Kevin DeYoung's Blog, page 36

How Should I Process the Current Tensions and Violence in Our Country?

Last week was a hard week. Very hard. And sadly, there could be harder weeks to come.

I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling a mix of sadness, exhaustion, fear, and confusion. There is so much hurt, so much grief, so many layers, so many story lines, and so many different voices clamoring for our attention. How can we possibly process everything that’s going on in our world?

The short answer is: we can’t. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try to think and respond wisely and Christianly. Here are a number of suggestions.

1. Pray. “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your request be made known to God” (Phil. 4:6). Cast all your cares on God, because he cares for you (1 Pet. 5:7). Prayer is not what we do because we can’t do anything else. Prayer is what we do because we can do something.

2. Keep reading your Bibles. “May the mind of Christ my Savior, live in me from day to day. By his love and power controlling, all I do and say.” That’s not going to happen if we check social media more than we check the Scriptures.

3. Admit no one is a completely neutral interpreter. We all come from some place. If our interactions with police officers have been entirely good or often bad will surely shape how we view current events. Just like it will make a difference whether we grew up in the majority culture or as a minority. None of this condemns every viewpoint to the hermeneutical abyss, but it means we should understand we are all wearing some kind of lens. We would do well as Christians to try to understand how our brothers and sisters might see things differently.

4. Listen to African Americans. I grew up in a suburb of Grand Rapids surrounded by almost entirely white friends, churchgoers, and classmates. As far as I know my own heart, I’ve never had any animus toward others just because they weren’t white. I was pretty well drilled in the public school to lionize Civil Rights leaders and reject all forms of racism. But that doesn’t mean I was somehow magically “post-racial.” I’ve had a lot to learn, and am still learning—about African-American history, and pain, and how my culture is not the standard, and about a hundred things I never have to think about or face as a middle-class Anglo in America.

5. Listen to police officers. Believe it or not, I knew more African Americans growing up than I knew police officers (which doesn’t make me an expert in anything, only ignorant in more things than I realized). I happened to run into (not literally!) a police office a few days ago. I asked him how he was doing. He said the department was demoralized and afraid. It was a good for me to hear what last week had been like for him and his colleagues. Not incidentally, he said the same thing I’m hearing from many African-American brothers and sisters.

6. Don’t rush to judgment. It’s easy to think after a few minutes on the internet that we are experts on the Supreme Court, police training, what cops are really like, what Black Lives Matter is really about, why there are so many shootings in Chicago, and how each new tragedy could have been prevented. Let’s not be afraid to slow down and get as many facts as we can (Prov. 18:17). We must be people who pursue justice, which means defending our neighbor against every kind of unfair treatment and his good name against every kind of false report (Exod. 23:1-3; Micah 6:8).

7. Don’t catastrophize every catastrophe. At any given moment, the world is so much worse and so much better than we can imagine. On the one hand, if we could see every failed marriage, every abusive situation, and every dying person, let alone inside every sinful heart, the world would look unbelievably grim. But that’s not the only picture. Crime rates have actually been going down for several decades. Grinding poverty across the globe is much less than it used to be. There are, as we speak, wonderful stories we never hear about involving racial harmony, police kindness, and African Americans forgiving tremendous wrongs.

The news specializes in bad news. Chaos brings ratings. Normalcy doesn’t. Imagine life way back when before the internet. We would have heard about some of these incidents the next day in the paper or later that night on the news. People would talk about it at work for a few minutes and that would be it. Now, for better and for worse, we can’t escape bad news. We have national tragedies every week, not because bad stuff didn’t use to happen, but, in part, because we didn’t see it constantly like we do now.

8. Don’t politicize every tragedy. Think before your post or re-post. We are ambassadors for Christ, not for the Republicans or the Democrats. If every death always confirms whatever your narrative already was about gun control, terrorism, Black Lives Matter, or the cops, then we are looking for a way forward as much as we are looking for validation. Let’s keep learning and keep our hearts and our minds open. In the past week I saw some citing the Washington Post figures that of the 990 persons killed by police officers in 2015, 494 were White, 258 were Black, 172 were Hispanic, and only 93 of the 990 were unarmed. In three-fourths of the shootings, an attack was in progress. Meanwhile, others pointed to a Washington Post article referencing that police fatalities are fewer under Obama than during the previous four administrations. Do these numbers by themselves mean that there is never racial bias among law enforcement officers and that cops are obviously safer today than ever before? Of course not, but the numbers can help temper both sides from making sweeping generalizations.

9. Avoid Manicheaen interpretations of the past (or the present). News outlets aren’t looking to bring people together. Social media posts don’t go viral for being calm and measured. Everything around us pushes us to take sides and make every tragedy part of an us-versus-them, all-or-nothing, you-win-I-lose, good-against-evil cultural struggle. Sometimes the conflict is that clear-cut, but not usually, especially if we are thinking about fellow Christians who may vote differently or watch a different cable news channel. These are are complicated issues, with root problems that are long and tangled. If the solutions were simple we would have done them by now.

10. Consider that there might be more common ground than we think. If you ask ten Christians to summarize last week, you may get ten different responses, from “Racism is alive and well,” to “The men and women in blue are under attack,” to a more general “Our country is falling apart.” People in the church may not always agree on what we are seeing, but I think most of us agree on what we want to see. I think the vast majority of Christians in this country—Black, White, Hispanic, Asian, everyone—want to see all people treated fairly and humanely by the police. We also want to see police officers respected and come home each night. I think almost all of us agree, as I heard an African-American pastor say at the church I was visiting this Sunday, black lives matter and blue lives matter. I think there is a shared consensus, broad and deep (if not yet thick and thought through) that we deplore racial bias and violent retaliation, that traffic stops should not end in gunshots, and that cops need to protect themselves. We may not be as far apart as we fear.

