
I just picked up a book that came out last month called, Why Were Not Emergent. It's by two young evangelicals who voice their concerns and confusions about what's come to be called Emerg(ent/ing) Christianity. I'm only about halfway through it so far, but there are a couple of things that I've found very helpful.
One of the first things that struck me about the book was Ted's (one of the authors) irreverence for what he calls a kind of "groupieism" (p 93). He points out that there are just as many people who come close to idolizing people like John Piper, R. C. Sproul, and Mark Driscoll (of whom I may or may not have from time to time been one), as there are who come close to idolizing people like McLaren, Campolo, and Rob Bell.
I'm very glad that he has pointed this out. It helped me see some of my own hypocrisy, which I've glimpsed before and tried sweeping under the rug.
The other thing that hit me hard was a paragraph in Ted's chapter, "A Funeral for a Friend". In the context of a funeral for a blue-collar teacher which was attended by a diverse audience he make the following observation:
I am reminded that there are still churches and places in this country where one doesn't have to work at being "authentic." Authentic isn't a look you put on in the morning, or a new and snappy way to bathe the sanctuary in "mystery" through the strategic arrangement of candles and projected images. Authentic is bearing one another's burdens. Authentic is people coming to a funeral in their work clothes -- Carhartts, hospital scrubs, etc. -- on a Friday morning.
How often have I striven to "put on" authenticity.
Authenticity was one of the main things that first drew me to the emerging culture. It's something that many people who are drawn to the same see lacking in their own surroundings. And in themselves.
But I don't become authentic by trying to become something new. I don't become authentic by trying, period. I become authentic by being honest with myself. By taking off, rather than "putting on".
But how can such a wicked heart be honest? I know I ought not want to be seen by others. "Seeking glory" is what I think they used to call it.
Later on in the same chapter, Ted remembers a time at a conference where a Christian author takes questions from the typical young, artsy, hip-Christian types. Ted describes the group as trying to "out-deep" each other with their questions. I laughed at myself when I read this. I remember a few years back attending a couple lectures at the Cornerstone Festival in Bushnell, IL. One of them was by Brian McLaren and one was by a professor of philosphy at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School about existentialism and Christianity. Both scenes were similar to what Ted describes. An open air discussion under a tent. The speakers would speak for a while and then entertain questions -- some good and interesting, some reeking of intellectual pretension . . . and some, like mine, trying desperately to sound as deep and discerning as the others.
I can't help it. I like it when people think that I'm smart. I like to feel smart. You see, I'm incredibly egotistical. This is something that God has begun slowly to reveal to me in the past few years. I say slowly because judging by what I've realized so far, I wouldn't be able to believe the depths of my conceit were the blow not softened by incremental revelation. I can laugh about it sometimes, only because I believe God is redeeming me from it. But it is pretty ridiculous.
So then, I do seek glory. Not always, but too often. It just sort of stirs up within me, this desire to be praised. God save me from this.
You say, "It's human!"
It's wicked! It's sin.
I don't want it anymore . . . but sometimes I do.
Who will rescue me from this body of death?
