  Cake is meant to be eaten, savored even, but consumed soon after the baking -- not stored in a poorly ventilated English basement for 6 decades (see Seinfeld, S9 E18).  Display cases keep us from meaningful appreciation, and are ultimately just one more thing to be dusted.

I was also recently reacquainted with the famous journal entry by missionary Jim Elliot, who would give his life in Ecuador for the sake of the gospel: "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose."  Jesus' words clearly meant much to this faithful disciple (compare Matt 16.26; Mark 8.36; Luke 9.25; John 12.25).  It yields no benefit for a man to lose his soul to gain the whole world, in all of its temporary glory, when surrendering the best this life has to offer is the route taken by those who have entrusted their souls to the Lifegiver for eternal safe-keeping.  There is rich and abiding wisdom in differentiating the myriad things we can't keep anyway from the one singular thing that can't be taken: that one thing which we could never do anything to earn, and which is not ours not because of our power to hold it.

Further, there's ancient truth in the realization that God has put eternity into the hearts of His image-bearers (Ecc 3.11).  With sin in the picture, that means we will constantly experience the tension between what is eternal and what is transitive, what is passing and what is yet to be.  To have both this current minute and to anticipate the next one, but to know from the evidence of the minute past just how fleeting is the present one...  This is the problem of being finite.  Of being temporary and knowing it.  It's the desire to relish each and every grain of sand falling through the hourglass, to pause the flow, to reverse it.

I started by calling this knowledge one of the worst effects of the fall.  Other disastrous effects of sin in the world are nothing to diminish.  I can't say from experience what carrying a cancer diagnosis or severe bodily impairment is like.  I also can't personally describe the depths of loneliness and isolation that have defined the lives of others.  For some in these positions, the brevity of time might seem like a blessing, or perhaps their perception of time is that, in the suffering, it slows to an unbearable crawl.  When things like grief, sickness, guilt, and fear are all rampant in the fabric of our existence, it's difficult to seriously quantify any other negative experience as being more terrible.  And yet, when I consider this subtle undercurrent that gives an inescapable context to all mortal experience, it feels like a heavy, sorrowful thing that manifests in every small moment.

In the end, these persistent things are intended to point our affections and hopes toward New Heavens and New Earth, where moth and rust and time and all other corrosive forces have been permanently barred from touching the Lord's Beloved or anything that is theirs by virtue of the atonement and a new birthright.  What peace to know that we stand in the ranks of the redeemed, the unworthy ones elevated to sons and daughters of the Holy King of Righteousness and lifted above the power of the curse!  Therefore, instead of the thorn, we may enjoy the myrtle and the cypress, and trade all empty, temporary substitutes for bread and wine and living water that truly satisfy. 

Maranatha!

12 "church-goer" tropes

Throw a stone just about anywhere in America and you might hit a church.  Even for those raised outside of church culture, Judeo-Christian ethics and norms are well documented, and the average American may even be able to differentiate some of the theological particulars between denominations.  This makes sense, since only 28% of American citizens report being religious "nones" -- that is, those who hold an atheistic / agnostic perspective and lifestyle with no religious affinity whatsoever (stat per Pew Research).  However, if the 72% remainder do identify with a particular religion, that's a lot of people who at some stage have gone or are currently going to church.  This data begs a lot of questions.  For me, I'm particularly curious in knowing why people go to church, and how they define what "church" actually is.  What is it they are looking to accomplish by attending?  What are the practices of those counted in that 72% who consider themselves "spiritual" but not "religious" (i.e. believing in God, praying, etc, but not actively practicing their faith as part of a group)?

Ecclesiology (i.e. how to understand and define "church") is a rich and nuanced topic.  Most Christian schools of thought will agree that "church" is less a place than a community -- the people of God gathered, as opposed to the four walls in which they congregate.  However, all sorts of commercial Western notions have introduced subtle variations to this definition, such as viewing the church more as a 501(c)3 non-profit; as a group of majority voters ("shareholders") governed by a board of directors; as a thing legally quantifiable by its financial holdings, monthly giving totals, and number of available pews.

Depending on which view of "church" is held, I've found that church-goers more or less fall into 12 general types of church-goer.  I'm obviously coming at this from a Protestant's lens, though these definitely will find parallels in Catholicism and Judaism.  There are obviously too many nuances to capture all prototypes, so I've opted to focus on four areas commonly associated with religious observance: 1) attendance, 2)  official membership, 3) serving, and 4) giving.

Before diving in, here are a few contextual notes and definitions for those 4 qualifiers.

1. Attendance.  A 2022 survey found that only about a fifth of Americans attended church or synagogue on a weekly basis (per statista.com).  I've found it to be the case that even those who are officially registered members of their churches only average twice a month Sunday morning attendance.  Since most churches offer midweek services, programs, and other gatherings, the once a week stat probably still holds true for the average congregation.

2. Official membership.  Each church operates under a different philosophy for membership.  Many Protestant churches eschew the concept altogether, since all believers are members of the universal Body of Christ by virtue of faith in Him.  Other churches insist on membership as an arbitrary mechanism that comes along with tithing (giving).  Others still utilize it as a process as a teaching and protection mechanism for their congregations.  In the tropes below, I've mostly assumed official membership as a volitional commitment on the part of the church-goer.

3. Serving. This is the act of volunteering time, skills, and resources to the ministries of the church.  Those church-goers who are especially committed to these things might also be asked to serve in an official capacity as church deacon or elder.

4. Giving.  Commonly called "tithing," this for many churches is the sign of official commitment to the local body, and may be the act on which official membership hangs.  Many of the 72% of Americans who identify as religious practice tithing without actually attending their church.

Onto my tropes.  Are you in this list?  Am I?  Maybe even twice?

1. The “Creaster” -- This first one is obligatory and obviously not original to me.  Regardless, this church attender is the one who only darkens the doors of their church on the major holidays and for special life events (family baptisms, funerals, holiday services, etc).  They probably still consider the local church they visit "their" church and may even be an official member there.  They possibly support this church by giving, likely in larger but infrequent amounts.
   
2. The Streamer -- This church "attender" type originated in the mid 2010s with the advent of streaming technology, but which truly began to flourish in the Covid era.  This church "goer" rarely to never sets foot physically inside a church building, but probably considers the church whose services they view "their" church.  They possibly support this church financially and may even be an official member (from the time back before they stopped physically participating).
   