11. Read a book. Blogs and tweets and Facebook updates are here today and gone tomorrow. Try picking up a book on the subject, maybe from two different perspectives. I just ordered Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness and Heather MacDonald’s The War on Cops: How the New Attack on Law and Order Makes Everyone Less Safe. I’ve been helped in the past by Shelby Steele (Shame), Edward Gilbreath (Reconciliation Blues), and David Kennedy (Don’t Shoot).

12. Lament. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to be confused. There are more Psalms of lamentation than there are fix-it Psalms. Show pity before you pontificate.

13. Repent. The problem in the world starts with your heart. And mine. Among other things, every tragedy is an opportunity for the Lord to show us our sin and lead us to the Savior (Luke 13:1-5).

14. Hope. The Church can show the world a better way. What do we have to offer the world? An insistence on truth, a commitment to grace, and a hope that does not disappoint (Rom. 5:5). We worship a God who created the world out of nothing, brought the slaves out of Egypt, and raised Jesus out of the grave. Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear (Isa. 59:1).

15. Remember God is sovereign. There is no chaos, no chance, and no spinning out of control with God. He upholds us with his hand, and so rules over heaven and earth and all creatures, that leaf and blade, rain and drought, fruitful and lean years, food and drink, health and sickness, prosperity and poverty—all things, in fact, come to us not by chance but from his fatherly hand (Heidelberg Catechism, Lord’s Day 10).

7 Common Mistakes Search Committees Make

It seems like at any given time I’m either on a search committee, giving advice to those leading a search committee, or talking with friends going through a process with a search committee. Every church has had a search committee before, and almost every pastor has worked with search committees in the past. Search committees are a part of how most of us do church. Sometimes they’re great, sometimes not so much.

In my experience, search committees are usually made up of hard-working, godly laypeople trying to do the best they can to serve their church. But even mature, sincere Christians can make mistakes when they are working on a task they’ve never done before.

Here are seven common mistakes search committees make (and I’m thinking here especially of pastoral search committees):

1. Overcompensating for the previous pastor’s weaknesses.

This is the classic search committee blunder. Pastor Smith was a great preacher, but kind of prickly, so basically what we are looking for in our next pastor is Ronald McDonald. Don’t do the pendulum swing. Every pastor has strengths and weaknesses. It’s fine to want to address some problem areas from the last “administration.” But don’t forget what the last guy did really well. If you want to do the search process often, then let a bad experience or a bad character trait determine your next hire.

2. Mishandling internal candidates.

What do you do when a current staff member is interested in your church’s pastoral vacancy? That’s tricky. There is no right answer for every situation, but the right process can help.

When churches have a man on their staff who is well respected, well loved, has been effective in ministry, and has the gifts for the job, there is no need to go through a long search process just to show you’ve done your homework. Hopefully you did your homework when you brought the guy on in the first place.

This doesn’t mean every internal candidate is the best man for the job. Often they don’t have the gifts or calling to move from their current responsibilities to a new position. But in most cases, I think churches know that without a lengthy search. Don’t string anyone along, either the internal guy you aren’t going to pick, or the outside guys you are talking to, just to give the search committee legitimacy.

The bottom line: Be candid. Don’t over promise. Be clear with the candidate and the congregation about how things are going to work.

3. Communicating too little.

As I’ve said before, a search committee should not be a stealth committee. Communicate early and often, with the congregation and with all prospective candidates. Even if you can’t give specifics, you can tell the congregation, “We are still putting the job description together,” or “We are gathering names to consider,” or “We have narrowed the field down to three candidates.”

Likewise, those who have expressed an interest in the position do not expect insider information, just basic courtesy. Acknowledge that you’ve received their forms. Let them know when they can expect to hear from you again. Give them a sense of your timetable. They are thinking through a major life change. Keep them in the loop.

4. Taking lots of time just because.

No doubt, some search committees rush through the process, imagining everything will fall apart without a pastor (it won’t; we’re not that important). But I think the opposite danger is more common: taking a lot of time for no reason in particular. Some search committees meet too infrequently to ever gain much momentum. Others insist on listening to sermons from all 200 candidates. Narrowing down the field is hard work. It may mean difficult phone calls or disagreement on the committee. It’s always easier to keep pondering your choices for another month. And sometimes committees feel like their work won’t seem legitimate unless it takes a really long time.

How long should the search process be? As long as it takes for you to find the right man for the job. Don’t make it shorter or longer than that.

5. Crafting an impossible job description.

Many churches are looking for the same pastor: an amazing preacher and visionary leader who is great with people, a gifted administrator, a fruitful evangelist, a missions champion, good with kids, beloved by the elderly—a young dynamic pastor who somehow also has 20 years experience. Get real.

Here’s a better approach: make high character and shared convictions non-negotiable, then prioritize preaching, then make sure he has basic people skills, after that figure out the two or three other things that are really important in your context. It’s great to set the bar high, just so long as real non-divine people can clear it.

6. Failing to check references.

It’s baffling how search committees can be so thorough when it comes to theological questions, sermon listening, and umpteen phone interviews, but then fail to check with the people that know the candidate best. You should always talk to the man’s wife, not to grill her as if she were applying for a job too, but to learn about their marriage and how she feels about ministry.

Likewise, you should always talk to someone who has worked with, for, or above the man you are seeking to hire. People aren’t going to change dramatically from one job to the next, especially the older they get. What they were in one church is what they will be in the next church. It happens too often: churches find out six months later that their new pastor can’t administrate his way out of a paper bag, or he can’t get along with his colleagues, or he plays 72 holes of golf every week, or his marriage is a mess.

