You don’t have to be interested in thinking about or debating Mark Driscoll to find yourself pulled into the wave of his most recent debacle. I am not interested in talking about the situation itself, or even about Driscoll himself, but I want to make some notes about how people react to him. I find it interesting that, for the most part, both sides that debate Driscoll basically say the same thing. The issues debated are not typically over justifying his actions, most people I see interacting with him, on both sides, agree that he “goes too far,” and “lacks wisdom in what he say.” The difference, I propose, has to do with how we understand what a pastor is.

There is a growing belief in the evangelical church that “good” preaching covers a multitude of sins. This is simple another way of saying that the ends justify the means. The question we need to ask, I think, is whether or not it is fitting for a pastor to lack humilty, lack wisdom, and clearly project so many of his own psychological issues onto God’s work. Again, it seems to me that both sides agree to these things, and both think they are at least regretable. The main difference, as far as I can tell, has to do with how we view those things in light of Driscoll’s position as a pastor. One side, the pro-Driscoll side, claims that everything else he does out-weighs these particular sins, or else they invoke something like: “Boys will be boys.” The other side, believes that Scripture is clear about what a pastor is like, and because he breaks these Scriptural mandates so freely, frequently, and publically, that he should undergo, minimally, church discipline.

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I’ve been reading and meditating on the Pentateuch (first 5 books of the Bible) and I just read the passage in Exodus where God descends upon the mountain in fire, thunder, and lightening. Interestingly, the focus of this section is on fearing the Lord but not being afraid of the Lord. It is coming close, but not too close. As I was meditating upon this reality, I came to the conclusion that my upbringing has created too great a flipancy in my relationship with God. In other words, I never really had the sense of God as a consuming fire, even as that imagery was sometimes used to talk about my purification.

Let me take a stab at why this was. I think a lot of evangelicals are functionally Marcionites. Marcion was a second century heretic, who accepted Jesus but reject the God of the Old Testament. In doing so, he rejected the Old Testament itself. While evangelicals have never done this explicitly, I think we tend to do it implicitly. We read the Old Testament for prophecy about Jesus, for historical information about Israel, and for the Psalms and Proverbs, but generally, we do not believe it speaks meaningfully into our lives today (I always laugh when I hear pastors, who almost never preach from the Old Testament, suddenly act like Old Testament scholars when they preach about money – tithing specifically!).

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To start this post, let me begin with several qualifications: First, I think that theological education has some serious meditation to do concerning its task. Second, I think the overall model / approach upon which we’ve built is flawed. Third, I am excited about virtually anything that seeks to think creatively about this. In comes Mike Breen. Mike Breen, who I know little about but have heard good things, posted this back in November. It is a wholesale engagement with the kinds of worries I have. In light of that, let me again state some qualifications: First, I know nothing about this other than this post. Second, if I saw this right when I graduated seminary I probably would have called him up and said, “Sign me up and tell me what to do.” Third, I have some doubts about some of the statistics in the video, but for the purpose of this discussion lets assume they are true.

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I’ve been reading some Jean Vanier lately for some work I am doing on theology and disability, and I’ve come across what appears to be an idea central to his thought – that at our core, as fallen humans, is a wound of loneliness. Most of what we do is develop strategies to protect this wound, and most of our relational decisions stem from how we respond to others in the midst of our woundedness. The disabled, for Vanier, are special because they tap into our wound in a way others do not. The disabled, and I’m thinking mostly mentally disabled here, do not pick up on the kinds of strategies we usually employ in conversations, nor are they impressed with the kind of things that impress the world. Instead, they want someone to be with them, to love them, and not leave them. The disabled only want what we do, and yet they refuse to settled for what we do (i.e. shallow conversations, approval, etc.).

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There are a couple of things very close to my heart that I never seem to blog about. I'm not sure why that is. So here, I want to address one of them - writing. I come from a family of Christian writers. My dad, Lee Strobel, is well known in this area, but my sister is a Christian novelist and my brother-in-law writes children's books. It is just what we do. I have a deep love of writing, it feels like it is engrained in my DNA, but out of all of us, I am the least of a "writer." Let me explain.

Some people write because of the love of writing itself. I am not like that. I do love writing, but I can't just write anything. My writing is attached to my calling as a theologian. I write because I want to proclaim who God is. In this day and age, that can be difficult. I write in two realms, the academic and the popular. The academic world is easy. The audience does not drive the publishing nearly as much as in the popular realm. When the audience drives what is being published, it is often hard to speak deeply about something without being practical - when "practical" is taken to be "addressing the felt needs of your audience." The Bible is not practical in this sense. Our felt needs are the problem, so addressing those is a sure-fire way to make your work sub-Christian. I think audiences intuitively know this. Notice how well the Shack did. It was not practical in any specific sense, but its message that you have to walk through your pain to get beyond it is immensely helpful in the day to day reality in which we live. 

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The ministry I co-founded, Metamorpha, is continuing to offer spiritual retreats based on the concept of virtue. The next retreat is on endurance. If you are in the Southern California area, this retreat will be on November 19-20. For more information and to sign up, follow this link.

The painting we are looking at this week is by Giotto di Bondone (1266-1337). I was mesmerized by this painting. It is chaotic. It is intense. It is probably a lot like the real event portrayed in the Gospels (see Matthew 26:47-56). When I think of the event, on the other hand, it is often much more calm than this. If you read Matthew's description particularly, there is a sense where there is an initial scene that Jesus dispels rather quickly. In my mind, the action stops when Jesus starts speaking, and the mob just stands there dumbly as he teaches his disciples. But that probably wasn't how it happened. Peter cut off someone's ear for goodness sake.

Bondone's painting reveals the tension I feel in my own reading well. There is something of a painting within a painting here. Immediately, upon looking at it, your eyes are drawn to Jesus and Judas. Their embrace is not one of enemies, but almost of lovers. As their eyes are locked into each others', so are the eyes of the mob locked in on their embrace. The other painting is the larger chaotic struggle, as Peter cuts off someone's ear, and the dark figure on the bottom left grabs John's cloak as he runs away. But your eyes, as much as they try, cannot stop pondering the Jesus/Judas embrace. Is Judas' expression a realization of what he has done? Is Jesus' expression and peace an act of grace or condemnation? 

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We see in John 20:19-29 the reason why many people still know the disciple named Thomas as "Doubting Thomas." Thomas refuses to believe until he sees Jesus with his own eyes and touches his nail and spear wounds. There is much more to say about this passage, but lets turn to Caravaggio's take. Caravaggio's style forces you into the midst of the painting - many times in a way you don't want. Assuming that Thomas took Jesus up on his offer to touch his side and his nail wounds, Caravaggio paints Thomas about an inch deep into Jesus' spear wound. Importantly though, notice that the only movement in the painting is by Jesus. Thomas seems worried, shocked, and a bit overwhelmed (notice his forehead), as are the other disciples. Jesus on the other hand is calm, collected, and is grasping Thomas' hand to guide it into the wound and using his other hand to pull his garment out of the way. 

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You might not have noticed, but there is a lot going on right now in the world of spiritual direction. Spiritual direction is an ancient practice, often called by other names, and it is growing in popularity among evangelicals. I have started following a 3 part series on spiritual direction in the church by my close friend Jamin Goggin, Pastor of the 501 ministry at Saddleback Church. Check out his first post on Pastors.com about spiritual direction in the church and let me know what you think.