Tag: Mark Driscoll

Identity Evangelicalism: Addie Zierman’s When We Were On Fire

I’ve been away from the blog for a couple of weeks as I was wrapping up my paper for this weekend’s meeting of the Society for the Scientific Study of Religion in Indianapolis. I’m presenting on the idea I’ve been exploring for the last year: how evangelicalism is changing form from one based on Industry Evangelicalism to one based on Identity Evangelicalism. I’ll try to summarize the paper in another blog post once I see how things go on Friday.

After laying out some of the conceptual arguments I’ve presented here before, I contrast two memoirs. The first, Mark Driscoll’s take on the building of Mars Hill (Reflections of a Reformission Rev), contains many indicators of evangelical structure, separation from others, authority and charisma, and internal control. To say it was hard to read is an understatement. It’s more accurate to say that I suffered through it and felt relief when I was done in the same way one feels when you stop hitting yourself with a hammer (that’s a Driscollish subtle turn of phrase).

On FireThen I got to read Addie Zierman’s When We Were On Fire. I had decided that I wanted to read a memoir from a millennial evangelical as my Identity example and had several to choose from, but honestly felt led to go with Addie’s.

I’m so glad I did.

Addie tells the story of what it was like to grow up immersed in evangelical subculture in the Chicago area in the 1990s and 2000s. There is much that is familiar to other evangelicals: See You At The Pole, What Would Jesus Do, True Love Wait, Missionary Zeal, Rock Music will ruin your soul, Three Minute Testimony, Summer Missions, Controlling Authorities.

In short, she grew up in the world that Mark Driscoll wanted to establish. And yet something wasn’t quite right.

One of my favorite passages has her with her mother right after Amy Grant came out with her crossover hit “Baby, Baby” which ran shivers through the evangelical community of the day.

She shook her head at the silliness of the whole thing, but you stared out the window, silent, thoughtful. You were born to a world within a world, and suddenly you could see the marked boundaries. You could see that there was an in here and there was an out there and between them, there was a yawning chasm. You could see that it was big enough to swallow you whole (20).

There’s so much in that one passage. The world in here and the world out there and the chasm between. The book reflects her search for self that can navigate that contested space. She is surrounded by a subculture that has clear definitions of reality (even when she knows that there are other perspectives) and people who have put a priority on maintaining those definitions (the tightly structure missions trip and those who work for it seem to revel in extreme and draconian stances).

Wherever she goes, whether to a good Christian college or to teach in a mission school, she seems surrounded by people playing along. She finds it difficult to be herself, expressing doubts, asking questions, living life. Where many others just quietly drift away from the evangelical world, Addie tries to find her faith in ways that don’t stifle her identity. It’s not easy and there are some dark periods of the book, but it’s clear that she’s never that far from what she believed “when she was on fire”.

Where Driscoll plays with ridicule and a forced certainty, Addie asks questions. She tells her story even with the dark moments because that’s the reality (while he still claims to be victimized by others).

As I finished Addie’s book, I found myself very hopeful about millennial evangelicals. They aren’t abandoning the faith, they are trying to live it honestly. It’s just that Industry Evangelicalism makes it so hard to do so.

The takeaway question for me, the one that I’ve been wrestling with over the last week or so, isn’t about millennials at all.

It’s about people like me. Why is it that my generation thought so little of prioritizing evangelical cultural expectations over an authentic sense of self? Why did conformity to rules and standards limit the ability to recognize grey areas? Why did we go along with structures that sometimes bordered on the repressive? And what are the lingering obstacles to healthy Christian discipleship that result from all that?

And yet Addie reminds me that I can’t just think of the past. New things are happening and it’s exciting to be part of it. Here’s the closing of her book:

Christ is not static or an end result. You are not suspended in grace above the fray of life. You are looking at God through a kaleidoscope. Your life moves, and the beads shift, and something new emerges. You are defining. Redefining. Figuring it out all over again. You are in motion, in transit, in flux. You will be sad. You will be happy. You will love and doubt and cry and rage, and all of it matters. You are human, and you are beloved, and this is what it is to be Alive (239).

Nothing I can add except a hearty Amen.