Of course, you can’t remove all risks, but a couple commonsense phone calls can save your church a world of hurt.

7. Expecting all the best candidates to come to you.

In most cases, the search committee will post the job opening on the relevant denominational, educational, and third party sites. Then they will wait and see how many applicants come in. For some positions, that may mean sifting through five applications. For the senior pastor position of an established church, that may mean hundreds of names. And you could very well have the name you need among those applicants.

But don’t be afraid to knock on doors. It’s not about poaching pastors or stroking egos. It’s just common sense. Some of the best pastors are probably happily and effectively serving their church at the moment. They aren’t looking around. But as a search committee you are. It doesn’t hurt to ask (provided you do it humbly and with the utmost attention to confidentiality). No one knows what you are looking for better than you do, so get looking.

The Sermon that Helped Push the Colonies Toward Independence

Is America a Christian nation?

The only simple answer to that question is: it depends.

Were all the founding fathers evangelical Christians? Far from it. Did the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution establish this land as a Christian country? Definitely not. And yet, Christianity has certainly been the defining religious influence in our history. Virtually every key Revolutionary era leader took for granted the need for Bible-infused virtue if the Republic would survive. And many of these leaders were sincere, orthodox, evangelical Christians.

Like John Witherspoon.

On May 17, 1776, John Witherspoon (1723-94) preached one of the most significant sermons in the history of this country. Preaching at Princeton, the Scottish pastor turned college president, delivered his most famous address. It was a General Fast Day, appointed by the congress of the American colonies for prayer and humble supplication before God in the face of an unknown, and possibly war-filled, future.

Witherspoon’s sermon, based on Psalm 76:10, was entitled The Dominion of Providence Over the Passions of Men. It is widely regarded as one of the principal sermons that prepared the way for the Declaration of Independence, a document that Witherspoon himself—the lone clergymen—would sign on July 4, 1776.

Scholars who care about these things almost always draw attention to the second half of Witherspoon’s sermon where the Scotsman, for “the first time” he said, introduced a “political subject into the pulpit.” But before he got to talking about independence, the Presbyterian minister had a more important point to make.

“In the first place,” he began, “I would take the opportunity on this occasion, and from this subject, to press every hearer to a sincere concern for his own soul’s salvation.” His argument was as simple as it was forceful: if you are right to care about your earthly affairs, how much more your eternal state?

I do not blame your ardor in preparing for the resolute defense of your temporal rights. But consider I beseech you, the truly infinite importance of the salvation of your souls.

Is it of much moment whether you and your children shall be rich or poor, at liberty or in bonds?

Is it of much moment whether this beautiful country shall increase in fruitfulness from year to year, being cultivated by active industry, and possessed by independent freemen, or the scanty produce of the neglected fields shall be eaten up by hungry publicans, while the timid owner trembles at the tax gatherers approach?

And is it of less moment my brethren, whether you shall be the heirs of glory or the heirs of hell?

Is your state on earth for a few fleeting years of so much moment?

And is it of less moment, what shall be your state through endless ages?

Have you assembled together willingly to hear what shall be said on public affairs, and to join in imploring the blessing of God on the counsels and arms of the united colonies, and can you be unconcerned, what shall become of you for ever, when all the monuments of human greatness shall be laid in ashes, for “the earth itself and all the works that are therein shall be burnt up.”

Witherspoon was doing nothing different from he had done with previous Fast Day sermons in Scotland. Conversion always came before current events. Although Witherspoon grew increasingly interested and involved in politics from the time he arrived in Philadelphia in 1768, he never ceased to be concerned for “the ministry of reconciliation . . . committed to me.”

In urging his hearers to attend to the day of salvation at hand, Witherspoon did not call men to general deistical interest in benevolence and divine things; he called them to Christ.

Suffer me to beseech you, or rather to give you warning, not to rest satisfied with a form of godliness, denying the power thereof. There can be no true religion, till there be a discovery of your lost state by nature and practice, and an unfeigned acceptance of Christ Jesus, as he is offered in the gospel. Unhappy they who either despise his mercy, or are ashamed of his cross! Believe it, “there is no salvation in any other. There is no other name under heaven given amongst men by which we must be saved.”

Unless you are united to him by a lively faith, not the resentment of a haughty monarch, but the sword of divine justice hangs over you, and the fullness of divine vengeance shall speedily overtake you. I do not speak this only to the heaven, daring profligate, or grovelling sensualist, but to every insensible secure sinner; to all those, however decent and orderly in their civil deportment, who live to themselves and have their part and portion in this life; in fine to all who are yet in a state of nature, for “except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.”

The fear of man may make you hide your profanity: prudence and experience may make you abhor intemperance and riot; as you advance in life, one vice may supplant another and hold its place; but nothing less than the sovereign grace of God can produce a saving change of heart and temper, or fit you for his immediate presence.

The sermon is worth reading in its entirety (go here, scroll down, and click on the Dominion of Providence), both for its political-historical significance and also to learn from Witherspoon’s great concern for conversion and personal holiness even in the midst of such national tumult.

We give thanks for liberty on this day—temporal freedoms, yes; eternal deliverance most of all.

How Should Christians Think About Corporate Apologies?

It’s been a busy season for public apology and repentance. Just within my denominational orbit: Overture 43–repenting of corporate and historical sins regarding race and civil rights–passed by a wide margin, while at the same time several individuals voiced their post-Orlando apologies for the ways Christians contributed to the persecution of those in the LGBT community. Less recently, Donald Miller, of Blue Like Jazz fame, once popularized the use of confessional booths on college campuses where Christians would set up shop and say they were sorry for the Crusades or slavery or the Salem Witch Trials.

