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Last week I pointed you towards a post by Rachel Held Evans that looked at the Church’s obsession with celebrity pastors and the problems it often causes.

In response Skye Jethani took a look behind the dangers to ask why. Why does contemporary evangelicalism seem to have such a preoccupation with megachurch pastors who expand their “brand” by writing and speaking at all the relevant conferences? He suggests that this can be attributed, at least in part, to what he terms the evangelical industrial complex.

“There is an evangelical industrial complex that helps create, and then relies upon, the existence of celebrity leaders. Have you ever wondered why you don’t see pastors from small or medium sized churches on the main stage at big conferences? Or why most of the best-selling Christian authors are megachurch leaders?

Here’s one possibility (the one people like to believe): The most godly, intelligent, and gifted leaders naturally attract large followings, so they naturally are going to have large churches, and their ideas are so great and their writing so sharp that publishers pick their book proposals, and the books strike a nerve with so many people that they naturally become best-sellers, and these leaders are therefore the obvious choice to speak at the biggest conferences. As a result they find themselves quite naturally becoming popular, even rising to celebrity status.

Is this possible? Yes. Does it happen? Sometimes. Is it the norm? I don’t think so.

Here’s the other possibility (one I’ve seen from the inside): Through any number of methods–powerful gifting, shrewd marketing, dumb luck–a pastor leads a congregation to megachurch status. Publishers eager for a guaranteed sales win offer the megachurch pastor a book deal knowing that if only a third of the pastor’s own congregation buys a copy, it’s still a profitable deal. The book is published on the basis of the leader’s market platform, not necessarily the strength of his ideas or the book’s quality. Sometimes the pastor will actually write the book, and other times a ghost writer hired by the publisher will do the hard work of transforming his sermon notes into 180 pages with something resembling a coherent idea.

Wanting to maximize the return on their investment, the publisher will then promote the pastor at the publisher-sponsored ministry conference or other events. As a result of the pastor’s own megachurch customer base and the publisher’s conference platform, the book becomes a best-seller.”

On the flip side, Bob Hyatt discusses the intentional pursuit of obscurity in his Out of Ur essay The Dangerous Pursuit of Pastoral Fame.

“Over the last few years, I’ve thought long and hard about “my platform” as a pastor, a writer, an occasional speaker. And as I’ve done so, I’ve come to the conclusion that there is a danger to my soul in pursuing more exposure, more name recognition, more money to be made from thinking, writing, and speaking about ministry issues. Especially while I am still in full-time, paid ministry to a local community.

I want to be clear, though: I have no issue with writers/speakers who sell lots of books, go on speaking tours, and generally promote their works however they can. But there’s something very “off” in the proliferation of pastors who are mixing ministry in and to a local community with “building their brand.” I think a good case can be made that the self-promotion that’s inevitably needed to build a brand in today’s world in incongruous with the servant-leader model of pastoring and the attitude of humility that ought to accompany it.

The Celebrity Pastor certainly isn’t a new phenomenon. But the extent to which some take it today, I think, is.”

What do you think? Is the growing pushback on the celebrity pastor phenomenon justified? If not, why? If so, how can we work towards something better and what would that look like?

“Most classrooms—more like 99.9 percent—on campus are auditoriums,” Mazur says. “They are built with just one purpose: focusing the attention of many on the professor. The professor is active, and the audience is just sitting there, taking in information. Instead, you could get away from the auditorium seating and set up classrooms like you see in elementary schools, where four children sit around a square table facing each other, and you give them some kind of group activity to work on: that’s active learning. It’s no accident that most elementary schools are organized that way. The reason is, that’s how we learn.

The quote above is from an article I came across in Harvard Magazine, which addresses the shift towards “active learning” in many Ivy League classrooms, as well as the obstacles such a shift is facing from staff, students, and even architecture.

What struck me is that, if you were to change “classroom” to “sanctuary” and “professor” to “pastor” this also describes almost every church I’ve set foot in.

