Driscoll's Rambo Jesus: or, Prophets Versus Peacemakers

Mark Driscoll is an interesting character. One of the most influential ministers in America, Driscoll started Mars Hill Church in Seattle when he was 25 years old. Formerly part of the "Emergent" church movement, Driscoll later distanced himself from the movement and is now one of the most vocal critics of leaders like Brian McLaren and Rob Bell (guys I very much consider influences, which might give you some indication of my perception of Driscoll).

Driscoll has long embraced a "man's man" image - one of his biggest criticisms of leaders like McLaren is their portrayal of Jesus as someone who embraced peace. In a 2007 article in Relevant magazine, Driscoll famously said, "In Revelation, Jesus is a (prize) fighter with a tattoo down his leg, a sword in his hand and the commitment to make someone bleed. That is a guy I can worship. I cannot worship the hippie, diaper, halo Christ because I cannot worship a guy I can beat up."

This statement is so wrong -- and terrifying -- that I can't begin to unpack it. Suffice it to say that any of us could indeed beat Jesus up -- you know, because of that whole "turn the other cheek" thing.

Driscoll has recently emerged (pun intended) in the news because of the publication of his new book -- "Real Marriage: The Truth About Sex, Friendship, and Life Together," written by Driscoll and his wife, Grace. Come to think of it, Grace might be Driscoll's only female friend, given some of his views on the role of women, particularly in ministry -- upon the election of the first female bishop in the Episcopal Church, Driscoll blogged, "If Christian males do not man up soon, the Episcopalians may vote a fluffy baby bunny rabbit as their next bishop to lead God's men."

In the immortal words of Dave Barry, I am not making this up.

While I was in Lexington for work recently, I met my buddy Caleb and his fiancee, Janie, for a Malibu veggie pizza and a Magic Hat #9 at Old Chicago Pizza. (My meal would've given Driscoll a headache -- I would earn man points for the beer, but lose them for the veggie pizza.)

Anyway, Driscoll came up in our conversation -- in part because Janie posted a link on Facebook recently detailing a radio interview Driscoll did in Great Britain. I would encourage you to read the entire thing, but if you'd rather not, here's a summary: Driscoll suggests that ministers in the UK are cowards; then proceeds to criticize the host's wife, who is a pastor; then, tangentially, begins to grill the host on his views about hell, eventually telling him to stop "drinking decaf" and get "more courage."

Caleb said that he is hesitant to publicly dive into the Driscoll controversy, primarily because he doesn't want to call attention to Driscoll's egomaniacal drivel (my words, not his).

I must admit that I have wrestled with this as well.

As I mentioned in a recent blog, I used to write a monthly "Faith and Culture" column for the newspaper where I worked as the sports editor. More often than not, I used that forum to try to convince people that Christianity wasn't what its loudest voices said it was. I hoped to communicate that many of us who are passionately committed to following Christ do not share many of the opinions of James Dobson, Jerry Falwell, and Fred Phelps ... and, now, Mark Driscoll.

I think part of the reason this is ingrained in me is because I know people who cannot accept faith in God as valid if it means swallowing what these guys are dishing out. It's heart-breaking to think of those who are hostile to the faith as a result of the things they've heard about what God is like from some self-appointed mouthpiece. I can relate to that hostility, because if I believed God was the way God is portrayed by these folks, I probably would not want to be a Christ-follower either.

Someone I'm very close to regularly encourages me to keep speaking up; she tells me that the things I write help keep alive at least a small interest in Christ. I would hope this is the case for others as well.

On the other side is the reality -- sometimes a very uncomfortable reality for me -- that Driscoll and Dobson are my brothers. As much as I would like to, I cannot disown them. To do so only intensifies the fracturing that plagues the body of Christ, and makes me as guilty of closing the borders as they are.

So the question becomes: How do I reconcile the two? How do I decry the hurtful words and actions of others who profess faith in Jesus, without showing the same disdain to them that they show to others?

I don't have a completely satisfactory answer. And, to be honest, the Bible is little help. On the one hand, we are clearly commanded to love one another and to be gentle in our dealings with one another. On the other hand, we find that Jesus saved his harshest words for the religious elite of his day -- those who "strained at gnats and swallowed camels," who observed the law to the letter while neglecting the more important matters of doing justly, loving mercy and walking humbly with God.

We are called to be peacemakers, but we are also called to speak prophetically against injustice -- and Driscoll's male-supremacy, homophobic, war-mongering, egomaniacal teachings are decidedly unjust. How does one function simultaneously as a prophet and a peacemaker?