How then should Christians think about corporate apology and repentance?

My short answer: as a careful, genuinely corporate exercise there can be great value in approving statements of shared repentance, but as a genre of complaint and rebuke, public apologies are normally misguided and misleading.

And what does that look like in real life? Here are several questions to ask as you reflect on a statement of corporate repentance or ponder making a corporate apology yourself.

1. Has the corporate apology been made corporately?

When the PCA said “we,” there was actually more than one person expressing repentance. The statement was crafted, debated, refined, and voted on by several, then dozens, then hundreds of people. Overture 43 could rightly claim to be a corporate (better yet, covenantal) act of contrition.

The same cannot be said for individuals who take it upon themselves to apologize for the entire church or for other conservatives or for evangelicals everywhere. The intentions may be entirely sincere, but why say “we” when you hold no position that would require you to speak on behalf of others and you have not been empowered to do so? An apology that begins “I’m sorry that we…” should really say “I’m sorry that I…” or say nothing at all.

2. Is there an obvious institutional or covenantal sense of responsibility?

The more direct and more specific the connection, the more appropriate the apology. Expressing sorrow for something my family did makes sense, likewise if my local church had done something wrong. I have a leadership role in both of those institutions and have some right to speak on their behalf. Similarly, a school or denomination may, like Josiah (2 Chronicles 34:19-21) or Daniel (Daniel 9:3-19), want to repent for actions and attitudes done under its aegis or by its leaders in years gone by. In these instances there is a line of obvious institutional continuity.

That line is far more ambiguous (or nonexistent) when we say we are sorry for the 12th century Crusades or for a general sense of not loving people enough. I suppose someone could argue that as Christians we bear responsibility for everything done by or within the body of Christ, but I don’t think any individual Christian functionally operates with that understanding. We don’t celebrate everything done in the worldwide church as our achievements. The history of the Church is simply too big, too long, and too wide to think any one of us will have to give account for all of it, everywhere, at all times.

3. Am I confessing my sins or other people’s sins?

In 1940, C.S. Lewis penned a striking article for The Guardian entitled “Dangers of National Repentance.”  His basic point: we should be exceedingly careful when apologizing for something we disdain in someone else.  Some solidarity with your nation or your tribe (to use a word Lewis didn’t) can be a good thing, but it can also easily turn into the sin of pride where we “confess” all the silly things our benighted forefathers weren’t smart enough to avoid and all the contemporary crimes our fellow citizens and colleagues are not enlightened enough to denounce.

The Apostle didn’t apologize to the Greco-Roman world for the sins of the churches he planted and nurtured; he openly tried to correct their faults (see 1 Corinthians), without denying his own previous, personal transgressions (1 Cor. 15:9). If a rebuke is meant, let a rebuke be given, but not under the guise of saying you’re sorry. As Lewis warned: “The first and fatal charm of national repentance is, therefore, the encouragement it gives us to turn from the bitter task of repenting of our own sins to the congenial one of bewailing—but, first, of denouncing—the conduct of others” (in God in the Dock, 190).

More recently, physician and essayist Theodore Dalrymple has labeled this phenomenon the “False Apology Syndrome.” The syndrome is dangerous because it allows us to feel good without having to be good.  We get all of the moral high ground that comes with confession and none of the personal pain.

The habit of public apology for things for which one bears no personal responsibility changes the whole concept of a virtuous person, from one who exercises the discipline of virtue to one who expresses correct sentiment.  The most virtuous person of all is he who expresses it loudest and to most people.  The end result is likely to be self-satisfaction and ruthlessness accompanied by unctuous moralizing, rather than a determination to behave well.

We get to feel grandiose for “our” guilt without the burden of having to change or the shame of having people see our actual faults. What could be more satisfying than saying we are sorry for other people’s sins?

4. Why was this repentance made public?

Confession of sin is an essential part of what it means to be a Christian. As a pastor, I don’t want to quench the work of the Spirit where He is poking and prodding a brother or sister to turn from sin and run to Christ. And yet, I admit I’m skeptical when sin is confessed loudly and publicly to no one in particular. If a fellow Christian feels he has wronged the LGBT community, I trust he has expressed that privately to his LGBT friends before making it public to the rest of us?

Again, I do not wish to question the motives of those making public apologies, but I do question the wisdom in doing so. It’s a fine line between commendable humility and exaggerated (and, in time, dangerous) self-flagellation. Sometimes I read public apologies and think, if you were really presently guilty of all these things I’m not sure why you are still in the ministry. We should repent of sin and make amends with those we have wronged. But that repentance, if it is our genuine repentance, must be based on the facts of real transgressions, and our making amends, if we are really trying to seek reconciliation with those we’ve wronged, should be personal before it is public.

5. Is the contrition costly?

Corporate repentance can be appropriate, even noble at times, but that depends on what such a confession costs us. Again, we should listen to Lewis:

When a man over forty tries to repent the sins of England and to love her enemies, he is attempting something costly; for he was brought up to certain patriotic sentiments which cannot be mortified without a struggle.  But an education man who is now in his twenties usually has no such sentiment to mortify. In art, in literature, in politics, he has been, ever since he can remember, one of an angry and restless minority; he has drunk in almost with his mother’s milk a distrust of English statesmen and a contempt for the manners, pleasures, and enthusiasm of his less-education fellow countrymen. (190)

Many in the church face the same danger as these young Englishmen. In confessing the sins of the church—with easily cheered apologies for homophobia or for contributing to a “culture” of hate—the danger is we have everything to gain with these remonstrations and nothing to mortify. “The communal sins which they should be told to repent,”Lewis advised 75 years ago, “are those of their own age and class—its contempt for the uneducated, its readiness to suspect evil, its self-righteous provocations of public obloquy, its breaches of the Fifth Commandment. Of these sins I have heard nothing among them. Till I do, I must think their candour towards the national enemy a rather inexpensive virtue” (191).

