How shall I stand if such mighty pillars have been cast to the ground?

Nothing is sadder or more destructive for the church than when leaders crash to the ground in a public way. It can be so disillusioning and disappointing for those of us who have loved and admired them (a point Matthew Hosier makes so well here). I know very little of the circumstances surrounding the decision of the Acts 29 board to remove Mark Driscoll and his church, Mars Hill, from the network. But I feel the crushing disappointment of the whole thing, given how much admiration I feel for the ministry of Driscoll.

This morning I read these unbelievably relevant words from John Owen in a book of daily readings. Read this slowly and carefully:

“It is the great duty of all believers to use all diligence that we do not fall into temptation. Adam was created in the image of God, full of integrity, righteousness, and holiness. He had a far greater inherent stock of ability than we, and there was nothing in him to entice or seduce him. No sooner had he entered into temptation but he was gone, lost, and ruined, and all his posterity with him. What can we expect if we also enter into temptation? We, like him, have the temptation and the cunning of the devil to deal with, but we also have a cursed world and a corrupt heart to increase the power of temptation. Abraham is an example for all believers to follow, and yet he entered into temptation about his wife and was overpowered to the dishonour of God. God called David ‘a man after God’s own heart’, yet what a dreadful thing is the story of his entering into temptation! I might mention Noah, Lot, Hezekiah, Peter and the rest, whose temptations and falls are recorded for our instruction. Certainly any with a heart for these things will cry out ‘How shall I stand, O Lord, if such mighty pillars have been cast to the ground? If such great cedars were blown down, how shall I stand before temptation? O keep me that I do not enter into temptation!’ Are any without a wound or blemish that have entered temptation? How will we fare? Assuredly, if we see stronger men fail, we will seek to avoid the battle at all cost. Is it not madness for a man who can barely crawl up and down (which is the case for most of us), if he does not avoid that which has brought down giants in the undertaking thereof? If you are yet whole and sound, take heed of temptation, lest it happens to you as with Abraham and the rest who fell in time of trial.”

(John Owen in Voices from the Past, edited by Richard Rushing, p.96)

On the back of this, three pieces of counsel come to mind.

1. Try not to judge that which you know nothing about

None of us have been privy to the discussions that have happened behind doors regarding all the issues surrounding Mark Driscoll. I trust the Acts 29 board because, from what I know of them, they seem to be a well-rounded and wise bunch of men. But I’m not going to dismiss Driscoll or write him off. On the contrary, my hope and prayer is that he would come through this stronger and more effective. God knows many of us have been inspired and helped by him.

2. Look at your own life and make a double effort to root out the sins of your heart

For those of us who are in positions of leadership in the church, or aspire to get there, the sentiments that Owen expresses here are poignantly relevant. I am not a pillar or a cedar, and if even they can come crashing to the ground, I had better take a look at my own life and root out the sins of my heart by the grace of God.

3. Avoid the battle of ‘entering into temptation’ at all costs

This is Owen’s main point. He’s not talking about the battle of the Christian life (which we are all engaged in), but the battle of facing down temptation, of ‘entering into temptation’. This is a situation in which the lusts of your own heart meet timely opportunities to sin, and the outcome is your inevitable downfall. Just as Jesus told us to watch lest we enter into temptation, Owen wants Christians to see that, rather than just avoiding the sin itself, we need to make every effort (through prayer and wise choices) to avoid entering into temptation. Don’t go there. Flee. Make it impossible to get tempted in the ways you know you’re vulnerable. Of course, how you do that will depend on your makeup and your situation, but we can learn from what little we know of Driscoll’s circumstances, and the far greater knowledge we have of our own hearts, to make sure we are careful in this.

Church growth: Why numbers don’t tell the whole story

It is fashionable these days to judge the success of a church or ministry based on its size. Typically, the men on platforms at Christian conferences are the guys with the biggest churches. Pastors flock to hear their methods and imitate their strategies. I’m not sure when this trend began, but it doesn’t seem to be a strong theme throughout the history of the church, and least of all in the New Testament. I have a number of problems with this extremely narrow view of success.

For one thing, it’s possible to build big, and build badly. Paul says very clearly that it is the quality of your work that will be proven through the judgment, not the size of it. “Now if anyone builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw – each one’s work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done.”

We can also see that some of the biggest churches are not churches by any Biblical measure. If we’re going to use numbers as our measurement, then we’d have to say that some of the churches experiencing the most success internationally include those who pray to Mary, those who preach prosperity as the message of Christ, and all other kinds of bizarre and unbiblical practices. In other words, numbers, in and of themselves, tell you very little about whether the church is even Christian.