A very similar issue arose in our Bible study not long ago, and it was suggested that perhaps motive is everything. If I repudiate Driscoll's words to start a battle of egos, to prove how right I am or how orthodox my theology is in relation to his, then my effort is wasted and I am as guilty as the man I'm criticizing.

Perhaps it's a different story, however, if I do it out of a genuine concern for those who are confused or wounded by his words; then, it would seem that my actions are more in line with the way of Jesus. At that point, it isn't about me; it's about those Driscoll would rather exclude. It's about helping those hurting, rejected people to know that there is room for them in the expansive Kingdom of God.

Maybe I don't have this exactly right. I want to walk that line, but I'm certain I make a misstep from time to time. But I will go on believing that, at the end of the day, God knows my intentions. I will go on believing that I can make a difference. And, most of all, I will go on believing that love will eventually trump every form of hate -- even the forms that are dressed up in God-talk.

(Note: For a couple of other reads about the Driscoll controversy, check out Mark Sandlin's post on The God Article and a piece on Rachel Held Evans' blog.)

What We Don't Understand

"'That's just the way it is.' But don't you believe them." - Bruce Hornsby

Last weekend, my wife and I took our daughter to watch the re-release of Disney's "Beauty and the Beast" -- skipping the 3D, which seemed quite pointless for a cartoon. We have seen the movie roughly 447 times in the past couple of years, as my daughter keeps it in heavy rotation at our house -- but, of course, seeing movies in the theater is a different experience and merits the trip, especially if you catch the lower-priced matinee.

If you do not have daughters or have otherwise been able to avoid the movie, it's about a prince who was turned into a hideous beast because he had no love in his heart. He must find someone to love, and earn her love in return, before he can become human again. He takes an old man prisoner after the man hides in his castle while seeking shelter, and later falls for the man's daughter, Belle, after she agrees to take her father's place.

I'm not ashamed to tell you that the movie's music -- which includes three Oscar-nominated songs -- is well-written and catchy. I've regularly found myself whistling "Be Our Guest" over the last few days.

And it was a line from a lesser-known song in the film that caught my ear and made me think as I struggled to stay warm in the ice-cold theater.

Late in the movie, Belle's would-be suitor, Gaston, convinces the villagers that the Beast must be hunted down and killed -- ostensibly for safety, but really because Gaston is jealous of Belle's love for the Beast. As the villagers are marching through the forest toward the Beast's castle, they sing "The Mob Song," which includes the lyric, "We don't like what we don't understand; in fact, it scares us." Rather than attempting to find out whether the Beast was dangerous or not, they would rather get rid of him than take the chance.

I couldn't help thinking of how this is an apt description of 21st century Christians. We immediately reject what we don't understand. Mystery can lead to questions, and questions can lead to people reaching different conclusions; and since orthodoxy must be protected at all costs, mystery is a door we'd prefer to keep locked up tightly.

Several years ago, when I was working as the sports editor at a small, daily newspaper, I also wrote a monthly Faith and Culture column. When the film adaptation of "The Da Vinci Code" was released in 2006, I wrote a column in which I quoted one of my favorite writers. Paul Prather, a pastor and columnist for the Lexington Herald-Leader, had recently written about the platitudes he was receiving from well-meaning people after losing his wife to cancer the year before.

As I reflected on the villagers' line in "Beauty and the Beast," I thought of the Prather quote I included in that column five years ago:

"If what you've believed is the truth, the truth can always stand up to scrutiny. And if what you've believed won't survive examination, why would you want to hold onto it? Who wants to entrust his eternal destiny to a myth?"

It's always amazing to me how God finds ways to emphasize these points to me once I start thinking about something. The day after we watched "Beauty and the Beast," I was listening to a podcast of a sermon from Mars Hill Bible Church. Shane Hipps read the Acts story of Philip and the Ethiopian. As a eunuch, the Ethiopian could not be circumcised (because ... um ... he didn't have anything to circumcise). And according to Jewish law, a man who was not circumcised would not be accepted by God. But Philip ignored this detail and baptized the man anyway.

In fact, by most conventions, the man would be unacceptable today. As Shane pointed out, the hormonal imbalances caused by castration often led to eunuchs taking on very feminine qualities -- in other words, it's very likely that the Ethiopian would be considered transgendered. Yet Philip bucked convention and baptized this uncircumcised, effeminate Ethiopian eunuch. As a result, Ethiopia has one of the largest Christian populations in that part of the world, and the Ethiopian church traces its roots back to a certain eunuch.

Good thing Philip didn't just reject what he didn't understand.

There are some rotten things about the world we live in. Our planet is witnessing an ever-growing gap between the richest and the poorest; and our excesses are beginning to catch up with us. Our nation has a toxic political system that punishes those who are willing to compromise and glorifies those who perpetuate gridlock. Our state, and especially my corner of it, is held hostage by an industry that convinces us it's our only hope for survival, when in reality it's destroying our health and our land.