A pastor stands on stage and gives a lecture that in many ways resembles a classroom lecture – or would at least be recognizable as a similar genre – and the audience passively listens with the occasional “amen” or alter call depending on denominational heritage.

Even with the most engaging of speakers, one could hardly call this active learning.

The thing is, I’m not entirely convinced that’s all bad.

There is much to be said for the shift towards a more interactive style of teaching, but there is also a danger – perhaps especially in matters of faith and religion – of such a method resulting in little more than pooled ignorance and a “what does this verse mean to you” approach to the Scriptures.

So my question is, should the church move away from the model of sermon-as-lecture?

And if so, how might we adjust to a teaching style that may be better suited to our cultural context and possibly even more effective in some ways, while avoiding some of the significant pitfalls that seem likely to come along with it?

I’m starting to read The Language of Science and Faith by Giberson and Collins, and was struck early on by an irony deeply embedded in the debate over faith and science.

In a way, fundamentalist Christianity (at least of the AIG stripe) and fundamentalist atheism (Hitchens, Dawkins) are making essentially the same argument – faith and mainstream science are inherently incompatible, and one must choose to either reject God or reject mountains of scientific data.

Both offer systems that are self-contained, give answers to everything from within the system’s own narrative, and by design invalidate any potential of critique from the outside.

In agreeing that a choice must be made between mainstream science and faith in God, two groups who look like opponents from one perspective may be closer to being mirror images – same substance but reversed results.

 

[Update: Louis responded to Ham's post this morning]

After all the discussion of evolution and creationism lately, I thought I would clarify something – I don’t think that Young Earth Creationism (YEC) is the problem, at least not in and of itself.

I may not personally find the science or theology behind YEC persuasive any longer, but if you do that’s fine, and really not something I feel like picking a fight over. There are many people who have wrestled with this question and come to a YEC position for perfectly understandable reasons, and I respect that.

What I’m frustrated with is how some YEC proponents have turned their position into something that is causing harm and division in the church, and needlessly driving away scores of people from the faith.

See I have spent most of my life among Christians for whom YEC was not only a majority opinion, but something of a badge of orthodoxy.

In classrooms, textbooks, and Sunday school lessons, the YEC position has been co-opted by Ham, AIG, Bob Jones, etc., and kids are taught from a young age that evolutionists are the bad-guys, that it is inherently anti-biblical, that evolution is really a way to justify sin and not have to believe in God, and that deep down even scientists know evolution has no real evidence behind it and the Bible clearly disproves it.

I’m speaking from experience here, because growing up that is the narrative I was sold by pastors, teachers, and peers.

Yet none of that is necessarily inherent to YEC, so why have we allowed such divisive voices to define the YEC conversation? Do we not see the damage that it is doing; to individuals, to theology, to education, to the way people understand the Christian faith, even to the place of YEC in the larger theological dialogue?

I’m tired of the narrative that evolution and Christian faith are inherently opposed and the entire conversation is off-limits, of hearing that yet another brilliant Old Testament professor was fired over their views on evolution, and of seeing the personal attacks on people I know and respect.

But most of all I’m tired of the way this false dichotomy creates an unnecessary crisis of faith for countless believers and a needless obstacle to the Gospel for those who are seeking God.

I’ve had my own crisis of faith, my own baggage that I’m still working through after being immersed in that narrative for far too long. And honestly, it didn’t have to be that way. [You can read some of that story here]. Yes I have residual frustrations, this debate can strike a nerve still. But looking back, YEC wasn’t the problem, it was the way YEC was held as an absolute on par with the Gospel, and the way it was taught as the only way to faithfully follow God.

Whatever position you take on creation, evolution, or the age of the earth, can’t we agree that faithful Christians come to many different conclusions on these issues, and have the actual debate over the science and the text, instead of turning it into a propaganda war?

 

Enns has an interesting essay in the Huffington Post today, Once More, With Feeling: Adam, Evolution and Evangelicals.

As you might expect from the title of his latest book, Enns is particularly interested in the Adam question, which is probably the most heated and controversial part of the conversation between evolutionary science and Christian theology.