Saying “sorry” for the church’s sins, if it must be done, should only be done with great heartache and a genuine sense of shame for our part in them. The office of communal repentance, says Lewis, “can be profitably discharged only by those who discharge it with reluctance.” A son rebuking his mother may be necessary and even edifying, “but only if we are quite sure that he has been a good son and that, in his rebuke, spiritual zeal is triumphing, not without agony, over strong natural affection. The moment there is reason to suspect that he enjoys rebuking her—that he believes himself to be rising above the natural level while he is still, in reality, groveling below it in the unnatural—the spectacle becomes merely disgusting. The hard sayings of our Lord are wholesome to those only who find them hard” (191).

In other words, it’s a pretty good test of the appropriateness of our repentance to consider whether our confession is costly to us, or rather, aims to be costly to someone else.

A New Website for URC

University Reformed Church just re-launched our website. The site was created by a team of dedicated volunteers in concert with the WordPress web development team at LimeCuda.

Churches can no longer afford to have a shabby website. I’m all about putting substance over style, but in today’s world most churches would do well to set aside significant resources for a sharp, effective website. Like it nor not, it’s the first impression many visitors will have of our church.  A website is now an important aspect of what and how we communicate.

Purpose

As we thought through our digital strategy, we concluded there were three primary functions for our church’s website, corresponding to three different audiences:

1. To serve URC members by:

Keeping them informed on service times, upcoming events, and news
Giving easy access to past sermons and events
Communicating clearly and effectively the church’s positions on a variety of issues
Helping the congregation know their leaders
Highlighting upcoming conferences and special events
Providing access to online giving and volunteer opportunities

2. To serve visitors looking for a new church by:

Showing up in local search queries
Including contact and location information
Giving easy access to key documents and videos that explain who we are as a church
Providing a glimpse into our community life

3. To serving the greater church by:

Making all sermons easy to find, easy to download, and available for free
Finding ways to show up on biblical and theological search queries
Providing a clear and credible witness to the truth of the Scripture in a variety of areas

Design

Websites are supposed to be an online representation of the offline organization. You would be confused if the local pizza shop had a formal glitzy website. In the same way, a church website should reflect the vibe and feel of the “physical” church. Our church isn’t particularly hip or trendy. We’re all about the Bible. We are a church that cares about people and cares about theology. We’re a pretty diverse group of people from all walks of life. We are fairly traditional, but informal and down to earth. We’ve tried to build a design that honestly affirms who we are on Sundays.

Mobile Friendly 

About 45% of our traffic is via mobile or tablet. This is a large portion and to give them a better experience the site now takes advantage of “responsive design” and adapts to be an enjoyable experience no matter the device.

Sermon Library

Most of our web traffic centers on sermons. Every week the previous Sunday’s sermons get uploaded to our Sermon Library and added to our iPhone and Android Apps.

New feature: we are excited to make sermon transcripts available for my morning messages, beginning with my current Exodus series. Just click on the sermon title and the transcript (if we have one) will show up. A few transcripts may still need to be uploaded, but in time everything from Exodus forward should be covered.

Search Engine Optimization

If someone is searching for a church in our area we think it is important that we show up in the rankings. This may seem crass “marketing,” but it’s really about stewardship and effectively reaching our community. The way the site is built should help URC show up on the major search engines.

Other

The Ministries section helps people learn about each ministry, see upcoming events for that ministry, and get in touch with the people involved. We also have a map with pins and quick details about how to join a Growth Groups. Others may want to see Our Staff page, Books by Staff, a page specifically tailored to visitors, and one for members and regular attenders who are looking to get more plugged in.

Our tech folks are working hard to fix any remaining bugs and to make the site better and better. Many thanks to these wonderful volunteers. They are serving the church with their gifts.

Monday Morning Humor

Friends don’t let friends play Barney.

The Humble Leader

According to Numbers 12:3, Moses was more humble than anyone else on the face of the earth. What was it about Moses that caused this scribe (whom I take to be other than Moses) to come to such a lofty conclusion? No doubt, there are many examples of Moses’ humility in the Pentateuch, but let me point out three that are present in Exodus 18.

1. The humble leader shows respect to others. Moses was a big deal. He was God’s chosen instrument for leading the Israelites out of four centuries of slavery. He stood face to face against the most powerful man in the world (Pharaoh) and won. He was in charge of 2-3 million people, handling their complaints, leading them through the wilderness, and acting as the Supreme Court for their toughest disputes. Moses was the man.

And yet, when he was reunited with his family, he showed Jethro, his father-in-law the proper respect by going out to meet him, bowing down, and kissing him on the cheek. Moses then hosted Jethro in his tent and told him all that the Lord had done for Israel’s sake.

Of course, in one sense, this was all small potatoes. Moses was simply doing what would have been expected of him as a son (or son-in-law) in that culture. But the fact that Jethro is called Moses’ “father-in-law” twelve times in chapter 18 suggests that we are meant to see how Moses gladly accepted his role relative to Jethro. Good leaders understand that though they may have power, prestige, and position in certain areas, this does not mean they should expect to be feted and lauded wherever they go. We all inhabit a web of different relationships. True humility understands that no matter how important we may seem, we must still show proper deference and respect to those whose age or position require it.

2. The humble leader is willing to change. Again, it takes great humility to be in charge of as much as Moses was and still be willing to take advice from others. When it came to getting Israel organized for maximum effectiveness (and minimum frustration), Moses gladly listened to Jethro’s advice, even though he was only a visitor and a one-day old convert.