We can accept the way things are, or we can dare to boldly ask why they should be that way.

Martin Luther King chose the latter, and sparked a movement that changed the face of the nation. Gandhi chose the latter, and won independence for his country.

What could we accomplish?

Whatever is True

"Christian is a great noun but a poor adjective." -- Rob Bell in Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith

One of my favorite people in the whole world is my friend Caleb. I first met Caleb in the summer of 2004, when he was a teenager and was serving in my town as a missionary for the summer. I remember the first time I saw him at church; dressed up, tie and all, but sporting a heavy beard and shaggy hair.

In the years since, we have become very close friends -- and his beard has grown much, much longer. We occasionally come to different conclusions on issues, but we have much in common: our steady opposition to mountaintop removal (we attended I Love Mountains Day together last year, along with his fiancee, Janie), our deep appreciation for Wendell Berry's work, our love for The Boss (although mine far outweighs his!). Probably my favorite thing about Caleb is that he seems more comfortable in his own skin than anybody I know. The guy is absolutely unpretentious, in a way I wish I could be.

(None of that has anything to do with what I want to write about; I just wanted to introduce you to my friend.)

Caleb is also an extremely talented writer who has completed a first draft of a book (which I have had the privilege of proofreading) and has a number of blogs with various themes. I find the most recent addition to be fascinating. In "Twelve Months of Change," Caleb will be facing a different challenge, a la Morgan Spurlock, for each month of 2012. His first mission: He is spending the month of January on an exclusive diet of Christian music.

Now, before you rush to judgment, I should tell you that Caleb has no illusions about this particular venture. He writes:

"I'm worried that this move could be viewed as Pharisaical or legalistic. As I've stated earlier, I've heard from God numerous times through so-called 'secular' artists and just because an album is sold in a Christian bookstore does not mean that the artist's heart is pure. I do not believe that listening to only Christian music will somehow get me in good with 'the Man upstairs' or incline God toward answering my prayers. It won't even make me more holy -- so this experiment is not exactly about that."

So please don't think that my writing is in any way intended to belittle or criticize my friend's challenge -- as I stated earlier, I find it fascinating. I'm only weighing in because his experiment has got me thinking about truth.

My upbringing was not all that different from Caleb's -- we both grew up in church. In fact, "heavily involved" barely begins to describe my association with my church's youth group throughout my teenage years; I practically lived at church. I recall, at various times during those years, facing the supposed "big issue" of whether or not it was OK to listen to music that wasn't "Christian" (by which I mean music made by Christians and marketed to a Christian audience). The scripture that was frequently used to answer this question was Philippians 4:8, which reads, "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable -- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy -- think about such things" (NIV). Somehow, this was (mis)taken as another way of saying, "Yes, Jarrod, you should only listen to 'Christian' music."

(I'm quite embarrassed to admit this now, but I recall one revival-fueled episode during my teenage years in which several people from the church -- myself included -- made a bonfire, into which we cast all of our "sinful" stuff: CDs, movies, and the like. Thankfully, this didn't set me back a great deal, as I had very little "secular" music in my collection at that point.)

Fast-forward about 15 years. I still think Philippians 4:8 is a great measuring stick for the music I enjoy -- but now I understand it completely differently.

In particular, the beginning and end of Paul's admonition -- "whatever is true" and "if anything is excellent or praiseworthy" -- suggest something much broader than music that fits neatly into the "Christian" category. For that matter, the lion's share of Christian music is neither "excellent" nor "praiseworthy" -- and, in some ways, perhaps isn't even "true."

Here's what I mean by that last part: A lot of Christian music conveys a message along the lines of, "Life really sucked, and then I found Jesus, and now everything is wonderful." If you have followed Christ for any amount of time, you probably learned really quickly that life is still not wonderful -- at least not all the time. Even when there is some measure of honesty and conflict in Christian music, it's typically the kind that is resolved in two verses and a bridge ("Things are really bad; oh, wait, I'm having an epiphany; and now things are really good").

Contrast this with one of my current favorite albums. Having received some iTunes gift cards for Christmas, I set about downloading some new music last week and ended up selecting Amos Lee's 2011 release "Mission Bell." Usually, music takes a couple of listens to grow on me. Not so with Mr. Lee's album -- I loved it instantly.

