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The real danger of the Evangelical Industrial Complex is not the elevation of immature and unaccountable leaders, but how these leaders in turn warp the vision of ministry held by the rest of us. They cause us to judge ourselves, our callings, and our ministries by a wholly unholy standard.
They take seriously the apostle Paul’s instruction to appoint only mature leaders, not recent converts, with good character and a gentle spirit (1 Tim. 3:1–7). Within American evangelicalism, however, with its low ecclesiology and nondenominational bias, there are no bishops. There are no overseers to guard the flock from the influence and abuse of ungodly leaders filling our media, bookshelves, and conferences.
need incarnate men and women to function in our communities as spiritual fathers and mothers. In the context of a relationship rooted in trust and love, we should allow them to speak into our lives with an authority that is earned and with a gravity that comes from the presence of Christ in their souls.
And, if we’re honest, there are precious few books written by Christian authors today that will still be read in 24 months, let alone 24 years.
Charlie “Tremendous” Jones is fond of saying, “Five years from today, you will be the same person that you are today except for the books you read and the people you meet.” Therefore, choose your books, like your friends, carefully.
It is the price we must pay for answering a call into ministry in a consumer culture.
The problem is not consuming to live, but rather living to consume.
No longer merely an economic mentality, consumerism has become the American worldview—the framework through which we interpret everything else, including God, the gospel, and church.
When we approach Christianity as consumers rather than seeing it as a comprehensive way of life, an interpretive set of beliefs and values, Christianity becomes just one more brand I consume, along with Gap, Apple, and Starbucks, to express my identity. And the demotion of Jesus Christ from Lord to label means to live as a Christian no longer carries an expectation of obedience and good works, but rather the perpetual consumption of Christian merchandise and experiences—music, books, T-shirts, conferences, and jewelry.
After all, in consumerism, a desire is never illegitimate; it is only unmet.
This constant manufacturing of desires has created a culture of overindulgence.
One of the core values of consumerism is choice. With each additional option, the shopper is better equipped to construct their unique identity. Customization, creating a product that conforms to my particular desires, has driven businesses to offer an ever-increasing number of choices to consumers.
In ages past, choice was not heralded as a Christian’s right. In fact, relinquishing our choices by submitting to a spiritual mentor or community was seen as a prerequisite for growth in Christ. Shepherds guided believers through formative and corrective disciplines, most of them activities we would never choose to engage in if left to our desires. But surrendering control ensured we received what we needed to mature in Christ, not simply what we wanted.
Ultimately, our greatest concern should not be consumerism’s erosion of the church, but its commodification of God Himself.
Consumerism has stripped the goods we use every day from their context; they have no story or value apart from my consumption of them.
The church does not exist to supply spiritual goods and services to religious consumers.
That fear resonates with many of us, but in our exhibitionist culture we’ve been formed to believe that significance comes from being noticed.
Our yearning for significance and our desperation for a witness can only be quenched by God.
In prayer only God is our witness, and in prayer only God is our reward.
It is at this deep level that the real business of life is determined.”
The analog, incarnate ministry of the past was slow. The word was transmitted person-to-person, face-to-face. The care of souls required shepherds to be physically present with their sheep. How agrarian.
Learning the way of Jesus means accepting, and even embracing, our embodied limitations.
The church has been addressing matters of mission and justice since Pentecost.
Instead he concluded that social justice and evangelism “belong to each other and yet are independent of each other. Each stands on its own feet in its own right alongside the other. Neither is a means to the other, or even a manifestation of the other. For each is an end in itself.”
To put it simply, many church leaders unknowingly replace the transcendent vitality of a life with God for the ego satisfaction they derive from a life for God.
So few of us have been given a vision of a life with Christ, and instead we seek to fill the void with a vision for ministry—a vision of a life for Christ.
Likewise, the MOAB Doctrine is an approach to ministry that values massive impact and visibility above all else. This shock-and-awe approach to ministry is extremely attractive to those shaped by missionalism. The temptation is never explicit but always present: by making a huge impact you can convince the world of God’s legitimacy as well as your own.
a MOAB view of ministry leaves no space for failure.
It’s important to remember that Jesus told this parable to a gathering of Pharisees and scribes—devoted religious leaders who drew their significance from their obedience to God. Jesus is not condemning commitment to God’s mission, but he was warning about the dangers of finding our significance and value in it rather than in God Himself.
God’s gifts are a blessing and His work is vital, but neither can nor should replace God Himself as our first calling.
Instead, we must model for our people a first-class commitment to a first-class purpose—living in perpetual communion with God Himself. As we embrace the call to live with God, only then will we be capable of illuminating such a life for our people.
Doctors may make the worst patients, but patients make the best doctors.
Sure, we have our moments of self-pity when we complain about the tedious tasks of ministry—the ecclesiastical rectal exams we must administer day after day.
This is quite a way to put it, and quite apropos.
Still, there is a gift awaiting leaders who humble themselves. When we face our fears and experience the healing pain of sanctification, we gain empathy for the sinners we are called to shepherd. We will exhibit greater compassion for the next unhealthy person who wants to talk to the pastor on Monday morning, or the disruptive woman in the worship service, or the addicted man who fails at recovery yet again.
Pastors make the worst sinners, but sinners make the best pastors.
“to invest again with dignity.”
This sinful world inflicts a lot of damage, but its most insidious evil is to rob us of our dignity.
Far from restoring a person’s dignity, the church may actually take it from them,
“Just because we put a ‘ministry’ tag on certain church leadership norms doesn’t make them good,” Morgenthaler wrote years later. She concluded that some ministry realities “are toxic, undermining emotional and spiritual health…. [The] way ministry is set up, idealized, and practiced may actually fuel addictive behavior.”
instead she explained how popular ministry structures create an iniquity incubator in which a pastor’s personal insecurities and temptations can grow to catastrophic proportions.
I was there to incarnate the presence of God, if only for a few minutes, to an utterly broken man who had lost his dignity.
Our calling as pastors is to rehabilitate, to give people back the dignity the world has taken away.
Rehabilitation requires the present and mysterious mingling of humanity and divinity.
To be a pastor is to represent the presence of God, who is present with others. It is to see people—full, embodied, messy, sinful, beautiful people—and to see them the way Jesus does, as creatures of unsurpassable worth. To be a pastor is to freely give what we possess, which is nothing the world values and yet is the most valuable thing in all the world. The world values what is useful, which is what Church, Inc. tries to provide, but all we have is Jesus. To be a pastor is to say, “I have no silver and gold, but what I do have I give to you.”