3. The Jetter -- This church attender participates in services at their local church, but keeps interactions with other members of that church to a minimum -- beyond "hello" and "goodbye" in the parking lot, or brief conversation with the small circle of friends with whom they tend to sit.  This individual likely considers the church they attend "their" church and may even be an official member. They likely support this church through giving and consider that financial support their due input, as opposed to serving.
   
4. The Hopper -- This church-goer attends church regularly, but in many different local church communities, either chasing interesting sermon topics or avoiding the ones that might get too personal.  They show up for a time with one local church gathering, then disappear to another, never setting down roots anywhere.  This individual likely gives and serves in the same manner, as they feel compelled, wherever they happen to be currently attending, but finds it impossible to become an official, committed member anywhere.
   
5. The “Common Law” Member -- This church-goer has been faithfully attending, giving, and serving at the same home church for years but has never gone through any official membership channels, likely a) because they were burned in the past by a previous church family, or b) because they insist on a chapter/verse prooftext for membership practices.  They claim that higher membership to the Universal Body of Christ and demand (when asked) to know what privileges they don't already possess (or what responsibilities they aren't already fulfilling) that becoming a member would grant them.
   
6. The Emergent Hippie -- This church-goer likely doesn't have a church they consider home, because they "follow Jesus," aren't really into "organized religion," and take issue with the way the whole 501(c)3 thing originated anyway.  They don't participate in giving, abhor membership, and don't pay attention to any church's programs or serving opportunities.  Like the "Common Law" Member, this individual may have also witnessed the ugliness of church politics or endured a church split, and now differentiates him/herself by considering him/herself "liberated" from church.  They may frequent various local bodies, but more likely worships God on hikes or in coffee houses and considers the homeless community they serve on Sunday mornings "their church."  This individual is almost certainly an outspoken evangelist in the wild.
   
7. The Self-Flagellant -- This church-goer is involved in everything, all the time: if the doors of the church facility are unlocked, they're present (and if they happen to be elderly and/or retired, they are likely on-campus 15+ minutes early).  Serving is just what they do.  Their commitment to be so heavily involved may be in lieu of giving (because they believe they can't afford to contribute), or they may consider every available cent they have to be the property of the church.  They are almost certainly an official member.  Because of these patterns, they likely have a poor theology of rest and often seem frazzled at their normal post.
   
8. The Suit and Tie -- This regular attender, giver, and probable member is punctual and upbeat and always "blessed," refusing to acknowledge the existence of any hardship or burden even if it is public knowledge.  They serve often and may frequently cross paths with the Self-Flagellant, but whereas the former may be willing to give voice to their challenges, the Suit and Tie would rather seek spiritual help outside of their church (if at all), to avoid the discomfort of being vulnerable.
   
9. The Clan Member -- Every church (it seems) has that one last name that dominates the church directory (oftentimes, by sheer coincidence, it just so happens to also be the last name of one of the pastors, go figure).  This individual attends the same church with their parents, siblings, cousins, and more; if one family decides its time to pack up and leave, the rest will follow.  The Clan Member likely checks all the boxes of attending, serving, and giving, because the rest of the clan will give them grief if the norms are not observed.
   
10. The Sunday-to-Sunday -- This individual can't miss a Sunday gathering because each time is like a new salvation experience after the steady emotional and spiritual desert of the regular work week.  This individual is a member almost without fail, likely checks the tithing box, but only serves if there are weektime ministry opportunities, because they could never bear to miss being present for the worship service.
11. The Weektimer -- The opposite of the Sunday-to-Sunday, this individual is never present on a Sunday morning, but never misses midweek Bible study and may even be engaged in one of their church's connection groups.  Because they are never present with the whole church family, they may give occasionally out of a sense of guilt; however, due to work obligations or lifestyle, they consider themselves never available to serve and postpone official membership indefinitely for a time when their patterns have changed.
    
12. The Influencer -- This individual is a part-time attendee and part-time livestream-viewer, but they will always find some way to share their opinions about all things good, bad, and ugly.  Their propensity to be vocal about the way things should or shouldn't be only goes up the more committed they are to giving.  Likely, this individual serves only in one-off kinds of capacities, because they find it hard to follow the instructions of a team leader, and are annoyed by the inability of fellow team members to do things the right way.
    

Amusing?  Or too close to home?  Are there tropes I missed that you've seen far too regularly?  What does a “perfect” church-goer look like, anyway?  Is there an ideal persona in the above list that we should be aiming for?

I write this post not just to poke fun.  I think there are several things each of us "church-goers" needs to do, especially if we take our faith seriously.

First, we need to evaluate how we view church.  Is it an arbitrary or familial responsibility?  Is it a place to go to keep me out of trouble?  Is it a place to grow and to serve?  Is it a more wholesome form of entertainment, and if so, can't I just safely consume that from behind a screen?  Is it a place to rack up community service hours?  Is it place for refreshment and spiritual nourishment?  Is it a commitment to something outside of myself?  Is it on specific gathering of believers, or a timeless, universal entity encompassing all believers everywhere?  Is it an identity, a community with which I am spiritually and corporately joined by virtue of my personal union with that body's Head, which is Christ?

The definition on which I land provides me with a bit of a vision statement, impacting and guiding all of my religious priorities and practices.  Where we find ourselves on the spectrum of ecclesiology likely dictates our sense of responsibility to the body, the importance it takes in our lives, and whether we come to it primarily as consumers or as contributors, constituents or benefactors.

When was the last time you tried to answer some of those questions above?

Second, when it comes to church practices, we need to be in a state of continual growth.  Whether we admit it or not, we all hate change.  Even those who claim to want to change things up all the time only want to do that by their moderation and approval.  So we all secretly (or not so secretly) want a church that doesn't ask too much, where we can sneak in and out when we don't want to be noticed, and that caters to our preferences.  But existing perpetually at that kind of equilibrium is the equivalent of spiritual stagnation.  Growth is a lifelong process of maturation.  Whether we are actively investing in our growth or not, we are always learning -- sometimes we are learning bad habits that harden our hearts and hone our practices in such a way that we become increasingly resistant to being moved in the future.  All of this means we need to be in the business of regular self-evaluation.  What is my current relationship to God and how is He calling me to go deeper?  What are my current church-going practices?  What needs to change?

For some, a period of intentional rest is critical, but not indefinite.  For others, a greater financial commitment to the local body that is ministering to them is the important next step.  For others still, getting out of the pew or off of the couch to be truly relational with their local body is not only necessary, but critical and life-giving.  Christian fellowship is not merely sharing a potluck meal on occasion.  Rather, it is living out our faith in community with other like-minded believers who will altogether sharpen one another by asking good questions and bear up under each other's burdens together when the going gets tough.

