Learning to Listen (Again)

There are many things that I love about the company I work for, and my job as a human resources manager. One of our core values in particular, which has influenced me far outside of my working environment over the past four years, is the idea that we should always assume positive intent. You may have heard this phrase before. But, I’ve never been in an environment where this principle is not only spoken about on a daily basis, but is also seen as fundamental to every relationship and interaction we have. This holds true for the supervisor/supervisee relationship, between coworkers, and with our clients.

I’m sure we have all worked in environments where this principle would be laughed at. Where conflict usually becomes toxic, and it’s expected that we should trust no one and think the worst of everyone. I’m grateful on a daily basis that I no longer have to suffer through that. Just Googling the phrase “positive intent” will bring you a number of articles laying out the benefits of embodying this principle. I highly recommend that everyone do some research into it if you never have, or are entirely unfamiliar with the idea.

Of course, assuming positive intent doesn’t always bring about the results that we want. Some situations are just tragic. And some people are just assholes. That’s reality. But, the research seems to indicate that this approach has a very high return on investment. Assuming the best about other people is definitely worth the risk of the opposite actually occurring.

With all of this said, I have a sort of confession to make. When it comes to the category of “evangelicals,” I have not done a very good job of assuming the best. I have assumed that all those who claim to be evangelicals, or attend evangelical churches, and so on are deluded. Or intentionally ignorant. Or hateful. Or even evil.

I’m sure that I haven’t done this in every possible situation. If I run into someone I have categorized as an evangelical, I don’t call them names, or make weird faces when they talk, or run away from them. But, in many ways, I have refused to even consider that they might actually have good reasons to think and act the way that they do. I haven’t wanted to admit that they could actually be good, genuine, caring people who I might just happen to disagree with. I haven’t even wanted to hear their side of things.

I’ve told this story a hundred different ways, but I had some pretty bad experiences in evangelical churches and with some specific evangelicals. There is simply no way that I can claim any longer that those experiences have not created filters for me. The reality that I now have visceral triggers against certain phrases, attitudes, groups and experiences is evidence of the fact that who I am today has in some sense been shaped by these negative things. And, that influence may weaken over time, but I doubt it will ever entirely disappear from my identity.

As David Bazan has said, I’m actually still an evangelical: a non-believing, non-practicing evangelical. For better or worse.

Thankfully, despite (or maybe even because of) my “religious trauma,” I can now a little more calmly, a little more rationally, reconsider some of the good motivations and tendencies of who evangelicals can be. I haven’t spent much time reading anything in depth in the last few years. We moved into our current house over three years ago, and I have about a dozen boxes of philosophy and theology books that I haven’t even touched. I just haven’t found any of it interesting enough in a long time to dig them out. But, more recently I’ve had some other experiences that have made it much more difficult to just write off a lot of people.

Of course, I still know and communicate with more than a few people who I would consider evangelicals. Some of my best friends even, and, especially, some family members. It’s become a bit dissonant to make broad sweeping claims about a group to which all of these very real people belong. People for whom my criticisms simply do not apply.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I am not giving evangelicals a pass. I am not saying their ideas or actions shouldn’t be evaluated or, when necessary, criticized. There are some pretty horrible evangelicals. And, many evangelicals hold to some pretty horrible ideas. But, rather than pigeonhole and stereotype, my new hope is to understand.

One of the things that has led me to this point is all of the time I’ve spent watching and listening to The Young Turks. It’s become a bit of an obsession, if I’m honest. I started paying attention to them a few years ago, when I was really trying to figure out where I stood philosophically and politically, and my interest has only multiplied over time. But, it’s almost without fail that any time Christianity in general is brought up, there is a lot of misunderstanding and stereotyping going on. In one sense, I can’t blame them. It doesn’t seem that any of the hosts grew up as evangelicals, and it’s a lot easier to simply equate evangelicalism with “true believer” fundamentalism (a distinction that I think is extremely important). Or, to find the lowest common denominator among all evangelicals, and define every single person and church and so on by the movement’s worst and most ignorant adherents.