But You Canna Take My Freedom!

It’s not often that I find myself pondering a crisis in evangelicalism when it suddenly explodes in front of me. Yesterday I interviewed Jim Henderson from Seattle on his perceptions of what’s been going on with Mark Driscoll and Mars Hill. I was interested in exploring it as an illustration of the tensions between what I’ve called Industry Evangelicalism and Identity Evangelicalism. Having read of the recent uproar among former Mars Hill congregants (who had started a Facebook page called “We are Not Anonymous”) and their planned protests this Sunday, I wanted something of an informed view to help me make sense of what’s happening.

We talked about a wide range of things: the tendency to imbue celebrity pastors with extra authority, the sharp distinctions between inside and outside culture, feelings of persecution, special rights for Christian institutions, music, and the weather in the Northwest.

I had first become aware of questions at Mars Hill when I read Ruth Graham’s story in Slate about a young man who had been effectively shunned from the congregation. Based on that article, it made me wonder what dynamics were operating in the multi-site organization. That was followed by stories of PR stunts, insensitive tweets that launched twitter wars, the plagiarism charges, and the whole question of the New York Times bestseller that wasn’t. As things have unfolded, Mark Driscoll took some time to reflect and committed to take a break from social media. There have been further stories about the Mars Hill Global Fund and a lingering sense that things may be coming unravelled the more folks tried to maintain the Industry structure.

And then there was today. Today the Not Anonymous folks released a 140 page screed that Mark Driscoll had written in 2000. Granted, he was younger then. But the tirades and harsh tones and misogyny are overwhelming. I only made it through the first page when I’d decided I’d had enough.

From businessweek.com in an article ironically titled "Why Self-Awareness is Crucial for Entrepreneurs"
From businessweek.com in an article ironically titled “Why Self-Awareness is Crucial for Entrepreneurs”

Driscoll had written under the pseudonym William Wallace II. In case you forgot, the original William Wallace was a Scottish warlord leading fights against the power of the English state. The picture to the left is Mel Gibson at his blue-faced angriest from Braveheart. I’m struck with Driscoll’s use of William Wallace and what that suggests about this combative form of evangelicalism.

First, Braveheart is a celebration of the Great Man version of leadership. In this model, a charismatic leader is able to mobilize people into doing things the leader believes need to be done. But there is a dark side to this style. Success at leading requires exaggerating the leader’s capabilities while diminishing everyone else’s autonomy. I didn’t know at the time Braveheart came out but it became clear later that the way William Wallace was played was really indicative of Mel Gibson’s ego and personal style. The movie was organized around Gibson and told from that central narrative. Similarly, Driscoll’s angry rants and dismissive tweets serve an organizational style dependent upon that same kind of leadership. As the caption shows, I got the picture of Angry Wallace from a business week article on “Why Self-Awareness is Crucial for Entrepreneurs“. The Facebook quiz on Emotional Intelligence would be really helpful for church planters to make sure that leadership doesn’t come at the cost of shunning others.

Second, the notion of culture wars endorses strong and aggressive stances. Some who offered sympathy for Driscoll suggested that there were elements of Seattle culture or the emergent church movement that he was standing against. It becomes necessary to overplay one’s hand in order to hold off the encroaching forces. That is supported by a belief that history is on one’s side. But our supposed battle with the cultural forces of court decisions or voter referenda or other things that prioritize shared social values over privileged Christian values is not at all like battling against the English at Stirling. We’re not dealing with occupying forces. We’re dealing with our neighbors, friends, and family. It is important to maintain relationship (a point made in this wonderful set of interviews that Jim Henderson did with Ira Glass from This American Life shared on Josh Brahm’s website today.)

Third, while William Wallace/Mel Gibson famously shouts “You can take our lives but you canna take our Freedom“, he doesn’t win. He is drawn and quartered. He gets disembowled. True, his last word is “Freedom” but that didn’t make it come about. His actions lead to a movement that brings about a free Scotland. But Scotland is still part of Great Britain. At the end of the day, the sacrifice of William Wallace may cause more damage than was worth it (I really did like the movie, but it’s not real life.) Mark Driscoll may represent the most aggressive arm of evangelical culture wars but in the long run he will make it that much harder for Christians who are attempting to find a path forward in a Post-Christian culture.