We need to combat our tendency to drift into perfunctory religiousness that makes us feel good about ourselves.  Ironically enough (as far as this post is concerned), the church attendance calendar, official membership, the tithing box, and the serving regimen are NOT the most effective metric for evaluating the quality of our spiritual lives.  In fact, those things by themselves profit nothing for eternity.  Their emphasis in an individual's life reveals one of two things: either a) a rich appreciation for the gospel, or b) the general human tendency to assume a works-based model for eternal security.  Religion that is truly effective does things, absolutely, but it originates from legitimate, heart-changing faith (see James 1 and 2).  Salvation is a work of God, not of our piety or innate goodness (see Ephesians 2).  Robust works must follow robust grace!  Religiousness might be good in many ways for society, but in and of itself has no power to grant any practitioner entrance to heaven.  Therefore, if we are merely appeasing our sense of guilt, keeping face with other church-goers, or just carrying out our parents' wishes, we are truly missing out.  Our salvation is for the joint purpose of knowing God intimately, celebrating His greatness, being transformed to be more like Him... and in so doing, also becoming more effective ministers to others.

So let's keep going to church, but let's not do it out of guilt or habit.

Let's go so we can be reminded weekly about the truth of the gospel, the power of the Scriptures, and the ongoing work of the Spirit within the lives of true believers.

Let's go and be fully present and vulnerable so we can increase our sense of interdependence within the community of faith.

Let's go and be fully committed to doing all the things that mark effective religion, because we've been rescued by a Savior who eternally committed Himself to us.

Let's go, but without a consumer mindset that assumes church is primarily about the spiritual ideas I receive and more about an opportunity to grow in my faith while I also contribute to helping others grow in theirs.

And frankly, let's go to a new church and put down roots there instead if the values expressed above are just not present in your current faith community.

Parenting pride, frustrations, and just (?) causes for temper flares

I'm so proud that my children are likeable.  Unless people are routinely lying to my face, the general consensus seems to be that all three Carlton nuggets are smart, cute, kind, well-mannered, attentive, and fun.  They seem to make friends easily, charm adults, and take super amazing pictures (evidence <--).

So why is it that I so often find myself infuriated by these tiny, amazing, human beings?

Why do I get so quickly irritated with them?  How many "last nerves" have they proverbially trampled to render me so easily frustrated?

Total transparency: bedtime is my least favorite time of the day, followed closely by time to leave for school and mealtimes that involve anything other than cereal, mac n cheese, hotdogs, or spaghetti.  My oldest moves only at "Carlton" speed (Tara's little inside joke, maybe a subtle dig at yours truly's laid-back nature, not sure if I should be offended, probably irrelevant if you're still reading this parenthetical).  My middle child moves only at lightning speed, with thunderous volume and passionate intensity, but also with a squirrel-like attention span.  My 5-month-old is super pleasant and smiley and chatty... until it's time to sleep, and then she only wants to complain and be held, NOT be put down.

Why is it that, with any one of these three cherubs, my warm adoration can shrivel into cold irritability?  Is it that my expectations haven't been met?  Is it that my authority has been challenged, or simply ignored?  Is it that I myself am constantly struggling not to be late and am frustrated with my own inability to be more effective with my time?  Is it that I crave uninterrupted time with Tara and have a hard time surrendering my wants to disruptions?

Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

My point in sharing this is not to rant or complain.  I'm not typing in a furious type of catharsis.  I actually don't want to write on this topic because it reveals far more about my heart than I'm honestly comfortable sharing.

The resounding theme: I want.  James wisely pointed out that our desires are at the heart of all our conflicts (Jas 4.1).  I want.  I want to be respected.  I want my kids to say, "Yes, Papa!"  I want them to stop what they're doing and answer when they hear my voice calling their names.  I want them to respect my wishes and instructions -- even when I'm not watching.  I want them to behave a certain way.  I want their reputations to shine (which really means I want to be known as a great parent who has clearly done everything right).  When I sit down to do some reading, to watch a movie with Tara, or try for the 36th time to finish a blog post and the interruptions begin... suddenly the children I love and adore become obstacles to what I really want.

These wants are all just symptoms of one singular, unhealthy craving in my heart for rule and dominion.  It's the sinful core of my problem.  My pride and self-interest tell me that I deserve to be treated in a certain way, and that if I am not receiving recognition or my expectations are not being met, then I have every right to be grouchy.  Tim Keller used to call pride "cosmic plagiarism."  Being proud invariably means I am taking credit for something that rightly belongs only to the Maker, the Ruler, the King and Lord over all.  All of my self-promotion and authority grabbing is just usurpation, insurrection, and failed coup de tat -- ultimately foolish, given the supremacy and of the one who is truly worthy of acclaim and adoration.

Me demanding my kids' respect is a little bit like a mote of dust drifting across the sun and being surprised it didn't generate a solar eclipse.

Me expecting uninterrupted time all to myself is a fatally flawed assumption that I deserve anything at all.

Maybe it's not wrong in itself to want respect or intentionally set aside time for your own purposes.  But when those good things become ultimate things, the ugliness of our hearts is exposed.  As parents, we must beware our tendencies or run the risk of seeing them rudely mirrored in little faces and voices.  I don't think of myself as being a particularly demanding person, but -- just like everyone else -- when what I really want is denied or delayed, all of sudden my heart begins clamoring for fulfillment.  Unchecked, that inevitably comes out in my attitude and language.  If I find myself sensitive to the demanding natures of my kids, chances are it's because I recognize the sound of entitlement all too well.

Seeing these things in myself, I am trying to practice three things with my children.  I am terrible at all of them.

(1) I am trying to create intentional time with them.  Psalm 90.12 reminds us to seek the Lord's eternal perspective, learning to "number our days" by His kind instruction, so that we may gain a "heart of wisdom."  Time in general is fleeting, and time with young children is even more so.  I distinctly remember thinking, when Zeke was approaching his first birthday, that we still had four more long years of him at home until we had to start figuring out the school thing.  Well, it's 2024, and he's halfway through his kindergarten year.

Intentionally choosing time with my kids doesn't guarantee they won't still demand more of it or automatically honor my schedule, but it does check some important boxes for my heart.

