The Critical Mass

The Rise of the 21st Century Pharisee.

In the last year or so, I have become aware of a disturbing and increasing trend within the Christian Church.

It is a trend towards the open and relentless criticism of Christian leaders and figureheads.

This trend is being aided and abetted by unfettered, unregulated access to online sources and resources. It is a vehicle that is being driven with neither restraint, nor regard for others on the road.

There is even a website, an online news organisation, (and I'm sorry I don't have the link for you). It is made up of professional Christian journalists. They use their site as a platform for investigative journalism, directed towards the church. In other words, they make it their business to investigate and expose what they see as corrupt or inept church leadership. Christians. Sad really. And these are just the professionals.

There are others, they have their own websites. The majority are not professional journalists. Or they appear in forums and comment pages. They all have but one purpose. To criticise the work and ministry of other believers.

Some of the targets I've seen in recent months are people such as; Joel and Victoria Osteen, Mark Driscoll, Creflo Dollar. I can also include musicians in that list; Switchfoot, Brooke Frasier, Future of Forestry. There are a great many others.

People, (Christians) protest outside their venues. Some complain that they are not Christian enough, while others complain they are too Christian. Their message and lyrics are either too confronting, or too vague.

One commenter, posting on the Future of Forestry YouTube channel. Took it upon himself to declare that they were "fallen". The cause of his great umbrage? A drum sequence, taken from a performance of "The Little Drummer Boy". He saw it as excess and vanity.
When all it was really, was just a group of musicians having some fun. "Make a joyful noise unto the Lord" The Psalmist exhorts us. (Psalm 66:1, 81:1, 95:1-2, 98:4&6, 100:1) And that's just what they were doing.

Now, having said all of this. I will add this.

All of these leaders, ministers and artists that I have mentioned. All of them, and many more besides. I have opinions about all of them. But they are my opinions. They are based solely on how much I know about each of them. I know much about some, less about others. My knowledge is incomplete. Therefore I do not offer or broadcast my opinions. I keep them to myself.  Because I might be wrong about something, I may have misheard, misread or misunderstood. So to say anything, would be a mistake.

Here's an example of why from my own recent experience.

Last year, Hillsong Church (My church). Announced Mark Driscoll as a keynote speaker for the 2015 Conference.

Now Mark has faced a great deal of criticism for his leadership, attitudes toward women in ministry, among other things. In recent months he was removed from leadership by the church board. People I know started posting links to sites and sources that were simply out to get him, they seemed to be in agreement. I could so easily have joined them.

I could have written to, or confronted the pastors of my church. Demanding that such a man be removed from the guest list, it would be damaging for our church, that he not be permitted to speak and so on. I could have gotten on my high little horse and started making all sorts of noises. But I didn't.

Here's what I did do. I waited. I decided to Trust the Church Leadership, and see how they would handle the emerging situation. I had an inkling of how it might be possible to handle the situation in a sensible sensitive way. I am happy to say, I was vindicated in my belief. Because here's what happened. Mark Driscoll still appears as a guest with his wife Grace. They are now listed with the sub caption,  Interview.

You see this is the sensible way to deal with it. This is a clear example of Christians being "ministers of reconciliation" 2 Cor 5:18.

Are church leaders above reproach? Certainly not. Should they be held accountable? Absolutely. But that is the role of church boards and governing bodies. It is not the role of outsiders and armchair critics, trumpeting their false piety.

We should never be found on the side lines hurling stones of accusation. No, not us. We are all too broken for that. Instead of "J'accuse",  we should humbly cry "Mea culpa".

While I am attending this years  Hillsong Conference,  most likely as a volunteer. I may get to hear parts of the interview. I may re-form my opinion of Mark Driscoll.

But you won't read it here.

Because it will remain my opinion.

ADDENDUM.
Since this post was first published, there have been some changes to the facts as written above.
Namely, that Mark Driscoll will no longer be a guest at Hillsong Conference 2015. The details behind this decision can be found elsewhere. I have no wish to repost them here.

Some things have not changed. My attitude towards church leadership, and my belief that we should not engage in wholesale criticism of such leadership.

Such criticism is nothing more than, gossip, tale bearing and back biting. The Bible is quite clear on these subjects. I don't believe I need to quote chapter and verse on this. It is not the right of every believer with a blog and an axe to grind, to post whatever they like, about whomever they dislike.

Lay down the axes, they cannot be used to build the church.

When worlds collide.

This week, I witnessed the stark disparity of thinking, that exists in the minds of our nations young women.

I saw two different examples of young women voicing their opinions on the cultures they have been raised in. One of these young women is a Muslim, the other (without trying to sound racist) a white Australian.

There could not have been a starker contrast between these two minds. One came across as a self appointed harbinger of radical feminism. The other has a much firmer grasp of the realities of the world she lives in.

So let me introduce them to you. Firstly we have Cassidy Boon. She put this article up on The Stately Harold. She is a twenty year old feminist calling for a ban on ANZAC day because it is sexist.