On the flipside, I do want to defend The Young Turks. Islamophobia is everywhere, and they do a great job of fighting against that – even against their friends and fellow atheists. I just wish they would apply that same principle of charity toward all religious groups. Of course, all of us can only speak from our own perspective. I’ve never been a Catholic or a Mormon or anything else, so I feel a lot less reactive against any unfair evaluations of those groups.

So, where do I go from here? The main way that I learn and reconsider ideas is to read. And I hope that I will truly listen. Derrida used the language of “fidelity” or “faithfulness” when discussing his first reading of a text. Rather than assume all evangelicals think alike, or are coming from the same perspective, I want to try to understand each person on his or her own terms. Somewhat ironically, I find a principle of biblical hermeneutics to be helpful here: I want to know what someone actually means, rather than allowing my own presuppositions, biases or judgments to neuter a faithful or charitable interpretation. And I want to assume the best about people, rather than imposing any negative experiences I’ve had upon anyone else.

As one of the texts our evangelical friends and family claim as their own says: “be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry.” This agnostic’s prayer is that I can follow this simple but sound and sage advice.

Call Me “Christian”…Maybe?

I think I’m okay with people calling me a Christian, but I don’t really know what that means.

I don’t know if the Bible is inerrant or infallible.

I don’t even read the Bible.

I don’t pray.

I don’t go to church.

I don’t take Communion.

I don’t know if I need to be saved.

I don’t know if I am saved.

I don’t know what the gospel is.

I don’t know if Jesus died and then came back from the dead.

If there is a God, I don’t know if he/she/it exists as three persons.

I don’t know if I believe in God.

I don’t know if Jesus was born of a virgin.

I don’t know if Jesus is divine.

I don’t know if Jesus even ever existed.

I don’t know if Jesus is going to return to earth.

I don’t know if there is a heaven or a hell, or if I’m going to spend eternity in either.

If I’m honest, on most days I don’t actually think any of these things are true. But, if you’re honest, even if you claim to be a Christian, you probably don’t either.

If you do, you probably don’t think all of these things are true. Maybe a few. Maybe even most.

Who gets to decide which of these things are necessary and which are optional? 

It’d be cool if more people were just honest. That would make me feel better, and I’m sure I’m not alone.

What do I think I know about Jesus or Christianity? Not much.

I do know that a lot of people claim to be Christians. A lot of people want to be associated with Christianity. A lot of different kinds of people. Not just different Americans. Different people all over the world.

I don’t think that’s anything to be afraid of.

A few years ago, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what is actually required of someone who chooses to be associated with a homeless, radical Jew in the first century. I found a lot of different answers, but got no clarity.

No one could give me The Answer.

This either means that I never found The Answer, or The Answer actually doesn’t exist.

This, of course, doesn’t negate that there might actually be boundaries to what can or cannot, or should or should not, be considered “Christian.” It just suggests to me that no one person or group actually knows exactly where those boundaries are.

If you do call yourself a Christian, what do you mean by that? 

When I stopped going to church, I stopped calling myself a Christian. That was over six years ago. But, I’m not sure how much the core of who I’ve tried to be for most of my life has changed.

If someone were to ask me who my favorite philosopher is, I think I would still say, “Jesus” (like George W. Bush).

I hope that the people who I spend time with (family, friends, coworkers) know that I care about them. And I hope that I am kind. And gracious. And honest. And funny.

Honestly, I’d rather be known not for calling myself a Christian, but for treating people like I think Jesus would.

Does that make me a Christian? I don’t know.

Maybe.

 

I Almost Died This Week

The only way I can describe the scene is straight out of a Tarantino film. If you don’t want all of the gory details, you might want to skip to the end.

I started brewing beer a couple of years ago with friends. Then, Cyn gifted me my own equipment, and I fell in love. But, she’s been confused how I could find the process so fascinating and still refuse to even try to cook anything. Last week, I told her that maybe if the end result isn’t amazing, I fear it won’t be worth the effort. So, I asked her to find me a recipe that would be good no matter what. Sunday night, we worked together on my first creation. And I think it was a success.

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Earlier that day I drove to the beer store to pick up a special release Imperial Stout. Cyn thought it would go well with the meal.

We got everything ready, turned on Mythbusters, and sat down to eat. I took one drink, then one bite, then…

Chaos.