• It forces me to remember that "my" time is not really mine anyway.  I am merely a steward of the minutes and hours God has kindly chosen to allot for me.  If I can surrender the audacious concept of "me time," I can be much more free in giving time away.
  
• It softens my heart toward my children.  In fact, the more time I choose to give them (before they even ask for it) makes me less inclined to be irritated with them when they demand more.
  
• It provides me with some of the most important life-on-life, teachable moments.  I can lecture my kids in passing, on my way to do whatever seemingly more important thing I need to do... or I can choose to be fully present with them, modeling behaviors and language that I want them to emulate, and just enjoying the little people that God has given me to love.
  
• It helps me learn about my kids and understand them as unique image-bearers.  Lingering is a learned skill in western culture.  How can I appreciate the God-given personalities each of my children possess if I don't linger long enough to appreciate them?
  
• It causes me to be cognizant of what being "fully present" with them actually means.  If I say I'm going to play with them and then spend half of that time on my phone, they will quickly let me know that they're "waiting for me."  Intentional time is different than halfhearted time.
  

(2) I am trying to be clear and firm in my instructions.  As intelligent as my children are, I can't really be upset with them if I've done a bad job communicating.  I can't assume they should just know intuitively what I expect of them, or go nonverbal when I'm frustrated (which I have a tendency to do).  If I'm hoping they will read my mind or pick up on my body language, I'm setting all of us up for failure.  "Clear and firm" doesn't imply domineering, condescending tones, nor does it excuse threatening language.  I simply want to do better at patiently and directly communicating to my children God's priorities, Mama and Papa's rules, age-appropriate responsibilities, and the privileges we want to enjoy as a family.

Some might argue we're just setting the bar too high and bringing frustration upon ourselves.  To the contrary, we've learned that giving small humans lanes in which to run helps them to learn and flourish.  It would not be loving them well to tell them the world is their oyster and boundaries don't matter.  By contrast, clear and firm instruction -- given humbly and compassionately -- creates a safe environment with no hidden expectations and standards that keep children AND parents accountable to one another.

(3) I am trying to be gracious and humble in both granting and asking forgiveness.  I can't hold grudges against my children and still believe the best of them.  Even where there are patterns of sin and disobedience, I can't just expect them to fail, and then let them know that I knew they were going to fail when they do.  Granting forgiveness even to repeat-offender children truly means giving them a blank slate, partnered with the proactive and instructive wisdom of gently helping them learn where their potential pitfalls will be in the future.  On the flip-side, if I'm not willing to ask forgiveness of my kids (or my wife) when I myself screw up, I have no right to counsel them to do the same with one another, or to demonstrate remorse when I am correcting them.  Can I demand repentance of them when they break the rules if I don't show them how to do it by my own example?  And, frankly, if I can't choose to overlook some wrongdoings on my children's part and give second and third chances to get it right, have I myself really understood the unfathomable grace of Jesus Christ?  Showing and seeking grace are practices that help keep me soft in the face of disobedience and defiance.

To be completely honest, I don't know if these three things are making much difference in me at present.  But they are long-term areas of focus that, Lord willing, will bear mature fruit in me and in my children as we continue to grow and change.

To be clear on my title for this post, I don't have any just cause for being quick to anger.  The Scripture clearly counsels me against that (Jas 1.19), even when it feels natural and proportionate.  My wrath does not bring about God's justice on my behalf, make my children behave any better, or impute to them any righteousness before God.  Pride and frustration do make for effective but dangerous kindling, however.  The faster I root them out and expose them for what they are, the more effective the cleansing waters of the Spirit's sanctification in dousing sin's potential conflagrations.

Besides, time's too short to stay angry with those nuggets.  I know... they ARE pretty darn cute.

State of the Union... (Or a series of overdue updates)

Hi, there!  In case we haven't been previously acquainted, my name is Justin and I am a sometimes writer whose creative juices ebb and flow, sometimes to the point where a certain blog languishes for more than two years without any updates.  Major life events worth writing about sail by... and no posts.  Suffice it to say that, for the last 24 months, life has been very full, and while I've had time now and again to sit down and do some intentional reflecting, my energy expenditures and resting rhythms are just different now than they were when I began Häxprocess back in 2011.  Hopefully that's more reason than excuse, but either way I've lapsed and I'd like to get back to sharing more regular updates and ponderings.

If you're still here reading this, then you must be interested!  I'll start with the most recent talking points and work backward.

Album #2 Studio Updates

For those of you who have been looking for an update on our progress for the new Twenty Committee album, here are a few belated snapshots of our progress to date.

We came home from New York at the end of May with finished drum tracks and plenty of scratch material to build off of in order to track the other instruments.  For a few weeks, we listened back to rough board mixes, getting our bearings and formulating the direction we wanted to go.

In mid-June, Richmond began re-tracking bass parts.  The perfectionist in each musician always says, "Let me play it again -- I can do it better!" but there were also some really great bass tracks from our NY sessions that would have been difficult to top.  Some of them we cut again anyway, in search of more pop or resonance, and the results sound great.  However, some of what you'll hear on the final record is Richmond playing live at Rave's while we were also laying down the drum takes we wanted.

Through the rest of the summer, Geoff reworked his established keys.  He also began addressing some introductory and postlude content, and introduced some new layered synth ideas to the mix.  FYI, Record #2 is another concept album, so there will be recurring musical themes and sounds that we want to incorporate throughout its duration.  Some of this we'll still have to wait for the final mixes to be complete, in order to properly layer the effects and ideas during post-production.  But we can't really help ourselves from fooling around with ideas that we'll revisit later!  Geoff and I have also been occasionally trading lyric ideas for the songs that were last written as we move steadily toward recording vocal parts.  Some big themes the lyrical content of this album will address are as follows: human creativity and its purpose in relation to societal advancement, the ethics of conformity/nonconformity, true productivity, the relationship of individual parts to the whole, human pride and ambition, the quest for self-perfection...

In short, the record will cover life, the universe, and everything.

Joe's mostly been in an observing, cheerleading role, since he did the lion's share of the recording work in NY.  His performance truly shines on this record -- there are so many cool rhythmic things he does that I can't wait to hear with the final mixes.