We would have been tempted to pull Zipporah aside later that night: “Listen, your dad is embarrassing me. He’s got to stop trying to tell me how to do my job. Last I checked, he’s been a priest of Midian his whole life, not the God-ordained prophet of Israel. Tell him to mind his own business.” But Moses didn’t complain, he didn’t get defensive, and he didn’t make excuses. He took his father-in-law’s counsel and instituted a massive overhaul to the spiritual and judicial life of Israel.

Here’s a good check for every leader, or really anyone at all: when is the last time you said, “That’s a good idea, let’s do it your way”? God is the only one who never changes his mind. He’s the only one whose ideas are perfect the first time around. For the rest of us, we must be willing to change–not always and not when it comes to truth, but probably more often than we think. At the very least, the humble leader knows how to incorporate the good ideas of those around him. He’s not too proud to admit, “You know what, that’s much better than the way I’ve been doing things.”

3. The humble leader doesn’t try to do everything himself. I love this paragraph from John Calvin:

Therefore let all, whether kings or magistrates, or pastors of the Church, know, that whilst they strain every nerve to fulfill their duties, something will always remain which may admit of correction and improvement. Here, too, it is worth while to remark, that no single mortal can be sufficient to do everything, however many and various may be the endowments wherein he excels. For who shall equal Moses, whom we have still seen to be unequal to the burden, when he undertook the whole care of governing the people? Let then, God’s servants learn to measure carefully their powers, lest they should wear out, by ambitiously embracing too many occupations.

Isn’t it interesting, Moses was tired in chapter 17, and he got two guys to help him keep doing the work. Now he’s tired again in chapter 18, but he needs men to help relieve the work. It takes wisdom to know the difference. When do I need support to keep pressing on? And when do I need to stop pretending this all depends on me? None of us is so significant that God can’t get things accomplished without us. As Calvin says a little later on in his commentary: “one ray of sun does not illuminate the world.”

Humility isn’t about pretending to be lower than we are. It’s about realizing we are not as mighty as we think. When we understand who we are—gifted, loved, and made in the image of God, but also flawed, weak, and wholly dependent upon God—we will naturally show respect, listen to others, and be eager to see those around us flourish. God is the ultimate sovereign, so we don’t have to be.

Monday Morning Humor

American Ninja Warrior is a summer favorite in our household. My kids thought this run was especially epic.

10 Thoughts on Speaking (and Not) In a Digital World

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven. . . .a time to keep silence, and a time to speak. (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 7)

I say things for a living. From preaching to praying to parenting to counseling to teaching to leading meetings to writing books to crafting emails and blogs and texts and tweets, my work is largely with words. I am talking (in one form or another), or preparing to talk, most of my waking hours. I understand there is a time to speak.

I’m also learning that it’s okay to be silent, especially when the “silence” is much more digital than personal.

I don’t keep a meticulous tally of things, but I bet a day doesn’t go by when I don’t see someone online decrying the fact that “no one has said anything” about whatever is bothering them today. I don’t want to automatically make light of this cry. Sometimes it comes from a genuinely hurting heart wanting desperately to know that someone is there and someone is on their side. But too often the cry is impossibly vague (“where is the outrage?”), emotionally manipulative (“the silence is deafening”), and ultimately unproveable (“no one of any significance has dared to speak out”).

And yet, anyone with any kind of “platform” (and that’s pretty much everyone these days), has faced the accusation of not caring or not listening or not engaging or not properly denouncing. When it comes to our brave new digital world, it appears Qoheleth was wrong: there is only a time to speak.

The issues are complicated. No two people will approach the online public square in the same way. But many of us need to spend more time thinking through our own digital parameters. And all of us would do well to cut each other some more slack.

For what it’s worth, here are 10 things I think about when thinking about what to say (and not to say) in the world of social media. Perhaps these musings will help my readers (both friend and foe) understand how I think about my online task and help young pastors stick to what is most important. If nothing else, it helped me to get these rattling thoughts out of the brain and into words.

1. Most of the things I write about arise out of pastoral ministry. I don’t go looking for controversies. I don’t feel compelled to weigh in on every passing cultural controversy (from Miley Cyrus to Duck Dynasty to dead lions and dead gorillas). I’m not faulting those who have a hot take on What Everybody’s Talking About, but I’m not trying to be a professional pundit. My first calling is as a pastor. That doesn’t mean I refuse to weigh in on presidential politics or the Supreme Court or the latest trending topic. What it does mean is that I don’t go looking for those issues, and I don’t feel compelled to comment just because everyone else is.

When I think back on my most “viral” posts, they all got their start from issues or questions in my own church. I wrote about Love Wins because virtually everyone in my church knows someone at Mars Hill (Mars Hill being next door to my hometown and me living next door to Bell’s hometown). I wrote on Jesus Hates Religion because a college student from my church wrote me an email saying all her friends were talking about it and she wondered what I thought. I wrote the piece on 40 Questions because I saw a number of people who used to attend our church celebrating the Supreme Court decision on Facebook. I thought I might be able to help my congregation in knowing how to respond. Similarly, my book ideas come from questions I hear people asking, clarity I think I can provide, or content I wish were available for my people.

2. Twitter is a different animal. I understand everyone approaches Twitter a little differently. When I reluctantly jumped into the Twitterverse several years ago I decided it was going to be a “get to” not a “have to.” That is, unlike my blog, I don’t tell myself “I better tweet something today.” My tweets boil down to three things: snippets from past Sunday’s sermon (big thanks to Barry Peterson for pulling those together every Monday), whatever silly (or sometimes serious) thing I happened to be doing when my phone is nearby, and the occasional link.