Sometimes I think about how others might perceive me. Maybe more than sometimes. Based on what people have told me recently, I am a pretty low key dude. I don’t have a lot of highs or lows. My stress level currently is almost nonexistent. But, I used to be a very different person.

I think Old Rob came out on Sunday night.

I couldn’t breathe for probably about 30 seconds. I’ve never had that experience, and I hope you don’t either. But, it was the most confusing and terrifying feeling I can remember. My mind was simultaneously in shock and in survival mode. I just wanted to live. I just wanted it to stop.

Hayden ended up doing the Heimlich on me multiple times (which I’m guessing was slightly traumatizing). After all of the movement, I could breathe. Thinking back, my sixteen year old son literally saved my life.

But, it wasn’t over. Even though I could breathe, I couldn’t swallow. Another thing that you really never think about until you can’t do it, and then it’s existential misery. I had to force myself to spit every time my body wanted to swallow.  This went on for a couple of hours. When I would stop focusing on spitting, I would choke and gag again. For hours.

We tried a few different things, including me punching myself in the chest and throat, but nothing was helping me swallow. I have a pretty good gag reflex, but I couldn’t throw up either.

I finally caved. We had to go to the emergency room.

We could tell that whatever was happening was a big deal. We got moved from the ER to the ICU to surgery pretty quickly. I think we were at the hospital for less than 3 hours. Working in the medical field, all I could do was count the number of people helping me, which I’m assuming will nicely translate into a lovely medical bill.

I guess I’m a pretty vain person. I’m probably too concerned with how I look. If I have anything in my nose, or on my clothes, I tend to overreact. Holding a vomit bag over my face while I almost filled it with spit was definitely not the highlight of my life. The looks from pretty much everyone at that hospital ranged from disgust to sympathy. I guess I looked pretty sad.

The meal I made was a vegetable stew. I assumed that what I choked on was a potato. No one at the hospital believed me. I didn’t tell any of them that I was a vegetarian, but they all jumped immediately to “steak.” One person even said if it was steak it would’ve been worth it. Obviously they’ve never personally had a similar experience.

They had to do an emergency endoscopic surgery to remove the blockage. What they found is a bit ironic: a chickpea.

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Seriously.

I’m still learning about exactly what I have. Basically, it’s an allergic buildup in my esophagus that caused (and will continue to cause) it to swell up seemingly randomly. And I could choke again.

Thankfully, I’m not actually allergic to chickpeas.

The next morning, I woke up in a lot of pain. I took a lot of Tylenol, a lot of Advil, and slept for most of the day. But, Tuesday was a lot worse. I could barely get out of bed. Everything from the stomach up hurt. Like I was beaten with a bat. I could barely move. It hurt to laugh, to cough, to sneeze, to bend over, to sit up, to stand up, to walk. Using the bathroom was a nightmare.

Over the years, I’ve spent some time researching near death experiences. This is definitely not a post to go down that rabbit hole. But, it seems that a lot of people have some very similar things happen when they almost die. They see a light. They see their lives flash before their eyes. And so on.

None of that happened.

Another thing I’ve heard a lot of people say is that “there are no atheists in foxholes.” The idea being that when you’re near death, you will instinctively reach out to some higher power.

Honestly, I didn’t think about “God” from the second I began choking until a few days later. My mind was firmly fixed on the one thing that actually matters the most to any of us who are still breathing: survival. I just wanted to keep living.

Life can be pretty scary. Tragic. But, at least in my experience, the good always outweighs the bad. Life is worth it. It can be and often is beautiful. I doubt most of us are actually going to focus on anything else when similar things happen.

Honestly, I don’t understand how thinking about God, or talking to God, or anything else would have benefitted me in any way. Obviously, people die every day. And, if there is a God, he/she/it in the least allows that to happen. Why should I assume that God would arbitrarily choose to allow me to live, but not someone else?

Each millisecond was about solving the problem. Figuring out what I needed to do. Anything that would’ve hijacked my focus could’ve actually been the end of me.

There is still a ridiculous stigma in our culture around those of us who simply lack a belief in a deity. But, honestly, when shit gets real, I sincerely doubt that many other people would react much differently than I did. Practically, when it really matters, we’re all atheists.