Further, you can build big with a fairly narrow gift set. When you read the NT it’s not at all clear that the apostles had the kinds of gifts that could have built a mega-church in today’s world. They had little to no concern for marketing, executive leadership skills, or rhetoric and excellence in the church service.

In fact, we have to confess that big church is sometimes the fruit of consumerist culture. The biggest churches are so often those that serve up a palatable diet of easy-eating, with no bitter edge and no roughage to clear out the system. It’s junk food for a spiritually flabby age, and we are playing right into the spirit of consumerism when we conform our church life to a model that draws in more customers, but doesn’t make disciples.

Now, consider this. Jesus had a penchant for driving people away rather than attempting to gather a large crowd of fans. So often in the gospels we see large numbers gathering, and Jesus responds by trying his hardest to offend them, and he usually succeeds. He tells them to “eat my flesh and drink my blood” and they think he’s into cannibalism. He rebukes them for seeking miracles rather than true spiritual life. He simply isn’t impressed by numbers, and he finds great success in repelling them.

And it goes without saying that Jesus left comparatively few disciples, so that, if we looked at the numbers alone we’d have to conclude that he would not have earned a place on any platform at any major Christian conference today. He would be an unknown provincial preacher with modest influence.

Despite all of this, I do believe that church growth is a vitally important aim and desire. If you don’t want your church to grow, you don’t care about the lost or about the glory of Christ. There is a special kind of pride that glories in being small and ‘faithful’, and I want no part of that.

But the problem is that we have become so enamoured with numbers that we judge success or failure by them, we platform guys because of their large churches who often have very little to say, we make heroes of men who may well be trimming their message to appease the masses, and we take pride in growth as though we achieved something, when the Bible is perfectly clear: one guy plants, another might water, but God gives the increase.

Why preaching from memory or reading your notes might not be a good idea

This brief article by Lisa Evans from Fast Company covered a few mistakes people make in public speaking. There’s a section in there that just about perfectly captures my own concerns when preachers attempt to memorise their message, or worse still, read it out. The article is summarising some of the tips from Laura Sicola, founder of Vocal Impact Productions, and the first problem she identifies is the tendency to sound disengaged from your message. Quoting Sicola, Lisa Evans writes:

“ ‘If you don’t sound like you’re interested in your own words, why would anyone else be interested?’ asks Sicola. Too often, she says, managers will jot down meeting notes and read them off, or attempt to memorize them. The problem is, she explains, trying to get through a list of words often distracts the presenter from their meaning and causes them to sound disengaged.

“ ‘It’s not that you have to be Tony Robbins jumping up and down and trying to convince and compel, but you have to sound like you’re at least listening to the words that are coming out of your mouth,’ says Sicola.”

I think a lot of preachers are aware of this danger and so they attempt to make up for it by injecting some passion and variation in their tone of voice. The problem is, very few guys manage to sound authentic when they’re accessing their memory bank or reading their manuscript (though there are some notable exceptions, including John Piper and Mark Dever who preach from very full manuscripts).

It seems to me that the reason guys feel they have to write a full sermon and regurgitate or read it comes down to the fear of what might go wrong otherwise – they might preach too long (a real problem when you use less notes); they might speak heresy (yes, I’ve heard that one before); they might get their words mixed up; they might forget what to say; they might repeat themselves too often. But all of these potential problems can be overcome through determined practice.

Mark Driscoll says that learning to preach is like learning to drive a clutch; you have to keep trying until you get it right. I think it’s worth working hard to overcome the fear of speaking with fewer notes because the experience and effectiveness is so much greater in the long run. It’s probably going to result in some embarrassment along the way, but that’s ok. (And that’s one more reason why churches should probably think twice about putting every sermon online – there’s just no room for mistakes.)

Worship and evangelism are basically the same thing

Think of the last time you went to a really great restaurant. You might have praised the owner or the waiter who served you, telling them how amazing the food was. But after you left the restaurant you most likely told a friend that they just have to go try it.

Speaking to the owner or waiter was worship; speaking to your friend was evangelism. You may have said the exact same things, but your words were addressed to different audiences.

One of the reasons God saves you is “that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light” (1 Peter 2.9). In other words, he saved you in order to turn you into a proclaimer. And your proclamation is going to be pointed in two directions: it will be directed towards God as worship, and it will be directed towards others as evangelism.

