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we should be asking God to help us see the terrible effects of this enemy among our people.
It seems like a paradox, but we can actually focus more on ministry if we would focus less on ministry. By that I mean using every opportunity to publicly affirm the important callings Christ has given to members of the church in the world.
Nostalgia causes us to lament the complexity of the present and idealize the false simplicity of the past.
Therefore, a missiology that elevates gospel proclamation over gospel demonstration doesn’t resonate with us.
Despite an explosion in the number of megachurches and Christian radio stations in the last forty years, statistics show younger evangelicals know less about the Bible and are less likely to have a Christian worldview than their parents. Church is more fun but less formative than ever before.
When things are no longer “the way they’re supposed to be” or “the way they used to be,” we become afraid. We become angry. Like Joshua, we want things put back in proper order. We want to return to the simple, linear, recongnizable way of operating because the old system made sense.
Complexity shatters our illusion of control.
God is notoriously uncooperative at our attempts at controlling Him. We want to contain Him, institutionalize Him, and systematize Him so that we can ultimately understand, predict, and control Him. So, when the Lord does something unexpected, when He complicates our life or our world, it’s a reminder that control is an illusion. We never had it, and we never will. That awareness is a gift.
Sometimes God is mischievous like that. He likes throwing dog food all over the kitchen of our lives. What we like to keep contained and tidy and under control, He throws up in the air—and He does it because He wants to get a reaction out of us. He does it to teach us a lesson, to show us that we are not in control, and that any sense of control we do have is just an illusion.
Wow! This is pretty darn good.
When the illusion of our control is shattered, when we are confronted with the complexity of reality, we are humbled.
Moses, however, realized that the spread of God’s presence among His people was always a good thing, even when it complicated simple systems, because ultimately it advances the mission of God.
Instead, we must discern the difference between good complexity and bad complexity.
They construct massive systems of control that are far larger than what is required for the task, and they are dangerously fragile. If one element of the system or environment changes, the weakness of the whole church or organization is exposed.
This is something we see in many legacy churches and organizations. God may have used a leader or institution in remarkable ways, but when the ministry encounters stagnation or decline due to unexpected complexities, they can begin to behave like Joshua. Rather than embracing a new movement of God, they become fixated on maintaining the old way of operating and may even express anger or outrage at those associated with the new approach.
Likewise, the Spirit can do amazing things through a leader and a ministry for many years, but if the Spirit shifts to blow in a new or unexpected direction, we may, like Joshua, resist this change. Rather than operate like the wind, we’d prefer the Spirit operate like an electric fan that we can control to perpetually blow in the same direction.
He does not want the people dependent upon him to encounter God or know His will. He wants every person to experience the Lord as personally and as intimately as he does.
BAM! That is it!
The entire purpose of churches, denominations, and missions organizations is to empower God’s people.
Hit the jugular, man!!!
Instead, we must embrace this new complexity, because it shatters our illusion of control, it advances the mission of God, and it uncovers our hidden motives. This present complexity is not a curse. It is a blessing. We must pray for the grace to recognize it as such.
Engineering a ministry to be antifragile with redundancy is not efficient, but that shouldn’t stop us from investigating its other benefits.
As long as the entire system is built on the premise of singularity rather than redundancy, pastors will be incentivized to deny their needs and minimize their problems.
brevity can be as effective as it is beautiful.
The structure of most evangelical worship services can force the pastor to stuff his sermon sausage with indistinguishable bits and pieces simply to fill the space between the enriched bun of sentimental music.
The error pastors make is assuming that Sunday sermons are primarily for teaching content rather than inspiring devotion.
illuminating a vision of a loving God, who invites us to share in the perpetual, eternal relationship that exists between Father, Son, and Spirit? If a preacher can’t accomplish that in fifteen minutes, he missed his true calling.
Do not underestimate the effectiveness of brevity.
The “most artistically perfect” mosaic monument, the inspiring vision of the Good Shepherd in a starry paradise, is hidden behind a veil of darkness.
That's a stunning way to put it. The same as our existence here on earth as we await the consummation of our faith.
Whenever the kingdom of God is proclaimed, it is like a bright burst of light. In those brief moments, the shadows recede and we are given a glimpse of a world behind the darkness. It is a sublime vision that reorders our perception of reality and leaves us hungry for more.
Only after people have a vision of God (the love, beauty, justice, and power of His kingdom) will they be ready to intentionally seek and employ the means to experience him through obedience—an aspect of spiritual formation that occurs most effectively in smaller settings through the medium of relationship.
But preaching is different. Announcing the kingdom only requires one to have seen and experienced it.
But if we believe preaching is primarily the announcing of the kingdom, an unveiling of a vision of God’s glorious reign and our life in it, then the responsibility to preach cannot lie solely with the pastor. It properly belongs with all of God’s people—even ignorant fishermen.
Teaching may be the domain of the spiritually mature, but preaching belongs to the whole body.
we only grow when we are uncomfortable, and too much comfort is not only unhelpful but can be downright dangerous.
Research shows that the brain shifts gears from system one to system two when it is forced to work, when it is challenged and uncomfortable.
But is easier the right goal, or should we be seeking engagement, which requires more work of our listeners rather than less?
Millennials are accepting our culture’s message that their value is defined by their achievement, and that work is primarily about self-satisfaction rather than advancing the common good.
Instead we have the challenging task of affirming the original goodness of work as a God-ordained part of our humanity without falling into the culture’s trap of making work into an idol.
Without silence, there is no music, only noise.
We are making a lot of noise but very little music.
Unlike our common callings, which can be found by reading the Bible, I cannot open to a chapter and verse to discover my specific calling. Discerning our specific callings comes through a mature communion with the Holy Spirit. In other words, a theology of vocation is contingent upon a practical theology of prayer.
Without a robust communion with God through which we discern His call, we revert to the autonomous self. We think that our work in the world is determined by ourselves.
In this way the fruit of our work is not determined by how much we accomplish around us, but by how connected we are to God’s Spirit within us.
Isn’t Sunday supposed to be a time to cease from our work, gaze out the capsule window, and contemplate our lives and calling from a cosmic perspective? Aren’t the songs, sacraments, and sermons supposed to reveal the wonder of God’s kingdom amid the chaos of our world, and prepare us to reenter the atmosphere on Monday with a renewed sense of meaning? How did the goal on Sunday shift from feeding sheep to recruiting them?
What authority I possessed had been built through years of shared community, sound teaching, and the vetting of denominational leaders.
The logic is simple: the magnitude of your platform determines the weight of your authority.
The assumption we make, and this is where the trouble comes, is that a larger platform is a result of the person’s competency, intelligence, or character.
Authority is best established through proximity—being in close personal contact so that trust can be established and grown.
Authority is predicated upon a personal knowledge of those whom we submit to.
But when authority cannot be granted on the basis of proximity—actually knowing a person—we may grant it on the basis of popularity.
And we may be right, but it will be a shallow authority based on the size of our platform rather than the truth of our message, content of our character, or gravity of our soul. In the process we will miss the opportunity to establish the more hardy and biblical kind of authority that comes when we spend our time in close proximity with those we are called to lead.
The antidote to popularity-based authority is the quiet power of pastoral presence.