This post is not meant to be an argument against anyone’s belief in God. It’s merely a confession that I just don’t think about God all that much anymore. And I think there are very few “true believers” out there.

Thank God.

A Legacy of…?

The sad passing of Scott Weiland has got me thinking about music.

My kids are now 16 and 15. They are each into their own “thing,” but they also like some pop music. I guess that’s inevitable to a degree. We’ve always tried to expose them to diverse music, but there is this whole thing I’m not sure everyone’s heard of called “peer pressure” that haunted us all as teenagers.

Neither of my kids are into heavy music. No matter what I let them hear, they just don’t get it. If you know me very well, you know that I spent years only listening to the heavy stuff. So, it’s always an interesting debate when I try to sneak in some Deftones or Snapcase on a long road trip. “DAD!” Headphones immediately on.

I don’t know what that says. Maybe it’s a case of overexposure at a very early age eliciting visceral disgust…you’re welcome?

But, there are some bands from “my era” (mid 90s to early 00s) that they do like. Bands like the Foo Fighters, The Get Up Kids, Saves the Day, Jimmy Eat World, Alkaline Trio, etc. Like…they really like those bands. Somehow, they didn’t get turned off by us playing them on repeat.

Which brings me to a band like Stone Temple Pilots. I would guess that my boys do not like them, though I haven’t asked them recently. I would group STP with bands like Soundgarden, Alice in Chains and Pearl Jam. And, honestly, I doubt they like any of those bands.

But, thinking about this brought to mind bands that seemed to follow in the path laid by the “grunge” bands. Bands that I don’t like. Like Korn, Staind, Godsmack, Kid Rock, and especially Nickelback. I guess those bands would be considered “nu metal.”

Is it simply a case of timing?

Why do I love Rage Against the Machine, but hate Linkin Park? Why did I spend years listening to and going to see P.O.D., but I can’t stand Papa Roach?

I came across something awhile back that directly compared the Foo Fighters to Creed (and similar bands), and I got so annoyed. How could anyone see the connection between what I perceive to be very different kinds of music? Very different things altogether?

I also wonder how much of this is just my own exposure to certain things, and preferring certain opinions above others.

Maybe there is a more direct line that can be drawn from Nirvana to Puddle of Mudd or Seether than any of us want to admit.

I still like what I like. And I probably won’t ever give those bands a chance. But, maybe as I get older I’m seeing that bands like Stone Temple Pilots had a huge influence on what could still be considered “rock” today. And maybe that’s not a terrible thing.

When my kids hear bands like STP or Deftones, they just don’t like it. I’m assuming they would group most of this music together and say it all sucks. Maybe one of these days they’ll come around and see the differences that I do. But, maybe they won’t. And, maybe that’s okay.

It still matters to me.

R.I.P. Scott. Your music has made me better.

How Christian Authors Stigmatize Artists Like Sufjan Stevens

Most of the people that I’ve known for more than a few years grew up in “the church” in some form. Most of us were born and bred in fundamentalist Christianity. To this day it’s hard for me to understand where people are coming from who don’t share that background. But, as time goes on, more and more of those people seem to be rejecting most or all of what they grew up with. And, at least in the U.S., that trend doesn’t seem to be slowing down.

Of course, not all of us have become militant atheists or are completely done with church. We’re mostly in the middle somewhere. We still think about God and theology; we just don’t really know what to do with those thoughts. Our friends who don’t share our history don’t understand why we just can’t just let the whole thing go. Andy Hull (of Manchester Orchestra), David Bazan (formerly of Pedro the Lion) and my friend John Moreland are a few artists who seem to share this struggle. They seem to have a hard time believing or participating in the whole evangelical thing any more, but they can’t seem to quit thinking (or singing) about it either.

I could be totally off base and misinterpreting what is really going on. But, over the past several years, I’ve tried to keep up with what Sufjan Stevens has been creating, and his thoughts about it through interviews. And it seems that he has been on a very similar trajectory to most of my friends.

I don’t remember where I first heard his music, but I’m guessing it was when I was caught up in the New Reformed movement. I do remember a lot of my fellow hipster Calvinists hailing him as one of their own. I loved his music but I also wanted to know more. Honestly, it could have been the case even back then that all of these people were trying to take ownership of him without his consent. I don’t know.