 

 

 

What’s the deal with Christian Celebrities?

LovejoyI’ve commented before about some excellent work Zach Hoag, Ben Howard, and others have done in pointing out the challenges of celebrity within evangelical circles. Recent revelations regarding Mark Driscoll’s marketing expenditures have brought the question back to the forefront. So have the reactions to Steve Furtick’s “spontaneous baptisms” (and, more importantly, the assumptions behind the Furtick coloring book!).

Last week, I suggested that Ned Flanders gave us an image of what Testimony Evangelicalism might look like. So the conflation of various media stories made this a good time to follow up on the guy up front in Springfield’s favorite church.

One story that crossed my twitter feed this afternoon was this one by Ruth Graham. I was struck by her opening line:  “By any measure, pastor Mark Driscoll is wildly successful in the contemporary evangelical world.” As we enter the Lenten season and the story of Christ’s passion, the idea that someone would be “wildly successful” as an evangelical seems really out of place.

Here’s another cute story from today’s twitter feed. At On Pop Theology, Rebekah Mays created a quiz to parallel all the “which character are you” internet sites but predicts Christian celebrities. Depending upon the answers to a range of questions, you could wind up as the guy from the nudist church in Virginia (you really didn’t want the link), Joel Osteen (before they lost all that money), Mark Driscoll, Tim Keller, Rachel Held Evans, or Pope Francis. (Having seen Rachel last night, I loved that she was runner up to the Pope!).

A third piece on my twitter feed today (in fact, I keep getting distracted by updates about it) was this graphic that attempts to show the historical development of neo-calvinism. I’m not sure of the categories the authors use (my distractions involve discussion about the “race” column). While I haven’t read all these people or tracked with the musical developments, my sociological instincts tell me that we move from a series of influential authors in the 80s and 90s (which I keep identifying as the period of evangelical apex) to a focus on institutional development in the 90s and 00s. The timeline suggests that organizational vibrancy is far more significant than new scholarship in that period. (Paradoxically, the emergent movement may have an anti-institutional bias which keeps it from moving beyond the authorial phase.) As I’ve written before, the Putnam and Campbell “second aftershock” is the reaction of millennials against the institutionalization of the previous decades.

So…what’s the deal with Reverend Lovejoy? Why is he such a contrast to the gentle fumbling sincerity of Ned Flanders? This is probably oversimplistic, but I think it’s because Lovejoy sees himself as representing the organizational entity we call church. He’s the figurehead and much of his identity is tied up in the visible role he plays (especially when he has to confront his own doubts and would much rather play with his train set). Even the way he speaks betrays “that tone” that must come from some special voice class at seminary!

Yesterday on Facebook, Zach Hoag posted the question, “Are we in the last days…of Mark Driscoll’s ministry?” Without fulling knowing this post was floating around in my brain, I wrote this:

Surprisingly, I hope not. As you keep pointing out, evangelicalism’s fascination with celebrity can be scary. If we individualize Driscoll’s issues so that he takes a healing sabbatical, another celebrity pastor will take his place. Somehow we need to come to terms with the way Evangelicaldom (I made that up) is complicit in creating the conditions that allow Driscoll’s missteps.

So I’m trying to figure out why many evangelicals are drawn to circle around Christian celebrities. Why do we look for champions and then line up behind them (even if we don’t have Elevation coloring books)? Why do we stay on the lookout for those who criticize the celebrity and then rush to denounce the attacker? Why do we hang on to hope in the celebrity long after most of the world has moved on? Why are we so reticent to admit the failings of those we put up on such high pedestals, waiting all the way until the final moment of disgrace before reluctantly admitting something was wrong (see Bill Gothard for only the most recent example)?

As evangelical Christians we come upon the season of the year when we become most acutely aware of how Empire put the Son of God to death. We recognize the value of that death (I just spent two days with a bunch of theologians talking about atonement!) and the incredible power of the resurrection.