I think evangelism can be made a lot more complicated than it needs to be. We make it hard by assuming that we have to have comprehensive knowledge of the Bible, training from experts, familiarity with apologetics and philosophy, and the ability to persuade people. All of these things can be useful, but it’s sad when Christians feel they can’t evangelise.

If you can talk about your favourite restaurant, film, city, beach, comedian, coffee, artist, shop, designer, actor, band, programming language or book, then you can evangelise. Worship is the outflow of enthusiastic and passionate admiration. But when you think of it, so is evangelism.

A little while ago my sister-in-law told me of a conversation she had with a guy at her church. He was pretty vocal about his favourite clubs and music, but he said that evangelism wasn’t his thing; he couldn’t tell people about Jesus. She told him that if he could enthuse about the things he loved, then he could tell people about Jesus.

When worship is the outflow of your heart because you really love Jesus, and you want to thank him for all he is and all he’s done for you, then evangelism need not be any more complicated or difficult than letting others overhear something of that passion. I once heard one of country’s foremost apologists, Amy Orr-Ewing, put it somewhat like this: “We just need to go and tell people how amazingly wonderful Jesus is. It’s as simple as that.”

The questions Jesus asked

Jesus was able to do more with a question than others can manage in hours of speaking and persuading. With his questions he had the power to undo men, or put them back together. His questions cut through all pretense and hypocrisy. His questions expose and often wound. They also minister faith and strength to those who lack it. Jesus chose his questions carefully with the wisdom of one whose mouth was well taught, and in an instant accomplished great damage against an enemy, or great help to a friend.

Jesus used questions in his teaching to arrest the attention of the listener, and enable them to be honest with themselves. He also used questions as weapons against his accusers. They were unable to hide their true motives, or their sheer ignorance, when he turned his great mind and insightful heart upon them and asked them the question they did not want to hear. Their logic was overturned, their safe place exposed, and their self-assurance destroyed.

A question punches through your certainty. It knocks you off balance. It exposes your bluff for what it is. It makes you doubt your doubts and question your assumptions. A well-placed question is like an ear worm; it gets inside your head, and it’s difficult to shake. It gnaws away at your foundations, and exposes your inconsistencies. It makes you panic. A question might also enable you to catch a glimpse of light when all is darkness.

To the anxious Jesus asks: “And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?” To the hypocrite, so sure of his good standing before God, he asks: “And why do you break the commandment of God for the sake of your tradition?” To a cripple who has grown accustomed to a life lived in dependence on others he asks: “Do you want to be healed?”

To man-pleasers he asks: “How can you believe, when you receive glory from one another and do not seek the glory that comes from the only God?” To the fearful, cowering adulteress he asks: “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” To vindictive and envious religionists he asks: “I have shown you many good works from the Father; for which of them are you going to stone me?” To the overconfident Big Fisherman he asks: “Will you lay down your life for me?”

A selection of some of his other questions:

Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?
Why do you question in your hearts?
I ask you, is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to destroy it?
If you love those who love you, what benefit is that to you?
Can a blind man lead a blind man?
Where is your faith?
What is written in the Law? How do you read it?
And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?
Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath, or not?
And if you have not been faithful in that which is another’s, who will give you that which is your own?
David thus calls him Lord, so how is he his son?
When I sent you out with no moneybag or knapsack or sandals, did you lack anything?
Why do you think evil in your hearts?
How can you speak good, when you are evil?
Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?
Who do people say that the Son of Man is?
But who do you say that I am?
Why do you ask me about what is good?
What do you want?
What do you want me to do for you?
Are you able to drink the cup that I am to drink?
What do you think about the Christ? Whose son is he?
Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise, take up your bed and walk’?
Have you never read…?
Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to kill?
Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?
Why does this generation seek a sign?
For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?
For what can a man give in return for his soul?
What were you discussing on the way?
Salt is good, but if the salt has lost its saltiness, how will you make it salty again?
Why do you call me good?
Was the baptism of John from heaven or from man? Answer me.
Why put me to the test?
So, could you not watch with me one hour?
Have you come out as against a robber, with swords and clubs to capture me?
Would you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

And, to the guilty betrayer and coward he offers an opportunity for redemption, for saying things not said, when he asks: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?… do you love me?… do you love me?”

There's no such thing as 'practice preaching'

A few days ago I was talking with a friend who is learning to preach. As part of his learning, the guys involved preach to one another on set passages, and then sit down and talk about how well they did, what they could improve, and so on.