A couple of months ago, I heard about his new album coming out, and a few friends posted an interview about it in Pitchfork. Based on some other things he has been involved in, and the tone of what I had read or heard recently, it seemed he was in a very different place than when I first heard about him years ago. I wondered if he even called himself a Christian anymore.

You may be reading up to this point and thinking to yourself: “Who cares?” That’s totally understandable. And it’s probably better to just enjoy an artist’s work and not ask these kinds of questions. I don’t usually go beyond the music itself and try to understand it. But, there are a few musicians who had an impact on me at certain points in my life who I follow a little more closely than many others. And, I do find it interesting when an artist lets us in on his or own spiritual path (wherever they’re coming from). I’m guessing that’s part of the reason why podcasts like WTF are becoming so popular; it’s rare to get through an episode without God or faith – or at least meaning – coming up (BTW, Marc Maron should totally interview Sufjan).

In the Pitchfork interview, Sufjan says he’s still a Christian. But, the way I read it is that he has moved into a much more open, flexible form of his faith:

I still describe myself as a Christian, and my love of God and my relationship with God is fundamental, but its manifestations in my life and the practices of it are constantly changing. I find incredible freedom in my faith… The unique thing about Christianity is that it is so amorphous and not reductive to culture or place or anything. It’s extremely malleable.

That does not read like a fundamentalist, an evangelical – or even an orthodox Christian – to me at all. The next response clarifies this (in relation to other religions):

…some of them are cultural and require an allegiance to…a code.

That seems to me to be the definition of orthodoxy: “allegiance to a code.” There is a certain type of Christian who sees the religion as fundamentally – primarily – about a very specific set of beliefs, outlined in the Creeds. And, of course, there are a lot of other people who “describe themselves as Christians” who don’t see their religion in that way.

When I was writing a lot more, I spent a lot of time trying to push back on the first type of Christian mindset. I was trying to say, “Christianity is malleable. Christianity is amorphous.  And it isn’t fundamentally about beliefs (or allegiance to a code) at all.” This perspective seemed to fly in the face of what it means to be an evangelical, and, from the evangelical’s point of view, what is required to even call oneself a Christian.

So, with all of this said, I had a very strange reaction when I read an article that was published in The Atlantic, which a few friends had posted on Facebook: “How Sufjan Stevens Subverts the Stigma of Christian Music.”

For the most part, I really don’t disagree with the article. He’s right about the ridiculousness of the idea of “Christian music” in contrast to “secular music,” and so on. He makes some very helpful points, especially for conservative evangelicals who are still, sadly, caught up in this game. But, my shock came from how the author framed the article, and his choice in using Sufjan Stevens as an exemplar of his perspective.

My first confusion was with the quotes he had pulled from articles and interviews about Sufjan from 2006. I don’t know about you, but I was a very different person 9 years ago. As an example, here is an article I was interviewed for in 2008. Reading it now, it’s really hard for me to identify with the person I used to be. An irresponsible journalist could pull quotes from me from that article and try to say that’s how I still think or feel today.

The next thing that really bothered me was his use of quotes from Francis Schaeffer and NT Wright, two theologians who I honestly doubt Sufjan himself would quote to explain his art. In that interview in 2008, I probably would’ve quoted both of those theologians to support my own views, but that has very little to do with how I think about my life and the world today.

This gets to another issue underlying this approach. Whatever our “team” is, why do we try so hard to find famous people to represent us? We all do it. When I was going through my hardcore atheist phase, finding out that Quiet Company’s lead singer had rejected his faith, I felt the urge to spread that gospel to others through their music. Or when I learned that Jose Gonzalez’s album “In Our Nature” was written in response to him reading Richard Dawkins, I felt somehow validated. In some weird way, I thought to myself, “If more people knew this, maybe my team would be seen as more legitimate!” I still think I enjoy David Bazan primarily because I agree with his perspective on so many things, rather than just because of his music.

Then, here is my final problem with the evangelical co-opting of certain musicians: to be an evangelical requires one to very clearly define what Christianity is and to very clearly decide who is in and who is out. If you actually pinned down Sufjan Stevens, or Bono – or even Martin Luther King, Jr. – and asked them what they actually believed, you would be forced to declare them heretics or “unbelievers.”