In the last few weeks -- since the end of August -- it's been my turn to plug in and tune up my guitars.  Some of my parts I'd primarily worked out on the electric in the rehearsal space, but we'd always envisioned them on the acoustic.  So I re-recorded some of the things I did at Rave's on the electric, this time using both regular 6-string tuning and also "high-stringing" a second acoustic guitar to create a more nuanced 12-string sound by blending the two together.  While this method is less efficient than just playing a 12-string guitar, the approach creates dynamic sounds with far more voicing clarity than a traditional 12-string can provide.  The strategy also gives us greater ability to mix and manipulate the final takes.  I still have some more electric guitar work to do on a few of there complex passages of "Forevermore" and "Sparks in the Mind" as well, but other than that it's almost time for me to move on to my auxiliary keyboard sections.

Once we've completed all the instruments, it'll be time to move on to the vocals.  We've (I've) gotten quite a few chuckles from the scratch vocals that Geoff put down to simply direct traffic while we were in NY.  I might actually miss him saying, "Coming up on double chorus!" in the final mix...  That said, I can't wait to start working the actual parts.

Yes, we're taking our time with this project -- in part because we can (I mean, it's been eight years since we released A Lifeblood Psalm, so why rush now?), and in part because all of us are insanely busy.  I'm thankful for Jeff Bishop's expertise at the console, the modern technology that allows us to punch and splice takes without having to endlessly repeat the whole song until we get the perfect take, and for the amazing experience of writing and recording music.

Looking forward to the final product!

The three legs of faith-deconstruction stories

A few months ago, I finished a little book by Shane Pruitt called Nine Common Myths that Christians Believe (And Why God's Truth is Infinitely Better).  It was short and conversational, certainly not exhaustive or scholarly, but still helpful to address fluffy Christian jargon that means well but misses the mark of theological accuracy.  Because it was targeting the average church-goer's vernacular and not necessarily that of pastors/teachers, it was soft instead of indicting in its approach to these harmful ideas.  Nevertheless, it had some great points to chew on, not the least of which is the one that I earmarked to write this post.  Here it is:

Self-righteousness leaves a wake of people who are either so arrogant they don't need God anymore or so burned out they don't care about God anymore.  And whether they realize it or not, it all started from a place of wanting God to like them.  Self-righteousness becomes its own form of religion, and religions are built on what mankind can do for their god or gods.

The Christian theology of God's initiating love is so different from the concepts of other religions.  Jesus condescended to meet us where we are.  He willfully became something less than He was, a servant sacrificing His own righteous life for the undeserving beloved.  He did something for us, not the other way around.  That's the beautiful truth of the gospel.

So why, then, the growing trend of "faith deconstruction" stories we hear today -- the testimonies of  individuals, formerly self-identified as Christians, who are redefining themselves as "exvangelicals" or agnostics?  Why would someone move away from the notion of undeserved, unmerited grace, payment in full for a debt they could never afford?  These tales are complex, unique, and deeply personal.  They also share many common themes of pain, disappointment, and disillusionment.

Before I unpack my thoughts, I understand that you may be reading this at a time in your life where you are questioning or redefining your faith.  What I want to talk about here concerns your story, and I don't mean to imply by a summarizing approach that your experience is a cookie cutter, no different from anyone else's.  You aren't so easily labeled.  I want to humbly ask that you journey with me through the next few paragraphs and promise to help me better understand where you are if I've missed the mark on any of these things.

I also want to make it clear that I am not writing this to defend Christians keeping the "evangelical" label.  Like the banner of "fundamentalism" before it -- which, prior to its pejorative use, stood for a positive theological movement seeking to preserve critical components of orthodoxy from encroaching liberalism -- the "evangelical" title has outlived its usefulness, especially if it carries a lot of baggage in the eyes of the unbelieving community.  Many people assume that an "evangelical" is simply a right-wing, red-blooded, Christian Nationalist Trump-supporter.  If that's the association the evangelical title holds, then it truly should be retired, because it is actually hindering gospel efforts!  However, before we assume that we should all jump on the exvangelical bandwagon, let's differentiate between wanting to faithfully represent the gospel of Jesus Christ to the world and actively deconstructing our faith from a place of hurt, skepticism, or -- as Shane Pruitt argues -- self-righteousness.

My working theory of the exvangelical movement is based on the image of a stool.  The arguments of "faith graduates" stand on three legs.  One leg is righteous anger against very real and very ugly hypocrisy in evangelical Christianity.  This is the most powerful leg, because it it has a strong basis in truth and experience.  The second leg is a greater alignment with modern textual criticism than with the inerrancy of Scripture.  This is a position that casts doubt on the Bible's accuracy and ability to speak to a constantly evolving human race.  The third and final leg is embracing lifestyle choices and theological positions that are irreconcilable with "evangelical morals."

Without all three legs, the individual is likely trending exvangelical but isn't fully ready to abandon everything he or she has grown up believing.  However, once all three legs are firmly anchored, suddenly the decision to abandon or reinterpret Christianity makes a whole lot of sense, and the faith deconstruction truly begins.

Leg 1: Evangelical Hypocrisy.  As stated, many suggest that the "evangelical" label carries too much baggage to be useful any longer to Christians who are truly striving to live out their faith.  That opinion doesn't just come from exvangelicals.  They aren't the only ones seeking to distance themselves from cold religiosity or nationalistic faith.  The sobering reality is that qualms with evangelicalism aren't unfounded.  Historically, it isn't just the Catholic church that has hidden abuse scandals or turned a blind eye to clergy padding their pockets with donations.  The most recent evangelical scandal involving RZIM ministries is an all-too-revealing example of how power and a lack of accountability can lead even a supposed "champion" of the faith to abuse the privileges afforded by his affluence and ultimately travel a lonely road of spiritual self-destruction.  Many individuals who are moving away from evangelicalism have personal stories of pastors and church leaders who have committed similar egregious acts, unbecoming their role or the Savior they claim to worship.

Lest we think this is a modern evangelical issue, however, let's not forget the litany of prophetic diatribes against Israel's priests in the Old Testament.  Isaiah railed against the entire congregation, likening them to a collective snake -- the "elder and honored man" being the head, and the lying prophets being "the tail" -- that was leading the people astray into all manner of oppression, violence, and immorality (9.15-17).  Jeremiah lamented that, "from the least to the greatest, everyone is greedy for unjust gain; from prophet to priest, everyone deals falsely" (8.10b).  Ezekiel demanded judgment for the priests who "misled" God's people, and for the prophetesses who "hunt[ed] down souls" while keeping their own souls alive (13.10, 18).

The point is this: at no point in the history of mankind have spiritual leaders been sinless messiahs who are above corruption.  The religious institutions that commission and empower clergy of any denomination, at any point in human history, are likewise fallible.