And what he says is spot on, this has everything to do with what sort of book we imagine the Bible to be. That doesn’t make one side correct, but I do think it points us to the real crux of the matter – like a host of other pressing issues in Evangelicalism this is not simply a matter of my lining my verses up against yours.

The battle for the Bible centered on inerrancy and inspiration for quite a long time, but when people on both sides of most Evangelical debates believe in the truth and authority of Scripture it should become apparent to us that agreement on the right “in-“ terms does little to ensure agreement on what the text actually means – and so we must discuss the real point of tension, hermeneutics.

Below is a selection from Enns’ essay [I would love to hear your thoughts on it], and you can read the rest here.

“Evangelicals have been butting heads with evolution for 150 years. A lot is at stake.

If evolution is right about how humans came to be, then the biblical story of Adam and Eve isn’t. If you believe, as evangelicals do, that God himself is responsible for what’s in the Bible, you have a problem on your hands. Once you open the door to the possibility that God’s version of human origins isn’t what actually happened — well, the dominoes start unraveling down the slippery slope. The next step is uncertainty, chaos and despair about one’s personal faith.

That, more or less, is the evangelical log flume of fear, and I have seen it played out again and again.

In recent years, the matter has gotten far worse. Popular figures like Richard Dawkins have done an in-your-face-break-the-backboard-slam-dunk over the heads of defenders of the biblical story. They’ve taken great delight in making sure Main Street knows evolution is true, and therefore the Bible is “God’s big book of bad ideas” (Bill Maher) and Christians are morons for taking it seriously. Evangelicals have been on high alert damage control mode.

Then you have the mapping of the human genome. It’s a done deal: humans and primates are 90-something percent related genetically. The best explanation for it, geneticists tell us, is that humans evolved from primates. …

…Evolution is a threat, and many evangelicals are fighting to keep Adam in the family photo album. But in their rush to save Christianity, some evangelicals have been guilty of all sorts of strained, idiosyncratic or obscurantist tactics: massaging or distorting the data, manipulating the legal system, scaring their constituencies and strong-arming those of their own camp who raise questions.

These sorts of tactics get a lot of press, but behind them is a deeper problem — a problem that gets close to the heart of evangelicalism itself and hampers any true dialogue.

It has to do with what evangelicals expect from the Bible.”

“A Christian culture dominated by believing the right things about Jesus too often forgets that believing in Christ and walking in love are inseparable. In this case, followers of Jesus have too often forgotten that articulating a position on homosexuality does not in itself answer the questions: What does it mean to love my homosexual neighbor as myself? What does it look like for me to do unto my homosexual neighbor as I would have done to myself?”

For quite a while now Daniel Kirk’s Storied Theology has been one of my favorite blogs [really, you should be bookmarking it now, I’ll wait], so I was excited to learn he was going to share some of his work in narrative theology and Pauline studies in the book Jesus Have I Loved, but Paul? and agreed straight away when I was asked to participate in this blog tour.

The chapter I’m reflecting on is “Homosexuality Under the Reign of Christ” No easy task, as this is proving to be one of the most difficult issues facing the church today.

Daniel starts by laying out what the biblical text says about homosexuality, and honestly it’s not that much – far less than one would assume when you consider how much evangelicals in particular have tended to obsess over the issue.

Granted, what is said is uniformly negative, but even that is less straightforward than it might first appear. The infamous “abomination” line in Leviticus for example is hardly useable in current debates, as it comes in the midst of a whole list of other national laws that we no longer consider relevant, including another “abomination,” eating unclean foods (so next time you see someone eating a cheeseburger, haul out the protest signs).

The New Testament statements, almost exclusively from Paul, come in the midst of vice lists that lay out a classically Jewish diatribe against practices that seen as the symptoms of paganism and idolatry. They do indeed portray homosexual acts in a negative light, a fact which Daniel insists we refuse to brush aside, but there is more going on linguistically and hermeneutically than we often want to admit.