The Atlantic article seems irresponsible and dishonest.

I do appreciate that I sent the author an email and he responded. In his response, he said the following:

Until I hear something where Sufjan claims that he is no longer a Christian or refutes the fundamentals of Christianity (like, say, in the Apostles’ Creed), I’m going to continue viewing him this way.

Of course, I can’t exactly speak for Sufjan, but I’m guessing if he was asked he would not fit into the author’s very narrow definition of what a Christian is. And the author would be forced to reject Sufjan as not only outside of his team (evangelicalism), but also outside of the faith (Christianity).

Or, maybe, just maybe, this revelation would cause the author (and others like him) to reject his own narrow definition of Christianity, and find ways to embrace the beautiful diversity of people who find Jesus attractive enough to identify their lives with his.

And maybe the world would be a much better, more inclusive place because of it.

The Aftermath

It’s been a week since I wrote my open letter. As I expected, no one within Acts 29 has responded. I’ve had more hits on that post than any other I’ve ever written: thousands. Hundreds of reposts on Facebook. And so on.

But, from A29? Silence.

I’ve had some pretty interesting feedback about my letter, though. Mostly, it’s been positive, supportive. But, a lot of people have been bothered by my use of the word “shit.” I’m honestly not sure how else to say, “own your shit.” I guess that’s what happens after removing oneself from a certain cult(ure) for over four years; some things just aren’t a big deal any more.

But, something that confuses me more and more as time goes on… A lot of people really want to know “where I’m at with Jesus.” Because of my experiences, have I “rejected God”? Do I still “follow Jesus”? And so on.

I’ve almost come to the point where this could be the dividing line between one type of religious person and another. The first type is someone who is self-confident. Someone who knows who they are, what they want in life. Someone who has goals and is working toward them. Someone who loves life, NOT for what may or may not come after, but for the now. The other type of religious person, though, is someone who seems fearful – about him or herself, about the future, about their own fate. Fearful about “the world.” Worried about who is in or out of their club. Or who might end up in heaven or hell. Or who might not be walking the same path that they (think they) are.

At this point in my life, these kinds of questions (which usually feel like an interrogation – an inquisition – no matter how sincere) confuse me. I just don’t know how to answer them, because it always makes me wonder why someone is asking. What if I said, “Jesus is awesome”? Would that be good enough? Would I be “in”? What if I said, “Jesus probably never existed”? Would this interrogator have a legitimate comeback? How about, “I don’t really like Jesus” (which would seem to be a more honest self-appraisal than most Christians)?

Usually I fumble through something vague about thinking Jesus was somehow unique and that I can’t deny my own experiences and the influence certain interpretations of Jesus have had on me. But, maybe I should stop doing this. Instead, maybe I should follow Jesus’ example, and pivot toward a different set of questions altogether.

I might enjoy hearing stories about people who have moved beyond a fundamentalist form of religion toward something more egalitarian, something more humanistic. But, in the big scheme of things, I really don’t care if someone is “in” or “out” anymore.

Here are the questions that matter to me: “How are YOU doing?” “Are you doing things YOU love?” “Are you spending time with the people YOU love?”

I don’t know what that makes me. I don’t know what category that puts me in. And I don’t really care.

An Open Letter to the Acts 29 Network

If you’re reading this, and you have no idea who Mark Driscoll is, you should probably stop reading. And you should thank me for sparing you. For those of who choose to keep reading, you may not have any idea of my connection to Mark Driscoll, Mars Hill, Acts 29, etc. Many of you I know from a long time ago, or I have met since I walked away from that world. To make a long story short, I was a Driscoll-ite for several years, until I became a staff member at an Acts 29 church. Then, I saw behind the curtain, and walked away.

 

 

Dear Acts 29 church planters, pastors, deacons, church members, etc.:

I read today that you have decided to dissociate yourselves from Mark Driscoll.

I’m not sure if “courage” is the right word, but I do want to congratulate all of you for simply doing the right thing. For making the right decision. Maybe “bold” is fitting, considering Driscoll co-founded the network. Whatever the best language is, it was a good decision.