However, for every pastor or organization that has fallen, there are two others that have lived above reproach -- not perfect, but taking sin seriously enough to recognize the potential pitfalls of abuse and temptation, and building accountability into their leadership paradigm.  The exvangelical solution to the abuse of power and scandal in the church is problematic because it is enmeshed in a cancel-culture mentality: if it's broken, scrap it.  No second chances.  The faulty assumption -- that because some churches are toxic, all churches are toxic -- is misguided and tragic.  Churches and institutions that are willing to recognize the dangers that sin poses, not assuming they are above its influence, are able to handle error with grace, tact, and love in humility.

Maybe you -- or someone you know -- were a victim of church discipline that was cold, unbiblical, or incorrectly administered.  If that was the case, I am deeply sorry for the pain to which you were subjected.  However, let's be careful not to confuse biblical church discipline with gossip, judgment, or power tripping.  The process outlined in Matthew 18 and 1 Corinthians 5 is a stern but necessary practice for a) the protection of the Body, which suffers when unrepentant sin is left to fester, and b) the restoration of the sinning brother/sister, who is being subjected to the type of compassion prescribed in Galatians 6.1-5.  It is intended to be a humble entreatment of a spiritually endangered individual to turn from what might destroy them.  If you or someone you know was subjected to a process of church discipline that any of the following bullet points describe, then you were subjected to a sinful and unbiblical method, not in any way prescribed by Jesus:

• an impersonal letter announcing the revoking of your membership without any personal meetings or discussion prior to your excommunication
• a process that did not follow the clear and necessary steps of Matthew 18, and that did not err heavily on the side of grace and time
• a proclamation of your sin that went beyond the privacy and safety of your church family
• a process that was intended to shame you, rather than entreat the congregation to go to you personally, humbly, and in love

What sin is worthy of church discipline?  In a way-too-brief answer for this space...  It's not about categories or tiers of sin.  It's about a heart that is unrepentant.  Do we all have sin?  Yes.  But what do we do when confronted with that sin?  Do we harden our hearts and refuse to change, declaring that sin to be our personal choice and no one has the right to tell us how to live our lives?  Or do we acknowledge that we were wrong and receive wise counsel on how to do better next time?  The existence of sin in our lives is not grounds for church discipline.  What we do when confronted with sin is another matter.

The reality is that church leaders who sin must be held to this same process!  However, many churches have historically failed to remember the admonishment of James 3.1, that those who teach and lead will be held to a greater degree of accountability.  If church leaders are above discipline, above accountability, or in any way considered holier than the congregation, you have the makings of a toxic church culture where sin will be hidden, abuse will be rampant, and people will leave (if they can escape!), disillusioned with the sham of "Christianity" they witnessed.

If you've witnessed any of these types of things, you aren't wrong to be angry.  God Himself is angry at the injustices, abuses, and sinful choices of people -- especially those perpetrated in His name.  However, exvangelicals would do well to acknowledge the universal integrity of the Church, the global Body of Christ, as a mixture of wheat and tares (Matthew 13.24-30).  Even if some specific local churches have proven to be hypocritical or even cultish, the Invisible  Church will prevail to the end of the age.  If we neglect our responsibility to the Body, even because we are rightly angry at injustice and sin, we risk putting ourselves on a self-righteous pedestal above other Christians, or marooning ourselves on an island apart.  By remaining committed to the Church, despite its imperfections, we leave room for God to be the Judge, and trust Him to finish the perfecting work that He began in each true follower of Christ.

If your church let you down, find another one -- albeit, not one that proclaims a different gospel, but one that more closely adheres to the truth and practice of God's Word.  There will never be a perfect local church, unfortunately, but it is far better to labor alongside fellow imperfect believers than it is to languish in spiritual isolation and leave ourselves open to worldly vices and ideologies.

Leg 2: Textual Criticism.  There is no possible way that I can fully address this topic in a single post (if you're so inclined, I've written more on it here and here -- again not exhaustively).  But let me make a few comments on why acknowledging the inerrancy of Scripture might not be as much blind faith as you think.

The concept is often rejected because it sounds naive.  How could an ancient text written over centuries by different authors and translated from an ancient language be without error?  Modern textual criticism has the weight of scholarly authority, intellectual giants who question the ascribed authorship of many Scriptural texts, the dates of writing, and authorial intent.  The treatment of Scripture is highly skeptical, viewing theological paradoxes as contradictions, and attempting to contrast Pauline doctrine with Jesus' teachings rather than trace the symmetry between them.  In all, when you begin from the position that an ancient text is a flawed, manmade document, then all the conclusions drawn will likely match the premise.

On the other hand, inerrancy is simply the belief that the Holy Spirit accurately and organically led the original writers of Scripture to preserve God's own words in written form.  It differentiates God's perfect and authoritative truth from the imperfect written form.  It is believing that God sovereignly transmitted and sovereignly protected His writings, even through gross Latin mistranslations that fostered belief in penance (thank you, Jerome) and periods of time when the very words of Scripture were deemed too lofty for the eyes of common people to read and became twisted by high church tradition.  Inerrancy fully acknowledges textual challenges of various types while still trusting in the power of God to accurately communicate to His people.

The assumption that the Bible is riddled with errors and contradictions is simply misplaced.  Ancient Bible scholars across eras have been able to triangulate incredibly accurate translations from an overwhelming amount of source data.  Belief in inerrancy doesn't (or shouldn't) deny the "errors" or differences of translation from ancient to modern languages, and it doesn't pretend that there aren't manuscript issues where copyists made mistakes or age has obscured certain pieces of text.  In fact, the best Bible translations are those that make a point to show where original wording is difficult to translate, or is missing.  However, the Swiss cheese picture that many people have of the Bible's composition, as well as the "whisper-down-the-lane" theory of oral biblical transmission, are simply the result of scholarly doubt unfairly cast upon the single most influential book in human history.

Many exvangelicals are diving deeply into Greek and Hebrew in order to uncover the "real" meaning of the texts, a meaning that they believe has been obscured by decades -- if not centuries -- of Christian mishandling (at best) or tampering (at worst).  The problem with this is not the desire for deeper study, but the motive.  Evangelicals aren't innocent of sometimes making the Bible say what they want it to say, rather than allowing the power of the text to speak for itself.  But exvangelicals are only replicating the same error.  Studying the original languages is an undeniably valuable pursuit, but the complexities of these ancient tongues means that zooming in too closely on individual words and phrases can be a little like missing the forest for the trees, or pixelating a picture because you're after individual specks of color and not the whole hi-res image.  Context is everything!

