By Paul S. Williams

I chair the leadership teams of two larger churches begun by the Orchard Group. Not long ago I was leading one of those meetings and orienting a new team member to the realities of today’s American church.

The capable young leader wondered why our church, on a per capita basis, had so few volunteers. He talked of the midsized church of his childhood and the plethora of volunteers who led the youth program, children’s program, small group program, and a number of other ministries.

I explained that the church has always had a tendency to take on the trappings of its culture. It is most apparent in church governance. The Roman Catholic Church hierarchy was patterned after the hierarchy of the Roman Empire. Before you cast aspersions on the Catholics, however, take a look at Christian churches. Our own leadership in the 1900s was patterned after the United States government. The ministers comprise the executive branch. The elders and deacons were the two houses of Congress, and the trustees formed the judicial branch. From a scriptural perspective, only elders are appointed to shepherd and govern, but in adapting to our environment, we elevated the position of deacon to a voting office.

Beyond its impact on governance, secular culture permeates almost every area of church life. The Western world is a consumer culture in which economies rise or fall with the purchase of goods and services. Therefore we should not be surprised when Christians increasingly see themselves as consumers of goods and services provided by the church. We pay our money in tithes and offerings, and the church provides the goods we desire, whether salvation, a great worship experience, or summer camp for the children.

As long as we have a consumer mind-set toward the church, volunteers will be hard to find. This increases the transition from a lay-led church to a professional-led church, something historically at odds with Christian church practice.

Most leaders I know see nothing that indicates a coming shift in this trend. Until our culture returns to a spirit of volunteerism, the church will continue to be led by professionals.

The young volunteer on our leadership team was not pleased to hear this news. Nevertheless, he voted to approve a budget that included hiring three more staff members in the coming fiscal year.

And so it goes.

By Paul S. Williams

Genesis 1:2 describes a world that is wild and chaotic. Rabbi Rami Shapiro writes, “Unlike other creation myths where chaos dies and order triumphs, Genesis leaves chaos intact.” Shapiro suggests this is the source of both suffering and creativity. A completely ordered world would be like a paint-by-number landscape—predictable but not very inspiring. He goes on to suggest that if God is an artist, he is probably more like Jackson Pollock than paint by number.

In the 1970s I was enamored with Francis Schaeffer and his conviction that the dissonant music of John Cage was a sign of the mayhem to come. I do not remember reading what he thought of Jackson Pollock, though I can imagine. The first time I saw one of Pollock’s paintings I thought it might have been done by a chimp who’d had his brain removed. The more I learned to color outside the lines, however, the more I came to appreciate his work.

Though he was an Evangelical Christian, I was never a fan of the late Thomas Kinkade. I did not find the trademarked “Painter of Light” to be very illuminating. His paintings were not paint by number, but they weren’t Monet either.

We do ourselves no favors when we try to reduce God to someone or something we can fold up and put in our hip pocket. God is not ours to possess. We are God’s to be possessed by. He is not predictable or nice. C.S. Lewis understood that. Aslan the lion was neither safe nor tame. Pollock’s paintings are wild and chaotic, just like creation. They are also beautiful, just like creation.

When I try to codify and tame my understanding of God, I paint by number, demanding something Scripture does not ask of itself. The God of the Bible is loving, angry, understandable, impossible, and in the final analysis very other from me. If he had not come to earth as a man, he would have remained completely inaccessible. Thank God he chose to come in a form we could grasp—flesh and bones, Emmanuel, God with us.

Even then, Jesus did not paint by numbers, and it drove his disciples crazy, not to mention the entire Jewish hierarchy. “You have to hate your father and mother.” “To be first you must be last.” “The one who loses his life saves it.” Not the words of a popular politician.

Rabbi Shapiro is right. This world is wild and chaotic—just as God intended. Instead of railing against it, maybe we should make the most of it. Jesus did.

Last week marked the eighth year of Exponential, the world’s premier church planting conference. Once again there were more than 5,000 in attendance at the Orlando, Florida, event. Another 40,000 were watching live streaming of the event in more than 90 nations. Exponential has been a smashing success.