The second is Lamisse Hamouda. She had this article published in the Sydney Morning Herald. She is writing about sexist attitudes in Islamic education.

Lamisse put forward her arguments with sensitivity, authority and intelligence. Her voice is forward thinking, unifying and decries unscientific thinking.

Cassidy stands alone beating a broken drum that no right thinking person would march to. She dares to lecture us about history. Yet she speaks without any factual reference to history. Instead we get ranting misandry, devoid of intelligent thought and reason.

The stark contrast comes, when we realise that both of these women are writing about the same subject. Both of them spoke out, decrying antiquated patriarchal thinking and dominance. Yet their voices are glaringly different.

Only one of them gives us hope for the future of Australian womanhood.

If were at all possible. And oh how I hope it happens. I would pay good money to go see these two young women debate each other. Let's put them on the ABC's Q&A programme.

The road, more or less, travelled.

I love driving. Particularly, I love driving in the country. Something I have spent many days doing with my father. Driving around the North Island of New Zealand, delivering machinery as part of his business. I'm not so fond of city traffic, especially after working as a courier for a few years, but I can tolerate it. I prefer the open, uncongested country roads.

We have friends that live in Mudgee. A country town about four hours drive to the north west of Sydney, Australia. Long weekends and holidays are a ready excuse to escape the city. So it was, that last Easter, we packed the car and headed for wide open spaces. The trip itself turned sour when we passed through The Blue Mountains. This was when the weather closed in and the traffic went crazy. Low cloud, rain and narrow roads with too few passing lanes. Seemingly endless road works and speed restrictions, coupled with impatient, incompetent drivers turned a four hour drive into six.

Even after the congestion cleared into a short stretch of wider double-lane roads, things did not improve much. I always seemed to be following those drivers that get nervous above certain speeds. 80 in 100 zones, 40 in a 50. Nearing Mudgee my patience was all but eroded and I was now making the most of every passing opportunity. Safely and legally of course. I was just sick of following traffic. I wanted clear space around me. That was when I passed one car too many, a white Holden Commodore. One that I speculated may well have been a Plain Clothes patrol car. So past I went. Half a click later, the lights came on. Blue and Red lights. All I could think was "Double Demerit points".

So the start to the weekend wasn't so great.

But it did get better, the weather remained in a state of flux, between sunshine and rain. Great food, drink and the company of friends. We opened a bottle of French Champagne to celebrate our 25th Wedding Anniversary.


Then there is the road home, a road we are all on in these lives of ours.

We left Mudgee on the Monday afternoon in mediocre weather, raining a bit but trying to clear. We had spectacular views of cloud capped mountain tops and idyllic countryside.

It was in that first hour of the journey
that the breathe was sucked out of my body.
 We were passing through the region of
 Capertee when everything seemed to stand
 still, just for a moment, at 100kmh.

The sun was low in the west and suddenly broke through the clouds. All around the landscape was radiant. The trees lit up in many hues of iridescent green. Greens so bright they were almost painful to look at. To the east, the sky was very different. Black with heavy cloud that towered up to the heavens. Cloud so dark it was gunmetal blue. Contrasted against the imposing sky, this brilliance of green washed the land.

Moments later we plunged into heavy fog and low lying cloud. Visibility was down to a bare 50 metres. Wipers and fog lights on, speed reduced, proceeding with caution, wishing I was back in sun-drenched lands again.

This is our journey home. We yearn for heavenly vistas, washed in light. Colours beyond our imagination. How we long for them. We see a brief glimpse, a taste of eternity, we want to stay there. We'd rather not face the darkening storm. To feel the lash of wind and rain. We'd rather not pass through fog banks, where the path is obscured and uncertainty creeps in. We crave the light. But the light is not behind, it is ahead. It is our journey, our aim. It is the road we travel.

The road that leads us home.

Is vs Does.

I have a question for you. How do you approach God? What is the fundamental basis of your relationship with him?

Is your view of God determined by; Who He Is, or by What He Does?

Well, what's the difference? You may well ask, and I'm glad you did. Because I suspect the answer, has a lot to do with why many people fall away from their Christian faith. I also believe it is the by-product of so much faulty faith teaching. It is the poor foundation of so many coming to Jesus, because they believe, or were promised, that Jesus would "do" something for them.

It is also the basis of a great many religions. They tell us that we have to do something, in order for god to do something. We have to vie for his attention, and then we may get a favourable response, a reward, maybe, if he can be bothered. In other words, if we don't do something for god, then he doesn't do anything for us. So now the focus comes back to our actions. Did we pray enough, was the offering too small, should we have fasted longer, was our faith weak?

In other words if we don't perform for God, then He doesn't do anything for us. Isn't this just some sort of fairy tale Santa Claus faith? Where good behaviour/performance brings a reward, while poor behaviour/performance . . .
This kind of thinking plunges us into doubt, self condemnation, feelings of unworthiness. So we try even harder right? Yet nothing changes.