But in reality, the secret to this crucial season of the Christian calendar is that this is when all that changed. This is when the Kingdom of God breaks in upon us to free us from concerns of power and might. It is the Kingdom that tells us that we aren’t to amass followers or book lists or mighty works of baptisms. It is the Kingdom that tells us that we are to lay down our lives for others.

That’s a proposition as scary as it is costly. We would much rather build institutions that show we are right in our thinking, that we know what the answers are, and that we have Our Guy up there in front (I’m not being sexist, I’m accurately representing the leadership as it is — that’s part of the problem).

If we put a celebrity up front, or in the podcast, or on the cable news interview, we have someone who represents us. He can be the one we identify with. We can say, “yeah, what he said” and feel we’ve participated in the Gospel. But we didn’t. We just sat passively; vicariously experiencing someone else’s position.

If Reverend Lovejoy tells us anything, it’s that he doesn’t like being put in that position. He can’t be a real Christian to the faithful in Springfield because that would make us uncomfortable. He has to be a caricature of himself because that’s how we want it.

On the other hand, once the Gospel narrative gets past the crowds with palm branches (which it does very quickly), we see a Suffering Servant marching slowly toward the sacrifice that changes everything.

Maybe that’s the kind of leader we all really need. And need to be.

Two Modes of Evangelicalism: Industry Evangelicalism

This is a follow-up piece on last week’s post that connected Thomas Kuhn’s Structure of Scientific Revolutions to the changing nature of American Evangelicalism. It also builds off of the post I wrote for the Respectful Conversations dialogue on the future of evangelicalism. Finally, it’s informed by my reading of Molly Worthen’s Apostles of Reason on the early years of evangelical establishment.

To be fair, this is still a work in progress (isn’t that what blogs are for?). I’m trying to wrestle with some distinctions that can align with some of what we’re seeing in a number of areas in both the sociology of religion and contemporary evangelicalism. I want to contrast two forms of evangelical expression: Industry Evangelicalism and Testimonial Evangelicalism.

WeberFrom a purely sociological perspective, I’m using what Max Weber called “ideal types”. These are ideal only in the sense that they don’t exist in real life. In fact, the differentiation between the forms may exaggerate characteristics in ways that border on caricature. But that’s still useful from a theoretical standpoint. Weber was able to contrast real-world situations with his ideal types to understand the social dynamics in operation. Two of his most famous analyses based on idea types are his examination of economic systems (the Protestant Ethnic and the Spirit of Capitalism) and his church-sect typology.

As I’m conceptualizing it, Industry Evangelicalism is concerned with maintaining a following. This requires a media platform, organizational structure, and easily identifiable leadership (with an equally identifiable set of followers and defenders). Its power is dependent upon separation from other organizations, a sense of being persecuted and misunderstood, and a publishing or broadcasting infrastructure.

On the other hand, Testimonial Evangelicalism is based on the authentic sharing of story. It is based on interpersonal relationships. Any power that is involved is the social psychological power of personal story. The story is authentic because it rings true. It avoids pat answers and mischaracterization. It is willing to risk holding contradictory positions and tolerating ambiguity. In short, it is best expressed in John 9:25: when asked how Jesus had healed him, the blind man said “I don’t know: what I do know is that once I was blind and now I see.

What I am suggesting is that we’re seeing a shift from Industry Evangelicalism to Testimonial Evangelicalism. This is an important distinction. What many see as a decline in Christian commitment within society is not a decline but is a transformation. This is always the way God’s church has remained fresh and vital in the midst of a society prone to the syncretism of combining religious perspectives and affirmation of distinctive cultural values.

I’ll unpack the theoretical implications of Testimonial Evangelicalism in my next post. First, it’s necessary to explore Industry Evangelicalism.

In American Grace, Robert Putnam and David Campbell argued that one of the contributing factors for the growth of religious “nones” is the dogmatism and harsh stances of evangelical leaders. Younger generations found public comments and harsh tones to be a bridge too far, essentially saying “if this is what it means to be evangelical, I don’t want it.” This pattern is replicated in work on millennial questions about evangelicalism. I’d also suggest that the gulf between evangelical churches and mainline churches is as much this matter of tone and dogmatism as it is about theology.