There are some things people do on Twitter that I almost never do. I don’t retweet compliments. I don’t retweet insults either. I don’t link to my own articles more than once. I don’t have public conversations with friends. I don’t engage with critics. I rarely check my mentions.

3. Which leads to a related point: social media is, for me, one-way communication. “Well then, Kevin, you live in a narcissistic echo chamber!” That would be true, if the digital world were the only world. But it’s not. I listen to my wife, my friends, my co-workers, my secretary, my elders, the members of my church, the members of my presbytery, and on and on. I think if you got to know me you’d find I’m pretty easy going and eager to seek input from others. Some people may start a blog or get on social media in order to have a robust conversation. That’s not my goal. To be sure, I want to be teachable, and I read widely on the internet with hopes of learning and being challenged, but I might as well be up front and tell people that my digital output is not about dialogue.

4. Along the same lines, I don’t think it’s rude when people write about me online and I never respond. To clarify, I don’t think they’re rude for writing about me (provided they do it in a respectful way), and I don’t think I’m rude for ignoring what they say, or else reading their post privately and moving on. Anyone to whom I owe a response knows how to call me, text me, or send me a private email. I work hard to respond to emails right away. I write back my friends and people who know me personally. I’m available for staff members and family. I try to be available for anyone in my congregation (or at least get them to another elder or pastor if my schedule is booked for several weeks). I’ve never written something publicly thinking that anyone I mentioned in the piece owed me a response. It would feel manipulative and self-absorbed for me to insist otherwise.

5. Some of my Hot Takes have never seen the light of day, and that’s a good thing. Whenever I write on something controversial I’ll send my post to some combination of my associate pastor, an editor at TGC, or one or more of my friends outside the church. On occasion I’ve sent an upcoming blog to my elder board to get their permission before posting. My personal assistant, who is not afraid to share her opinion, reads all of my posts before they go live.

I’ve still regretted some posts, and no doubt I’ve said some dumb stuff, but this networks of “checkers” have spared me a lot of self-inflicted heartache. They will challenge my tone, poke holes in my logic, and sometimes encourage me to scrap the whole piece. I’m all for dialogue, when it’s from the right people on the right side of the “publish” button.

6. We all inhabit a social location that affects what we see and when we speak. I’ve almost always been surrounded by people more liberal than me. I grew up in public schools. I went to a middle of the road Christian college. Until recently, I was a part of a mainline denomination. I live in a very liberal university town. My kids go to the public school. All of this means I write more about liberalizing tendencies because that’s what I see around me.

Recently I was at a gathering of conservative, evangelical pastors and the subject of Muslims came up. Some of the brothers were talking about how some Christians they knew would freak out if they saw a woman in a hijab in their town. This prompted a good discussion about defending the rights of our Muslim neighbors and correcting Christian attitudes toward Islam. Good stuff, but not something I think to write about. I see women in hijabs every day when I drop my kids off at a school. I’ve served on local committees with Muslims before. This doesn’t mean I’m a great hero of diversity, but it’s one example of certain topics I don’t think to write about because they don’t feel like issues where I live.

 7. The more I feel badgered to respond, the less likely I am to do so. Maybe this is obstinacy, but I think there is wisdom at work too. I have not generally been a “stay above the fray” kind of guy. Anyone who is familiar with my books or my blog or my denominational labors know that I’m not afraid to get into a scrap. And yet, increasingly I don’t see internet debates as very fruitful. There is always someone out there with more time than you, someone whose time for blogging seems impervious to the necessities of sleep, water, food, and bathroom breaks. You will never get the last word. And when you bow out of the conversation, you’ll be in no better situation than when you started (“See, this guy can’t take the heat. He turned off the comments. He won’t respond to me anymore.”).

I know it doesn’t have to be that bad. I’m probably missing out on some genuinely edifying exchanges. I’ll have to live with those losses. What I won’t have to live with is the mistake of handing people my microphone for their solos and the indecision of constantly wondering if I should say something or not. Life is much simpler and happier when you don’t read your comments, your mentions, or Google search your name.

 8. I am wary of the cheap points won by virtue signaling. This is a tough one because there is value in weeping with those who weep. I know a tweet or a post lamenting a verdict, a shooting, a death, or some painful event can be a reassuring comfort to those in the midst of grief. I posted one comment/tweet on Sunday about Orlando–a simple statement that there is a Savior and he calls us to love our neighbors. Because it I have written often against homosexual behavior, I at least wanted to register–as many other Christians were doing–that there is absolutely no place for violence against our homosexual neighbors. I don’t think all digital outrage and sympathy are out of place or manufactured.

And yet, so much of it seems unhelpful–like moral grandstanding mingled with conspicuous indignation and false apologies. I can’t judge the hearts of others, but I can tell you what goes through my head and heart: “I heard something about a Stanford swimmer who got off way to easy for a really gruesome crime. I bet if I wrote something about that it would get a lot of hits. But what do I really have to say? I read one article and have spent three minutes thinking about it.  Maybe I should let everyone know I think the sentencing was terrible. Then again, I haven’t heard anyone say anything except that. Does the world really need my opinion here? If I tweet something am I just trying to prove my moral bona fides by showing forth the appropriate outrage? There are a thousand sad things in the world right now, why must I comment on this one?”

So sometimes I say something. Usually I don’t. It’s not because I don’t care. It’s because I don’t think caring has to be accomplished in 140 characters for it to count. Oftentimes, I don’t feel that I know enough about a given brouhaha to respond in a meaningful way. Other times, I don’t have anything new to say. And sometimes I am just plain tired of the implied ultimatum that says: tweet your outrage or else! If the measure of our character can be proven in a status update, it’s not character that we are really measuring.