So we are left with a picture of the Biblical testimony that is far more nuanced, and gives no justification for singling out homosexuality as somehow different or worse than any other sexual sin, but is still essentially negative.

Where do we go from there?

In the aside “Arguing for Homosexual Practice,” which is directed at those who affirm homosexuality either for textual reasons or because they believe the Spirit is doing something new in our day, Daniel suggests that if you take this path it must go hand in hand with the Biblical narrative of fidelity and lifelong commitment. So that GLBT affirming churches should at the same time fight against the cultural trends towards easy divorce and casual hookups.

But the real thesis of the chapter, the theme that (rightly I think) trumps everything else, is love.

Central to our calling as Christians is love of others, and it is here that much of the church has failed spectacularly in its approach towards the GLBT community.

Jesus sums up the entire law with “Love the Lord your God with all your … and, love your neighbor as yourself” and then when asked who this neighbor might be, Jesus tells a parable which turns all the audience’s expectations upside-down and shows a hated outsider as more faithfully following the way of Jesus than the religious insiders.

“No clearer story could be told to show us that our predilection for keeping our love restricted to ourselves runs counter to the way of Jesus. When we restrict our love to those who roughly fall within the boundaries of those who are living lives pleasing to God, or when we use biblical regulations as reasons for excluding ourselves from the duty of providing for a person in need, we violoate the command to love our neighbor as ourselves.”

Daniel continues by bringing this story to bear on the discussion of homosexuality,

“the homosexual is the Christian’s neighbor, and Christian’s duty is to love homosexuals as ourselves. If the result of our biblical convictions is that we stand on the streets with “God Hates Fags” signs, we are not holding a Christian position but are using a Christian idea to prop up our rebellion against the life that Jesus calls us to.”

So what does it look like to love our homosexual neighbor as ourselves? The last few pages of the chapter wrestle with that admittedly complex question. I won’t delve into specifics at the moment, but the general thrust is this – is it loving the GLBT community as we would want to be loved if we deny them rights that we would never want others to deny to us?

We’ve failed miserably in our treatment this group of people, but the Christian narrative of love and self sacrifice might just point a way forward.

Daniel begins this chapter with a quote from Love, Love, Love by The Mountain Goats, and I can think of no better way to close out this post than by sharing that song with you as you perhaps wrestle anew with what it means to love others as a follower of Jesus.


*Baker sent me a free copy of this book as a participant in the blog tour – no stipulations were made on the content of my review, but if you think I can be bought off with free books then this information might be relevant to you. And with that I think I’ve fulfilled my FTC obligations.*

A recent poll by LifeWay Research revealed that a majority of Protestant pastors believe Adam and Eve were literal people, and that Evolution had no role in the creation of humanity, while being split on the age of the earth [thanks to Louis for bringing this survey to my attention].

Of course the interesting thing about polls isn’t the numbers, it is what those numbers tell us. We act sometimes like poll results are a sort of objective standard with clear implications, but usually that’s not the case.

Most of the time, what really counts are the narratives that develop around those numbers, narratives which may seem obvious while actually having little to do with the story behind the poll results.

Politics are often a perfect example. A new poll comes out and every candidate, pundit, and news anchor spins the results of the latest numbers into a different story.

For this poll the two common narratives have seemed to be either “Huzzah! Pastors are standing firm for the truth after all!” or “I knew it! Pastors are ignorant, science denying, rednecks!” (well, maybe not those words exactly, but you get my point).

But maybe there’s another narrative behind those numbers. Perhaps it isn’t so much that people who spend their time studying and preaching God’s word are any more or less likely to believe in evolution than the rest of us, perhaps it’s actually that those pastors who find themselves sympathetic to evolution also find the pulpit an increasingly unfriendly place to stand.

It’s not the only narrative we can use to make sense of this poll, but I think it is worth considering. After all, when the theological assumptions and internal politics of many churches make evolution into a boundary marker issue, is it unreasonable to imagine that pastors who cross that boundary might not be around long enough afterwards to answer polls like these?

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