There are a host of examples of Industry Evangelicalism. I’ll ignore the Duck Dynasty controversy here because I’ve already addressed it except to wonder who put out those Facebook pages about “standing with Phil Robertson“. Were these put up by some individual DD viewer? Probably not. It is far more likely that organizations that search for religious conflict put together these Facebook pages and asked Christians to “like” them. If I were really cynical, I’d think that “liking” got you on some mailing list. I’m sure that happens in the political arena and fear that the same models are being used in Industry Evangelicalism.

This week offered some concrete examples of the ideal type. I don’t have all the details behind these examples, which is where Weber’s approach is useful. They offer some indicators even if they aren’t perfect matches to the ideal type.

A group of Baptist college and seminary presidents raised concerns over the role of biblical inerrancy espoused (or not espoused) by their faculty. In the process, they raised concerns about academic freedom as generally understood within the academy. Peter Enns, reflecting on the article today, suggests “There is no hope here of reasoned, learned, discourse. Only circling the wagon and protecting turf.” Circling wagons and protecting the institutional turf reflects the prioritization of “our position” above all else.

Christianity Today had an interesting article this week on changing ties between Christian colleges and their sponsoring denominations. It’s a good piece and reflects the tensions present between attempting to build an inclusive enrollment (the article connects to C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity) while the alumni and trustees are denominationally connected. The article observes that denominational giving is down compared to years past. While Union University president David Dockery does a good job of connecting these changes to non-denominationalism, he’s quoted at the end of the article expressing concern that loss of denominational structure “will likely lead to a weakening of the college’s Christian identity.” There is a presumption that it is organizational form and control that protects identity and that a college’s ethos (and the commitment of its faculty) is not strong enough to maintain identity. The impression this gives, while softer than the Baptist presidents above, still privileges institutional form above exploration and authentic dialogue.

Also this week Robert Jeffress, pastor of First Baptist Church in Dallas and seen on thousands of television screens each week, released advanced information from his new book in which he says that President Obama is setting the stage for the Antichrist. It may be progress that he doesn’t think the president IS the antichrist but it still reflects a conflictual style that takes a legitimate disagreement (same-sex marriage) and puts it in the starkest possible context. It will sell books for sure. More importantly, to be called out in the Huffington Post is exactly what Industry Evangelicalism needs for success. The HP folks will ridicule the position taken by Pastor Jefress and he (and his folks) will take great solace in being disliked and misunderstood by HP. It’s good for the “brand”. (The similarity between this strategy and political structures is particularly disconcerting).

Yesterday Mark Driscoll, pastor of Mars Hill church in Seattle (and subject of lots of questions about the originality of his books) tweeted “If you aren’t a Christian, you’re going to hell. It’s not unkind to say that. It’s unkind not to say that.” I’m not really trying to explore the theology of universalism. I was really trying to figure out what prompted the tweet in the first place. Driscoll’s followers wouldn’t be surprised at the tweet. His detractors would be outraged. Was he hoping for push back on what he saw as unquestionably Christian orthodoxy? Or, as my friend Ryan Thomas Neace wondered, is it about the need to present a simply constructed worldview where answers are easy and uncomplicated?  Again, I’d argue that the tweet operates to keep the organizational position consistent in the face of complexity.

A consistent theme in Apostles of Reason is the development of evangelical infrastructures against supposed critics and pitfalls from outside. While there are major stories of accommodation to cultural changes (I just finished the chapter about Christian colleges pursing secular accreditation), those are always seen as pragmatic moves that must be watched closely to protect the institution from outside interference.

In short, then, I’d offer three keys to knowing if we’re dealing with Industry Evangelicalism: 1) is maintaining the status quo necessary to protect institutional power; 2) is there money to be made or followers to be developed through the immediate controversy; and 3) do the players hyperbolize their position and exaggerate their victimhood?

As I’ll argue in my next post, Testimonial Evangelicalism offers an entirely different set of characteristics that are more reflective of life in a complex, postmodern, messy, diverse culture. It’s not less Christian. It’s a different expression of the Truth of the Gospel.