The frog in boiling water. We’ve all heard it in sermons and read it in books. It’s a great analogy. Unfortunately, it’s only true in one very specific (and unusual) set of circumstances. Check out this excellent little video for the truth about the frog in boiling water, the ostrich with its head in the sand, and other misconceptions we have of the animal world.
I won’t say that I’ve heard all of these in sermons. Only most of them. So I thought this would be worth passing along.
Last week’s forced choice asked you to weigh in on who is Paul talking about in Romans 7. And it wasn’t even close. Nearly 70% of you said that Paul is describing the experience of a mature Christian dealing with the ongoing struggle against sin. Most surprisingly (in my opinion) was that the second most common answer (12%) was that Paul is talking about Adam. I wasn’t sure that option would get any votes, but apparently more people see that as a valid option than I’d realized.
This week we’re going to tackle a slightly more contentious issue: gender in the church. And I’m going to return to the stark either/or approach that Forced Choices is supposed to be about. So there’s no nuance in this particular vote. Pick one or the other. Either you believe that there are no gender-specific qualifications for any ministry roles in the church (egalitarianism) or you believe that there are gender qualifications for one or more ministry roles in the church (complementarianism). We’re not going to complicate things by trying to differentiate between different kinds of complementrianism and egalitarianism. It’s either/or today.
So, what do you think? Are you a complementarian or an egalitarian? (Use the poll in the sidebar to vote.)
I was doing everything I could, everything I knew how to do. But it wasn’t enough.
It seemed so easy for others. As far as I could tell, they were teaching the same lessons, singing the same songs, and planning the same events. But their ministries were so much more effective: packed meetings, thriving small groups, huge mission trips, changed lives. They were getting it done.
I think I was doing my best. But what if my best wasn’t good enough?
I’ve heard many sermons on the Parable of the Talents (Mt 25:14-30). You know the story. Some rich guy takes off on a trip. And before he goes, he entrusts a lot of money (talents) to his three servants: one gets 5 talents, the second gets 2 talents, and the third gets 1 talent. After his long journey, he returns and discovers that the first two have doubled his money. So he blessed them with even more responsibility. But the third was a bit of a lazy coward, and he simply hid his money while the master was gone. He gave the master his original money back, but no more. And the master was displeased to say the least.
Like the parable, most of these sermons I’ve heard have focused on two things: (1) the faithfulness of the first two servants and (2) the unfaithfulness of the third servant. And there’s a lot of good stuff in there. But I’ve always wondered about something else: What about the second servant? What was he thinking?
[This is a guest post from Steven Leckvold, a Th.M. student at Western Seminary.]
St. John Chrysostom has an important piece of advice for anyone involved in public ministry: beware the monster.
At the beginning of the fifth book of On the Priesthood, he outlines several temptations and struggles for those who teach the Word of God publicly, specifically through sermons. He has two main categories of difficulties in mind: (1) toe-stepping and its results, and (2) meeting audience expectations. But he thinks that they are both driven by an even deeper problem, a monster that we all face. And his advice? Cut off the heads of the elusive, invincible, savage monster.
What is this monster that we must face? We shall see.
I started leading small groups when I was 16. There I was, barely old enough to drive a car, and I was supposed to lead my group of thirteen-year-old boys on some kind of spiritual journey. Right. I felt good if we got through the meeting without someone making a fart joke.
Since that time, I’ve led small groups for people aged 10 to 40. (High school small groups are my favorite. It’s not even close.) Along the way, I’ve learned a few things. Not as many as I’d like. There’s still a lot about leading small groups well that remains a complete mystery to me. But I have learned. And, reflecting back across the years, here are some things that I really wish I had known when I first started.
For a long time, my small groups were like 12-step programs for believers. Want to grow mature Christians? It’s simple: meet regularly, read the Bible, pray, laugh, eat lots of food, and make sure that you hold each other “accountable” so that you all keep working at it. Do that long enough and something is bound to happen.