You want truth? Several of Lee's songs are, for all intents and purposes, modern-day Psalms. Take "Violin" for example ("Oh, God, why you been hangin' out in that ol' violin while I've been waiting for you to pull me through?"). Or "Jesus" ("I remember when I was wild and free ... my heart was a skipping stone ... You know, I never thought that you hated me, but I've never felt so alone"). Or "Cup of Sorrow," which expresses a willingness to participate in suffering as a show of solidarity with those who are suffering ("I send a prayer out across the ocean, to a man who's being forced out of his home; I send a prayer out across the ocean, so that he may not suffer there alone").

This is truth -- and, according to Paul, that makes it worth thinking about.

Or, look at Johnny Cash. While everything the Man in Black did in his twilight years was amazing, my favorite of the American recordings was the first one released after his death. "American V: A Hundred Highways" features a very frail Cash, reeling from the death of his wife and close to death himself, singing songs of pain and desperation ("Help Me," "On the Evening Train," "If You Could Read My Mind") and taking a long look at the end of his life ("Like the 309," "Further On (Up the Road)," "I'm Free from the Chain Gang Now").

Every adjective Paul uses to describe the things we should think about -- true, lovely, excellent, and so forth -- is encapsulated in "American V."

I have long been fascinated with the prophets in the Hebrew scriptures. The prophets were, above all else, truth-tellers. That truth might call the people out for some social injustice or moral deficiency; it might be a soothing balm that healed where someone was hurting; or it might simply give voice to the nation's pain.

My musical hero, Bruce Springsteen, has made a career of this (you knew I couldn't write this post without mentioning Bruce, right?). From exposing injustice in "The Ghost of Tom Joad" to decrying the Iraq War in "Devils and Dust," The Boss has spoken truth in a way many saccharine-sweet Christian artists cannot approach.

Perhaps his most prophetic work was done in 2002 with the release of "The Rising." Recorded in response to the horrendous events of 9/11, the album is simultaneously a funeral dirge ("You're Missing," "Waiting on a Sunny Day") and a call to celebration (the title track, "Mary's Place"). One song, "My City of Ruin," is both -- from lamenting the destruction the narrator sees around him to urging listeners to "rise up" and praying "for the strength, Lord."

Regrettably, my appreciation for The Boss had not yet blossomed back when "The Rising" was released; but I've listened to several live performances from the tour on E Street Radio (thank God for Sirius XM) and recently watched  a concert DVD recorded in Barcelona in 2002, and have never failed to be deeply moved by the power and timeliness of the songs.

(In doing research for this post, I came across an excellent piece about the importance of "The Rising" here.)

Moving past the "truth" test, Christian music regularly fails the "excellence" test.

To be sure, there are a few artists in the Christian music genre who take their art seriously and consistently put out high-quality music. David Crowder is awesome and willing to take risks -- who else needs both turntables and banjos in the studio? Derek Webb is fearless, taking stands that are far from popular with many Christian music fans. Artists like Andrew Peterson write songs that ask questions and inspire.

But these are exceptions. Generally, Christian music is to music what Hunt's is to ketchup -- a knockoff that is clearly inferior to the original.

(Sidebar: Probably my favorite episode of "Seinfeld" was the "Jesus fish" episode, in which Elaine is shocked to find that Puddy's car radio presets are Christian music stations. "I like Christian rock," George chimes in. "It's very positive. It's not like those real musicians who think they're so cool and hip." Classic.)

Finally, in a broader sense, I have a problem with the whole concept of "Christian" music. I fully resonate with the Rob Bell quote at the beginning of this post. We have created an entire Christian subculture that insulates Christians from the outside world -- we can listen to Christian music, attend Christian movies, vacation at Christian theme parks, read Christian newspapers, even freshen our breath with Christian gum bought from a Christian dollar store (sadly, I'm not kidding).

I stumbled across a blog by a fellow apparently named Scott Baker while I was researching. (I should really do this more often -- finding lots of great stuff!) If you don't want to read the whole thing, here's part of what Baker had to say:

"There's no such thing as a 'Christian song,' or a 'Christian book,' or a 'Christian nation.' There are only Christians who do, say, and act. And there is no song, book, speech, or act that is 'un-Christian' either."

If God is the author of truth, then we must accept that all truth is God's truth -- whether it comes through an "approved" instrument or not.

After all, God apparently spoke through a donkey once. Is it so hard to believe that God can speak through a musician or writer who does not believe in God? Or through a movie? Or through the crazy guy you run into outside your office? Or through your Rice Krispies? Well, OK, maybe that's going too far...

Again, I am enjoying following Caleb's blog as he completes Jesus Music January. (And Caleb, if you read this, I will remind you that Crowder's final album comes out Tuesday!) But for those of you who might think Caleb's challenge should last longer than a month -- like, say, the rest of his life -- I encourage you to pursue truth where you find it. God's bigger than your Christian box, after all.