But, I have to say that this turn of events is eerily similar, for me, to something that happened here in Raleigh a few years ago. I worked for an Acts 29 church called Vintage21 from September 2007 until January 2010. Over time, our Executive Pastor became more and more out of line. He was doing and saying things that were simply inappropriate. I was personally fielding almost daily complaints about him. Dozens of individuals and families left the church because of him. It was obvious to anyone who was paying attention that this person was not qualified to be a pastor. But, he was allowed to stay. For years beyond what should have been.

Eventually, this pastor left the church. A few months later, he confessed to some things that he was doing, while working for the church, that were beyond his disqualifying arrogance. This seemed to come as a shock to certain members of church leadership. But, to those of us who had already left the church, it wasn’t shocking at all. It was expected. To Vintage21 leaders, for some reason, those more recently revealed actions were seen as much more “sinful” than the other things, and mysteriously worthy of announcing to the entire church. Arbitrary.

Along with the public airing of dirty laundry, how did the church leadership react? From what I could tell, there was no collective ownership of a broken system. No apologies for allowing this person to stay in leadership even before this turn of events. No personal responsibility. All I heard was blame. This person had caused all of the problems in the church up to that point. The church was in a bad place solely because of him. And now that he was gone, they could finally be whole again.

Scapegoat.

Since leaving your world in early 2010, I’ve read about, or spoken with, several people who have left Mars Hill. Most of them have left and revealed things that many of us already knew were true. But, I’ve also seen a lot of personal ownership from these people. Admitting they were wrong, and that they shouldn’t have stayed as long as they did. Confessing that they, too, were part of the problem. That they had contributed to it simply by participating. Guilt by association? When there is abuse involved, yes.

But, your PR move today doesn’t sound like an apology. It reads like yet another scapegoating, shifting all of the blame for all of the problems associated with not only Mars Hill specifically, but Acts 29 as a whole, onto one person. It’s hard for anyone outside of your bubble to take seriously.

While I genuinely want to believe this is what people in your world call “repentance,” I was always under the impression that repentance required confession of wrongdoing. If you haven’t done anything wrong, what is there to repent of? No, I – and everyone else watching from the outside – clearly see that this is something else entirely.

The third line of your public letter to Driscoll reads:

Over the past three years, our board and network have been the recipients of countless shots and dozens of fires directly linked to you…

It sounds like Mark has finally made you look bad enough for it to hurt. It sounds like your collective ego has been broken. So, now it’s time to flex your muscles. Because that’s what real men do, right?

It’s strange though, that this arbitrary line has been drawn now. After everything else that has happened over the past ten plus years. I don’t have to list it all here. If you’ve been “in the world” and not existing solely in your own cult(ure), you’ve seen the articles. If you’ve been shepherding actual people – which, from what I understand, should be your primary responsibility – you’ve heard a lot of stories. Stories of abuse.

But, the problem isn’t Mark Driscoll. He’s part of the problem. A large part? Yes. But, there is culpability to go around. A lot of it. It’s been over four years since I left, but I even still bear some responsibility for participating as long as I did. I get it. We make decisions and then have a hard time dealing with the consequences. We have bills. And reputations. And relationships.

Honestly, this is all we want to hear: we just want you to own your shit. If you want to repair your network, if you want to do it primarily for “the cause of Christ,” then just do this one thing: confess your sins – publicly – and repent. All of you.

I could stop here. I’ve said a lot already. But, from what I’ve also seen and heard from almost everyone who has left your world, these problems run deep. People don’t exhibit similar systems to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after leaving a safe, healthy environment. I’ve unapologetically said this for a long time now: Acts 29 – as a whole – operates like a cult. The only people who don’t realize this have already drank the Kool-Aid. And, again, this isn’t just Mark Driscoll. It’s not just Mars Hill. The entire network is committed to a broken “theology” (if what you idealize is worthy of the name). Until that changes, these problems will persist.

The cult(ure) Driscoll has created has made it pretty difficult for any Acts 29 leader to take seriously the words of a “blogger.” I’m sure you don’t genuinely care what I think. But, that kind of attitude is part of the problem, too.

Sincerely,

Rob Davis
Raleigh, NC
August 8th, 2014