What I was missing was any meaningful understanding of how the gospel relates to discipleship. None of these are bad things in themselves. But, if they’re not grounded in grace and empowered by the spirit, then it isn’t discipleship. I’d love to go back and help my younger self catch a vision for a small group of Christians as God’s image bearers in the world, redeemed through Jesus Christ, indwelt by the Spirit, and commissioned as ambassadors of the Kingdom. I’d love to see me helping others understand God’s grace and the transforming power of the gospel. In short, I’d love to convince myself that a small group should be so much more than a support group.
Our last Forced Choice looked at OT genres. And, although Law lost badly with only 12%, the others were fairly close: History 24%, Prophecy 30%, and Poetry/Wisdom 34%.
This week, we’re going to try something a little different. Someone asked me on Facebook the other day which three preachers (outside of Scripture) I held in highest regard. I thought that was an interesting question, so I’d like to throw it out to you. So, instead of doing a Forced Choices poll this week, I’d just like to ask: Who are your favorite preachers? And, I’m specifically looking for both historic preachers and contemporary preachers.
Now, almost immediately, someone is going to ask me to give some criteria for determining the best preachers. And, I’m not going to do that. I just want to know your favorites. You can explain your reasons if you’d like, or you can just drop some names. And, keep in mind that you’re not necessarily saying that they’re the “best” preachers (whatever that means), just that these are the ones you personally hold in high regard for some reason.
So, what do you think? Who are your favorite preachers?
Here’s an outstanding discussion of what it means to be too Gospel-centered. The conversation gets started with the question: If we look back on ourselves twenty years from now, what will we think that we’ve missed or underemphasized as we’ve tried to focus more on the Gospel? That’s a great question that is well worth reflecting on. Any movement emphasizes what it thinks people are neglecting in its context, and in the process almost necessarily neglects or excludes other things. Balance is needed, though almost impossible to maintain.
There’s also a great piece on not getting so hung up on the labels and language of being Gospel-centered that we miss the whole purpose. If being Gospel-centered means developing such a critical spirit that we can’t see the love for Jesus that others have, we’ve missed something.
And, they spend a few minutes talking about how the Gospel shapes us into being the kinds of people who love the same things that Jesus loved: compassion, justice, truth, etc., without those things becoming the heart of the Gospel itself.
Take a few minutes and check it out.
Three seasoned preachers share some stories on mistakes they’ve made while preaching. I have to admit that I was a little disappointed, since I was hoping for something really horrifying. But, it was still a good reminder that ultimately the sermons isn’t about the preacher, even the best communicator slips up, and God uses them anyway.
And, amen to the comment toward the end about using sports analogies in sermons.
“Okay, I’ll go back. But no Jesus stuff this time.”
What exactly does it take to make a 4-year-old declare that she’s all done with Jesus stuff? Bait-and-switch evangelism.
Here’s what happened.
It’s the day before Easter. And, unexpectedly for the northwest, it’s a beautiful, sunny Saturday afternoon. So, my little girls grab their mom and head down the street to a church that is hosting an Easter carnival. Holding hands, they skip down the sidewalk with images of Easter egg hunts, candy, and cheap carnival games dancing through their young minds, never knowing what is really in store for them.
(This would be a good place to picture a dark cloud suddenly drifting in front of the bright, spring sun, casting a shadow across our happy scene. Or, just imagine some ominous music playing in the background. Either way, you get the point.)
Arriving at the church, the first thing they see is a big booth set up for face painting. Now, I have to admit that I’ve never understood the allure of face painting. But, for little girls, The thought of having someone smear cheap paint all over their faces in a way that vaguely resembles a flying bug is nearly irresistible.
So, they stop. And the tragedy begins.
Because, of course, this is the Gospel booth. And, from the Gospel booth there is no escape. It’s kind of like the Twilight Zone.