To my recollection, I have done this once (many years ago) and decided never to do it again. Why?

I begin with the understanding that preaching is only preaching when you stand there with authority. It’s not your own authority, it’s derived from the word. But you still have to regard what you’re doing as delivering God’s word into the present context. That is how I understand the force of Peter’s encouragement to speak “as one who speaks oracles of God” (1 Peter 4.11). So the preacher has to have the correct self-understanding. Now, I grant you, there’s room for error here. The preacher might think that in order to speak the oracles of God he needs to adopt a foreign tone, or work it up. But it seems to me that despite the possible mistakes and errors a preacher can fall into, the most important thing is that he has a deep-seated conviction that he’s speaking God’s word. If he’s not delivering it in that way, with that conviction, and with that authority, I doubt he’s preaching at all.

So when we think about trainee preachers gathering together to preach to one another, and then offer critique, it seems to me that this is training in how not to preach. The guy stands up with his material and delivers it in the most technically correct way he can (right intro and flow, strong and clear points, good illustrations, perfect landing). But the artificial environment makes it near-impossible to stand there and deliver a message with the authority of God and his word, the very thing that makes it preaching in the first place.

The result can be that the trainees are technically capable, but they don’t really know what it means to speak God’s oracles. So, as I said, they’re being trained in how not to preach.

I would suggest that the only way a person can learn to preach is by preaching; not for critique, but for edification; not focussed on technique, but on delivering an actual message.

Now, I don’t want to set up a false dichotomy here. It’s possible to learn to preach well (with a mind to technique) and receive critique after the event, whilst also preaching a message with the necessary authority and boldness. But I doubt it’s possible to do this with a bunch of mates who are gathered for the sole purpose of offering you feedback, and I would reckon that this is counterproductive in the long-run if the goal is to train an actual, bone fide preacher.

Well, I grew up in a Christian home...

Sharing your testimony is a Biblical form of evangelism. When Jesus heals the man tormented by a ‘legion’ of demons, he doesn’t allow the man to become his disciple, but instead he spins him around, pats him on the back, and tells him, “Go home to your own and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you” (Mark 5:19).

However, not all of us feel that we have a story to tell – not like that man’s story. What happens if you grew up in a Christian home, gave your life to Jesus at age 4, and never looked back? Since we’re not necessarily allowed to ‘spice it up’ (i.e. throw in some stories about drugs and sex and stealing) how can we give a compelling account of what the Lord has done for us, and how he has had mercy on us?

Here are a couple of thoughts that might help:

1. Your passion is a story in itself. If Jesus is everything to you, and his love causes your heart to burst in amazement and appreciation; if you have felt the depths of his forgiveness and mercy; if you have ever meditated in wonder on the cross; if you have felt the Father’s embrace – if any of these things are true of you, then you have a story to tell.

It doesn’t matter to me whether a cod liver oil enthusiast came to it at a late age, having spent his former years denouncing it as a vile substitute for real medicine, and then experienced a change of heart and mind at a later stage, or whether he grew up consuming his daily dose and never deviated from the path. All that matters is his enthusiasm. If he’s passionate about it, and can testify how much it has benefitted his life, I’ll listen.

However, if you can’t articulate with any passion what Jesus has done for you, I think you need to start checking your spiritual pulse. Is there any sign of life? Are you really born again?

Those of us who grew up believing, and don’t remember a time when we didn’t believe, have so many reasons to be passionate about and grateful towards Jesus. We have enjoyed grace and favour we didn’t deserve, privileges we didn’t choose, protection we weren’t worthy of. And we know Jesus now and can speak about him with enthusiasm and passion now.

2. Your parents’ story is your story. My younger brother pointed this out to me just yesterday, and I thought is was such a great insight it had to be worth blogging about.

Your testimony does not begin with your childhood, it goes further back than that. (I don’t necessarily mean that we need to start before the foundation of the world, but you could go there if you wanted to.) The testimony of me and my brothers really begins in the 1960s, long before we were born. Our parents (and grandparents on my mother’s side) have their stories of how God rescued them, and these stories are part of our stories. I’m a Christian partly because of the powerful influence of my parents, and so my testimony begins far back, when Jesus rescued them.

Some Jewish people, even to this very day, would tell their testimony like this. “We were slaves in Egypt, and God rescued us…” The stories of our forefathers are part of our story.

So, perhaps it’s time to sit down with your parents, if possible, and ask them how they came to faith? Telling your testimony may well begin by telling theirs.