9. I’d rather write something that might still be helpful six months (or six days!) from now. We have to wrestle with our own hearts. I’m not faulting anyone for providing a steady commentary on the day’s news. We need a few Christians engaged in this work (like Al Mohler), but only a few. I’m all too aware of the temptation in my heart. What gets hits? Not theology, not book reviews, not wisdom from pastoral ministry. The hits come from controversy and current events.

But here’s where I feel my calling: I want to focus most of my time on what is most timeless and most trans-cultural. Am I done with cultural commentary or intramural theological debates? I’m sure not. But whenever I travel overseas I return home more committed to write about basic issues that Christians all over the world wrestle with. I don’t want my online output to be held hostage by the 24-hour news cycle. Twitter is ethereal. Blogs and periodicals have some lasting power. Books are where the lasting influence still lies. I’d like to spend my energies writing things that can be helpful most anywhere and for more than a week. Preach and publish: those are my “output” priorities.

10. Time is precious, and I want to use it wisely. In the past year I’ve remarked to several friends that the Christian blogosphere is no longer (or was it ever?) well-populated by pastors. This is not a complaint, let alone a critique of my many good non-pastor friends whose digital output is excellent. It’s just an observation. More and more it seems that if you are to gain a social media following you need to says things that are contrarian or controversial, or be ready to say things very quickly. I sometimes joke that if a big story breaks on Tuesday morning a pastor might have a chance to write about it, but once Thursday rolls around, Sunday’s coming, and there ain’t no time for nothing but the sermon.

Pastoral ministry allows for a lot of flexibility, but it also allows for frequent interruptions, a steady stream of local crises, and the unrelenting deadline of Sunday morning. A pastor does not have time to be a professional pundit. And even if he did, it’s fair to wonder whether he should be.

Leadership Lessons from Billy Graham

I love biographies that do more than chronicle a man’s life. I want to know the facts, but I also appreciate some interpretation. Which is why I found Grant Wacker’s new book on Billy Graham so satisfying. The entire book is sprinkled with interesting anecdotes and points of application, but the last chapter is particularly useful, for here Wacker provides an evaluation of Graham’s strengths and weaknesses.

Cracks in the Marble

“In the glow of nostalgia,” Wacker writes, “it is easy to forget that Graham, like all great leaders, made serious mistakes” (291). Among the more minor offenses, Wackers notes that Graham was a “notorious apple-polisher,” an “egregious namedropp[er],” and had a penchant for hyperbole (291-292).

More seriously, Wacker details four major problems that damaged the effectiveness of his ministry.

1. Graham struggled to stay out of partisan politics. Not only was Graham burned by his friendship with Nixon, he often tried to pretend he wasn’t taking a stand on partisan issues, when he would have been better to forthrightly show his cards and not try to have it both ways.

2. Graham was perceived as being too close to the power Establishment. His cozying up to Presidents seemed, well, too cozy. He did not understand social dissidents. He was often charged with being the “high priest of America’s civil religion.”

3. Graham was prone to go along to get along. He could be overly concerned with currying favor with his audience and hoisting his sails to the prevailing wind.

4. Graham did not bother with ambiguity, irony, paradox, or complexity. He seemed naive (or studied to be naive?) about theological differences, academic problems, and political dynamics (especially overseas).

As a historian, Wacker did not focus on theological weaknesses, but one can see from this problem areas how Graham could be overly accommodating to aberrant theological views.

Contours in the Marble

Despite these cracks, Wacker sees much in Graham’s life that is praiseworthy and genuinely inspirational.

1. Character. The list of virtues is long: Graham possessed a default preference for looking outward instead of inward. He was marked by an “extrospective cheerfulness,” what Wacker later describes as “an irenic disposition blended with an irrepressible sense of humor.” Millions of people all over the world simply liked Billy Graham. He was not timid–he would talk to anyone and go anywhere.

Most of all, Graham’s character shone “in the integrity of his personal life: financial probity, marital fidelity, devotional regularity, and recreational prudence.” When you think about it, it really is remarkable that someone of Graham’s power and fame never fell prey to the familiar sins of financial impropriety and sexual infidelity.

2. Mind. Not normally reputed for his intellect, Graham had a gifted mind in ways that are easy to miss. He was savvy. He spotted good talent and kept them around. He possessed common sense and a keen understanding of what resonated with ordinary people. He was comfortable in his own (mental) skin, never trying to be intellectually what he wasn’t.

Above all he had what historians call “intellectual virtue.” Wacker’s summary is well put: “That virtue traded on curiosity, engagement, agility, common sense, and deep insight. Billy Graham was no Karl Barth. But then, Karl Barth was no Billy Graham.”

3. Charisma. Graham was winsome, easy-going, quick-witted, good looking, affable, and an instinctive communicator. He spoke the language of everyday folks, without ever seeming to talk down to them in the process. He was expansionist, bold, and visionary in a way that Americans especially appreciated. Throughout his ministry, he remained confident and future-oriented.

And not to be overlooked, Graham’s personal humility allowed people to excuse the excesses of namedropping and self-promotion. “People who encountered him, personally or through film archives, including critics, almost always spoke of his humility, or at least his likeability.” He was critical of himself and sincerely interested in others.

Conclusion

The lesson I come back to after all good biographies is the same: our greatest strengths are bound to be our greatest weaknesses. We can see how inattention to nuance and ambiguity go along with self-confidence and visionary plans, just like “going along to get along” is the underbelly of being a profoundly likeable person.

So I end up wanting to pray two things: Lord, make me aware of my weaknesses, especially as they relate to my strengths. And let me not dismiss the heroes of the faith just because their marble was full of cracks.