Church-Basher?

Over the last 10 years I have done a lot of self-study on the church. I have also done some deep soul-searching. As I mentioned, some of my writings have already prompted some to accuse me of being a “church basher.” Like I have some kind of beef. But nothing could be further from my heart.

I love the church. I am a product of the church. I don’t think I was conceived there (sorry, Mom), but for my whole life it was as though I was born under a pew. And, for more than 30 years I have worked in the church. The deal is not my disdain for her but my love. Therefore, my journey has taken me on a path of reflection and concern for the results of our collective efforts. But apparently if that reflection causes other people to squirm, it would be better to just keep quiet.

Obviously, that is not an option for me. Not any more. Something is dreadfully wrong. And I can’t help myself. I have to try to understand why—why it’s not working. Why is the church growing everywhere else but dying in America? Why is there such a deep and growing divide between church culture and popular culture? Why are we so reticent to recognize our decline?

These questions and many more have kept me from sleeping well over the last 10 years. And at the risk of alienating some of my dear friends within the church, I can no longer alienate my friends without.

Don’t Try This at Home

To say that this was only the beginning is a huge understatement. I found that once you start to ask questions, it’s really hard to stop. There were so many moments after the rebuild when I just couldn’t understand the whys. Why do we do what we do? Why do churches and their people expect what they expect and therefore demand what they demand? Let me hasten to say, this wasn’t about scurrilous people or evil intentions. It was about the system that we all inherited.
I mean, where did we get the idea that we needed a professional to do our preaching, praying, teaching, singing, caring, giving, helping, hoping, connecting and communicating with God? The scripture says very distinctly that there is only one mediator between us and God (1Timothy 2:5). In fact, we believed and taught the concept of the priesthood of every believer (1 Peter 2:9, Revelation 5:10). But what we did spoke so loudly that no one could hear what we were saying.
Like bad parents, we said one thing and did another. We were like, “Look, it’s easier if I just do it myself. You just sit there and watch me.” Or like a television program full of life-threatening stunts, “Don’t try this at home. We’re trained professionals.” Why are we surprised when that’s exactly what happens?
For about four years the church hosted and I headed a ministerial training program required by our denomination for credentialing. It was quite extensive—four years of work, more than thirty different classes. And although I tried to secure enough teachers for each trimester, I often got the privilege of teaching one or more classes each time. One of my favorites, one that became a bit of a diversion, was the subject of church history. I was fascinated with it.
Here’s the kicker. Once I had been through the destruction of a tornado and the questions that went with it, my understanding of church history became skewed to the point of confusion. But I wasn’t confused about the history. I was confused about what we had chosen to do with the knowledge we had.
In my own tradition, I couldn’t see the New Testament pattern for pulpits, platforms, thrones, and reserved parking places which you can find in virtually every church. In other traditions, I couldn’t comprehend the spiritual significance of rituals, robes, confessionals, and funny hats. It seemed to me that Jesus had provided a replacement for all of that—himself.
Then one day, as if I needed “fuel on my fire,” I met up with a guy I had heard speak before. His name is Earl Creps. This man changed my life forever.