One of my fellow elders at Fellowship Bible Church has quoted his father's pastoral wisdom on more than one occasion: "If the first sense makes sense, take care lest you come to nonsense."  While there are plenty of challenging passages in the Bible that we would do well to read far more carefully than traditional handling of the text has done, sometimes the plain meaning of the text is often not difficult to discern.  In fact, the whole Reformation concept -- that everyone should have access to reading the Bible in their own language -- implies that the average layperson is capable of understanding the plain message of the gospel via the illumination of the Holy Spirit.  It is not the clergy with advanced degrees in linguistics who have special access to unlock the real truth of God's Word.  Plain and powerful truth can actually be obscured by drilling in too deeply without discretion, in search of the meaning you want to be there.

In sum, textual criticism is doomed to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, due to the preconceived notions that scholars and exvangelicals alike carry into their research.  Belief in the inerrancy of Scripture doesn't mean using the Bible to proof text for your personal values -- which, to be fair, many evangelicals have likewise done.  It means holding the Word of God in high esteem, and giving it the authority -- as the divine self-revelation of God Almighty -- to speak real truth into our modern lives.  The alternative is to place myself above the truth of the Bible.  This is what textual criticism does.  Suddenly, when I move myself out from under the Bible's authority, I have the theological impetus to believe whatever I want.

Which leads us to...

Leg 3: Lifestyle & Theology.  Maybe you are having a hard time seeing how churches can justify maintaining a 501c3 status.  Maybe you associate evangelical theology with racism.  Maybe you can't stomach the idea of a wrathful God who judges sinners, and instead embrace the "love-wins" theology of Christian universalism.  Maybe Christian counseling denied that your depression was a chemical imbalance and instead labeled it as a lack of faith.  Maybe you are divorcing your wife, or deciding your sexuality is deviant from traditional evangelical norms.  Maybe you simply see yourself as an Ally for someone else who is doing one of the above.  Whatever your reason, the irreconcilable differences between personal choices and evangelical ethics often becomes the impetus for redefining one's faith.

Exvangelicals follow typical Western thinking that emphasizes the individual over community, and the self as actuating truth.  If how I view myself is incompatible with another system of thinking, then I must be true to myself.  Particularly with regard to sexual identity and interpersonal ethics, the modern American is unwilling to allow any tradition, norm, culture, or belief system to dictate his or her personal choices.  As usual, the heart is king: what I feel, what I believe, and what I want are paramount.

That logically means that an archaic text like the Bible, with its black and white treatment of human sexuality and gender, must be irrelevant.  Dangerous, even.

It's important to note that you can be an exvangelical and still claim to live by the Bible.  This is done by embracing a different hermeneutic or interpretive principle than evangelicals.  Of course, reading the Bible this way also makes a lot more sense if you're also leaning on the leg of textual criticism.  While evangelicals interpret the Bible via a literal hermeneutic, whenever possible, exvangelicalism embraces symbolism and subjectivity.  If much of the historical narrative (especially of the Old Testament) is allegory, then the commands therein are merely principles given to emerging communities of faith that no longer speak directly to the modern iteration of the Church.  And if Jesus is really just a good teacher, then the entire gospel message can be summarized in one misappropriated and misdefined word: love.

At the risk of making a sweeping generalization, here is what I have found to be the single common thread of those claiming to be exvangelicals: lifestyle choices -- especially pertaining to sexuality and gender -- that are unable to be justified in evangelical theology.  Homosexuality.  Physical boundaries for dating relationships.  Cohabitation.  Appropriate grounds for divorce.  Gender roles in marriage.  As our culture redefines and then redefines its own standards and definitions for these things, the evangelical crowd continues to hold the longstanding and prevailing positions on these issues, as defined literally by the Bible.  To a world driven and tossed by the various winds of philosophy and theology (Eph 4.14), a rock in the midst of the current is a danger, not a refuge.

So.  Those are the three legs of the faith deconstruction stool.  Evangelical hypocrisy, textual criticism, and lifestyle choices/theological differences.  Certainly, greater weight can be placed on any of the above.  Sometimes individuals start with Leg 3 and then find the more or less sinful reactions from individuals at their home church to provide them the grounds for Leg 1, and then they are forced to establish an alternate view of the Bible (Leg 2) in order to defend their position.  Others begin at Leg 2 because they have serious doubts about the harmony of the gospels, or they have embraced the evolutionary theory and can't rationalize it with Genesis 1-2.  Not everyone's journey toward faith deconstruction will have all the exact same earmarks

Maybe you're reading this and finding yourself growing increasingly disillusioned with Christianity, struggling to find reasons to recommit to a church and doubting the efficacy of prayer or the necessity of reading the Bible.  Maybe you've wrestled with the problem of evil and found evangelical theology to be full of stale platitudes on the topic.  Maybe someone or some organization has tragically let you down.  Maybe you're reading this because you're chosen a walk of life that has led you to completely rejecting Christianity, and you are mildly amused by my attempts to define your faith journey.

If any of the above is you, here are a few pleas.

Don't place your faith in people or in a system.  Place your faith in Jesus.  Reaffirm your confidence not in fallible people, but in the infallible Christ.  The entire narrative of the Bible is that people aren't good enough!  No one person or institution can break the cycle of sin.  When we allow people to become our access point to Jesus, we will always be disappointed.  The author of Hebrews contrasts the Levitical priesthood with that of the Messiah, arriving at the conclusion that Christ's priesthood is superior, because He never has to offer sacrifices for His own sin (see Heb 7.17-28).  Ultimately, clergy cannot make intercession.  Only Christ opens the Holy Place to us once and for all.

Don't abandon the Church.  A church can (and probably has) let you down.  Maybe even multiple churches have.  Maybe your parents, the figureheads of your faith, let you down.  But THE Church has not.  The true Body of Christ is a real and powerful entity that truly exists, even in a world where heinous groups of people calling themselves a church ruin everyone and everything within their reach.  The individual components of the Church certainly have work to do, but the Bride of Christ prevails, because her Husband promises to present her blameless and without spot or wrinkle (Eph 5.27).

Don't trust your heart.  It's deceitful and desperately wicked (Jer 17.9), capable of all manner of wickedness and self-deception.  Unless truth has a firm anchor outside of yourself, you will never stop oscillating in your beliefs, the same way your feelings about things change from day to day.