Faith based on God's response to our actions becomes self centred. "I" didn't get healed. "I" didn't get the promotion. "I" don't have a spouse. God didn't speak to "ME". Now God "OWES ME" something.
So if God didn't act, has he then done something wrong to us? Are we now His victims? Wallowing in feelings of resentment and injustice? And doesn't this sort of thinking govern our view of sin also? If we see God purely through the prism of what He does, then we expect judgement and retribution. Then we get that tired old mantra raising it's ugly faithless head.

"How can a loving God do . . ." You can fill in the blanks yourself, you've heard it often enough.

So, what if our faith is based, not on what God does, but on who He is? After all God revealed Himself to Moses, not as the God who does, but the God who is. The "I AM".

Because this is the true foundation of our faith.

Hang on wait, wasn't the work of the cross something He did?
Yes, but it was done because of who He is. God is Love. He loves us, because he is love. And that makes all the difference to our faith. Because while God has a sovereign will, He cannot act independently of  who He is. His Nature and Character are unchanging. Not only that, the work of the cross was a paradigm shift. It revealed a new facet of God's character. Prior to the cross, the idea of a sacrifice was in fact the very problem we're dealing with here. Those sacrifices, a common enough practise in the Ancient Near East, were made to obtain favour, to appease a god, to get something from a god. The work of the cross was a reversal of this practise. The cross appeased God's own demand for judgement, and it was done to show favour towards us. He bore the cost Himself. Because of who He is. It was done, not to get something from us, but to give something to us. Grace, mercy, forgiveness, favour, eternal life.

So if our faith is based on who God is, rather than what He does, then it doesn't change us does it?
If one gets healed but another doesn't, if one gets promoted ahead of us, we continue to go through a trial, seemingly without end. Let us not forget, Daniel was thrown into the lion's den. The Hebrew slaves were thrown into the fire. Joseph was a captive, a slave, a prisoner falsely accused. But all of them, their faith was unshaken. Not because of what God did, but because of who he is.

This then is what true faith is. It is an unshakeable relationship with a living God. Not based on what He may or may not do. But on who He is.

Simple Childhood Summers

For my family.
These are some of the things I remember about summers in Murray's Bay.

Checking the tide charts to see when we can jump off the wharf. King tides that seemed to last all day. The starting gun goes off for the yacht race. Twilight swims in the dark green waters.
Sprinting over hot, black, iron-sand to the cool refuge of the waves. Exploring the rocks at low tide. walking the pipeline to Mairangi Bay. Or, "around the rocks" to Rothesay Bay and Brown's Bay. None of these beaches were any good though, ours was the only one with a wharf. Then we got a new wharf.

Fishing for Sprats to feed the cat. Piper for the frypan. Eels from the creek to cook over an open fire.

Dragging the mattress out on to the lawn for the first sunbathe of summer. Picnics on the rug under the apple trees. Dad's cold ginger beer from the fridge, watching ants scurry amongst the grass.
Throwing breadcrumbs out for the birds.

Bagpipes, band practice and marching through the Devonport shops at Christmas. An expedition up Saddleback Rise, hunting for a pine tree to decorate, putting tadpoles in a jar. Grandma's Christmas Pudding with a sixpence in  every slice. Mum's homemade plum jam with the stones still in.

Burying my face into a half-moon slice of watermelon, pink juice running from ears to chin, spitting out the pips.

Digging a new trench for the compost heap, laying in rows of beans, corn and peas. No thanks I don't like swedes. Grapefruit halves for breakfast when the sugar has soaked in overnight, and a frozen cup of cordial.

The apples are ripe at last, Granny Smiths and Wine-saps,  shelling peas and chewing on the pods. Butter dripping from corn on the cob. Sunday roasts.

Endless summers at the beach lying in the sun, salt caked, brown skinned, sun bleached hair. Driving my VW over to Lake Pupuke for a fresh water swim to wash the salt off.

Night-times at Waiwera hot pools.

Macrocarpa hedge battlegrounds and tree surfing, watch out for the wetas. We knew they could jump at you, but  I never saw one that did.

Walking back from the shop with a fresh Sunday loaf and luncheon sausage, six slices on number eight please. Popping the tar-babies barefooted.

Vampire jets and Skyhawks on approach to Whenuapai Airbase.

The smell of wood-shavings and animal glue in Dad's shed. His homemade radio tuned to 1YC, or maybe it was A, what was the bird call of the day? The Radio Valve jazz ensemble with the four armed drummer plays along. Is it time for The Goon Show yet?

Digging prickles out of the lawn. One cent for the small ones, Two cents per large. Pocket money for Girl Guide Biscuits.

Raiding Uncle Norm's toffee supply, sneaking in through the bamboo jungle.

Bonfires, fireworks, Military Tattoos, and the Speedway.

That's the trouble with growing older, time marches relentlessly on, priorities change and memories fade. So we marry, have children and make a fresh batch to share with them.

I never really thanked my Dad for moving the family to Murray's Bay. It was the best place in the world. And no matter where else in this world I may live, I will always think of this place, as "Home."

Thanks Dad.