Almost as soon as the girls sit down, one of the volunteers launches into the Gospel story. And my girls sit through it patiently. They’ve heard it before, but they’re too polite to interrupt. And, from the enthusiastic presentation, my wife suspects that they might be the only new people the church has seen all afternoon. She doesn’t want to ruin the fun. So they listen to the story.
Twice.
That’s right. Apparently they weren’t sure that my girls caught everything the first time. And they really wanted it to stick. So, as soon as they were done with the story, they launched into it again.
The Twilight Zone does not surrender its victims easily.
Emerging from the Gospel booth almost 30 minutes later, they discover that the carnival is over. No more candy. No more games. No Easter egg hunt. They’ve missed it all.
Bait-and-switch strikes again.
SwordsmanSr via Photobucket
Bait-and-switch evangelism is any time we tell people that they are getting one thing, and then we slip them the Gospel while they are there. Want some candy? Sure, come and get it. Oh, by the way, you’ll have to sit and listen to this story first.
Are we trying to make little kids hate the Gospel?
Why do we do this? Deep down, are we that afraid that they won’t want to hear? Do we doubt the power of the message that much? Do we think the Spirit can’t handle things?
And, what are we subtly communicating to ourselves and to other people about the Gospel when we do this? I’m afraid that we’re hinting that we really don’t think that the Gospel is all that. If I’m really convinced that I have the most amazing story that will transform your life forever, I’m not going to invite you over to my church for a football game and then try to slip it in between commercials. I’m going to invite you over to hear the story.
Now, there’s nothing wrong with parties, carnivals, football games, or any of the various ways that churches can connect with their communities, share life together, and allow the world to see a redeemed community in action. That must be done. And, along the way, we will have opportunities to share the Gospel as an organic expression of living in community together. But, that’s very different from the bait-and-switch.
When we trick people into hearing the Gospel, we annoy them and we undermine the very message that we’re seeking to promote. I’m sure it works at times, but pragmatic effectiveness is not an adequate measure for appropriate Kingdom living.
The quote at the beginning of this post? That came from my daughter one year later. A full year after her experience at the Easter carnival, she remembered what happened the last time she stepped into the Gospel zone, and she wasn’t about to let it happen again.
No more Jesus stuff for her.
The bait-and-switch at its finest.
To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. To the NRA, I became a proponent of concealed hand guns, to win gun rights advocates.
What do you think? I recently received an email from someone at a church that is planning an outreach event that combines the Gospel and guns. The church is reaching out the community by offering a concealed handgun license course. But, the real purpose of the course is to reach out to people who wouldn’t otherwise come to church and use it as an opportunity to share the Gospel with them. So, ultimately, the event isn’t really about guns, it’s about the Gospel. The guns are just to get them in the front door.
My first reaction to this was not terribly positive. But, I had to stop and double-check myself. I didn’t grow up around guns and have never really understood the need for the average person to carry a concealed handgun. So, I have to consider the possibility that my reaction to this event has more to do with my personal biases than legitimate concerns.
My second reaction to this still isn’t terribly positive. At the very least, I don’t like bait-and-switch evangelism. Maybe that’s not what is being planned here. But it sure sounds like the kind of event where you invite people to something that sounds fun, and then you sneak the Gospel in the back door. Sure it’s a church event and people probably expect that they’ll need to endure the Gospel so they can get to the good stuff. But is that really how we want to do things?
But, more to the point, the way that we present the Gospel matters. And, I can’t think of any way of hosting an event like this without connecting the Gospel to a whole raft of issues surrounding gun rights advocacy and conservative political ideology, not to mention all of the images and associations that people have with handguns, none of which have anything to do with the Gospel. Do we really want to align the Gospel with things like this?
To be clear, this has nothing to do with the question of gun rights in itself. That’s a separate issue, and one that I don’t want to get into here. This is a question about where and how we share the Gospel and how that shapes the way people hear the Gospel.
What do you think? Is this just a cultural issue? I’m just a pampered city boy from liberal Portland, so I can’t really understand what’s going on here. Or, are there legitimate concerns in connecting the Gospel and guns in this way?