Don't stop asking good, hard questions.  The problem is not doubt or your desire for answers.  In fact, one of my favorite moments in the gospel records is when a father asks Jesus to heal his son of a demonic oppression that has lasted all of the boy's life.  From a place of despair and hopelessness, he cries out, "Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief." (Mark 9.24)  This heart-rending moment shows us the necessary relationship between skepticism and faith.  When everything our senses and reasoning are telling us screams that something is impossible, Jesus changes the equation.  He is willing to meet each of us in our own places of doubt and uncertainty.  I say again, the problem is not doubt.  It's when doubt gives way to a cold, proud certainty that deems faith a meaningless, childish, perhaps even dangerous exercise, that you move to a hard-hearted place that becomes impervious to truth.  Balance your skepticism, your experience, and your history with the necessary questions that faith prompts in each of our hearts.

If you're in the process of deconstructing your faith, maybe the most critical thing is for you to ask yourself whether or not Jesus was ever truly the Lord of your life.  Not just conceptually, but truly.  He can't just be your friend.  He IS the believer's friend, but He is also so much more.  Does He love with an everlasting love and lay down His life for us?  Yes, and amen!  But He also is the eternal Son of God, the King of kings and Lord of lords to whom every knee must bow and every tongue must confess His right to rule.  Far too many exvanelicals have never truly submitted their hearts to Christ, perhaps because of doubts, or perhaps because sin distorts our motives.  Wholeheartedly receiving the free, radical gift of grace as the undeserved pardon for our personal sins means we owe Him everything.  On some spiritual level, none of us whats to make that commitment -- we want to maintain our sense of personal autonomy.  The only way we can embrace that reality is if we truly see the depths of our own depravity, acknowledge the grace of Jesus as the only thing that can atone for our problem, and wholeheartedly submit ourselves to Jesus' divine rule.  Totally, completely His.

I started this post with the quote from Shane Pruitt's book.  The repeated word in that paragraph is one that we most fervently deny when it is the most applicable to us: "self-righteousness."  Like many other sins of the human heart, self-righteousness can manifest in a number of different ways.  But the common thread is the simple notion that spiritually, intellectually, morally, I am better.  Superior.  It often germinates from a good seed -- for example, anger at hypocrisy in the church.  Justification starts sound, but skews sinful: "The people of Christ should be better than this.  Why aren't the people of Christ better than this?  Why aren't the people of Christ seeing this problem like I am?  Why aren't the people of Christ like me?"

Here's my fear for individuals who are deconstructing their faith.  One, they are pointing the finger of judgment at evangelicalism and missing their own self-righteousness in the process.  Exvangelicals, hear me: no one is arguing with you that the Church should be better.  The magnificent Pauline prescriptions of the Body are a far-cry from the sad reality presenting itself, especially in America.  But the solution to this discrepancy is not to point fingers or to burn the whole Christian movement to the ground in order to start your own better, "more mature" version of faith.  The solution is to humbly entreat, humbly teach, and humbly lead by example.  When Frederick Douglass was vehemently attacking white southern preachers who used the Bible to defend the institution of slavery, he argued via a significant rhetorical question:

What do you do when you are told by the slaveholders of America that the Bible sanctions slavery?  Do you go and throw your Bible into the fire?  Do you sing out, 'No union with the Bible!'  Do you declare that a thing is bad because it has been misused, abused, and made bad use of?  Do you throw it away on that account?  No!  You press it to your bosom all the more closely; you read it all the more diligently; and prove from its pages that it is on the side of liberty -- and not on the side of slavery. -- Frederick Douglass, "Baptists, Congregationalists, the Free Church, and Slavery: An Address Delivered in Belfast, Ireland, on 23 December 1845."

If you are fed up with Christian hypocrisy, the solution is not to forsake Christianity, its theology, or its promises.  The solution is to "press it to your bosom all the more closely" in order to prove faithful to the high calling of Christ -- even though every other man prove to be a liar (Rom 3.4).

Two, while exvangelicals may claim to be rediscovering God independently of the Church, the reality is that they are recreating God in their own image.  While the Church may be guilty of failing to fully live up to the standard of identifying love to which Jesus called them, they have been the guardian of orthodox Christian theology since Pentecost.  Shane's quote argued that self-righteous individuals (people too proud to need God or too burned out by their religious efforts) abandon the gospel of grace to worship or serve something else.  The self-righteousness of exvangelicals has led them to serve their own ideals or personal values -- causes that can be wholeheartedly served, but which can do nothing to save the individual.  The God of the Bible is not your crusade, social movement, perfect society, or accommodating divine grandparent.  He is the immutable, holy, and transcendent God who sovereignly, graciously chose to draw near to weak and weary sinners, and who will one day judge all human beings, declaring to be justified only those who are covered by the freely given blood of His Son, and all the rest as condemned for their self-righteous rejection of so great a salvation (Heb 2.3).

Three (and finally), in some part, we all wrestle with wanting God to like us for "who we are" -- that is, our own self-conception with all our quirks, beliefs, and preferences intact.  That, as opposed to truly embracing the identity into which Jesus wants to transform each of us.  One again, the beauty of the gospel is that we desperately need what God offers us through the person of Jesus Christ.   There is no other name by which salvation may come (Acts 4.12).

In our self-righteousness, we human beings are more inclined to deny that we have a need, to insist that we are fine the way we are.  The very notion of needing something is denies me human agency, my right to choose, my self-worth, etc.  But the gospel message is unwavering on the fact that it is only through death to our old self and spiritual transformation through Christ that we become people truly accepted by God.  Jesus said we must be born again, through a radical faith in what He alone can achieve (John 3.3).  Paradoxically, the Bible holds both the lowest view of human depravity and also the highest hope for human potential -- far more radical extremes than any other faith or ideology in the world.  It is not in ourselves that we find hope, however.  It's not in defining our own identities.  It's found in reclaiming the idea that we are made in God's image but broken by our own sin, and allowing Him to transform us into human beings fully realized, fully free, and fully satisfied.  And it all hinges on losing our independence, becoming completely dependent on the person of Jesus Christ.  Not on an institution.  Not on a system of theology.  We must be purely defined by the Jesus of the Bible.

Sadly, that is impossible for a heart that is "so arrogant [it doesn't] need God anymore or so burned out [it doesn't] care about God anymore."

Let each of us carefully and humbly examine our own hearts so that this description of self-righteousness never defines us.