This year’s focus on discipleship brought a broad spectrum of leaders onto the stage, from Robert Coleman (author of the Master Plan of Evangelism) to Francis Chan. Major presenters from the Christian church movement included Jim Putman and Dave Ferguson. A host of Christian church leaders presented workshops, including Brian Moll, Jonathan Williams, Jerry Harris, Greg Nettle, Jon Ferguson, Debbie Jones, Brad Prunty, and others. The Orchard Group, New Thing Network, and Stadia all conducted successful preconferences.

As we have written previously, Exponential is an event hosted by Christian Churches for Christians of all denominations. It continues to grow exponentially (no pun intended), particularly in its online footprint. Todd Wilson, Dave Ferguson, and their crew continue to plan and execute the largest church planting conference in the world.

As I walked through the display area, chock-full of ministries and companies fully devoted to every aspect of church planting, I thought about how far we have come in a very short period of time. Twenty-five years ago church planting was just beginning to enter the radar screen. Churches began devoting more dollars to planting new churches, and colleges and seminaries began to include church planting courses in their offerings.

I see no evidence the church planting bus is slowing down. There has been no loss of momentum. On the contrary, momentum continues to build. Church planting movements are springing up in areas with little recent evangelistic activity, including Western Europe. In the United States, more and more churches are being planted in areas previously neglected, like the Northeast, the Pacific Northwest, and urban centers throughout our nation.

If Exponential is any indicator, contemporary church planting is still in its adolescence. Many young people with a desire to be a part of a church “not like the one I came from” fill the Exponential hallways. There is a predisposition toward faddishness, with broad pronouncements of “new trends,” but little evidence to back them up. These things can be expected in any young, enthusiastic movement. Excess can be forgiven when the heart is right.

I enjoyed this year’s Exponential more than most in recent years. I believe it was because I spent as much time as possible with young, excited church planters. Their energy was contagious. As I stood on the sidelines of their enthusiastic conversations, I remained confident that church planting is still on the ascendency in these postmodern times.

My son sends me his sermons every Thursday. They are so much better than mine. I’m sure there are kind readers who might think, You are being too modest, but I’m up for arguing. How can someone who is 36 have so much more great stuff to say than someone who is 61?

It is not just Jonathan. I read or listen to the sermons of many of our young Orchard Group ministers and I am amazed. Occasionally they are a little raw and not particularly polished, but the depth of their scriptural content and the breadth of their wisdom are quite remarkable.

Orchard Group’s current ministers are our first leaders educated in a postmodern environment. They recognize there are 500 channels out there, and each person will choose the channel that is “right for me.” There is no privileged position for Christian clergy, no high and mighty pulpit that signals authority. They are only as good as the words they speak and the lives they live.

These young preachers also do not care much for all the trappings of traditional sermonizing. They seldom research online sermon sites and don’t much care if Fred Craddock is better than Haddon Robinson, though they would appreciate both if they heard them. They do not see themselves as preachers. They see themselves as communicators or, better yet, incarnational conduits. And they take “rightly dividing the word of truth” very seriously.

I preach 22 or 23 minutes. Jonathan preaches 30. I quote popular authors and the occasional well-known Bible scholar. Jonathan quotes theologians and Pulitzer-prize winning poets and novelists. His New York City audience is educated and sophisticated. They are accustomed to excellence. Winging it is not an option. Two hours with a Bob Russell outline will not suffice.

Our younger ministers seem to understand you cannot preach more than who you are. Your speaking abilities will be limited by your intelligence, knowledge, wisdom, and lifestyle. Today’s thirtysomethings can spot a fraud a mile away. If you have doubts, you’d better acknowledge them. If you have an inkling of the truth, you’d better share it. If you’re clueless, you’d better step aside.

I remember when we were all wringing our hands about the vacuous millennials. Boy, were we wrong. They have come of age and stepped into leadership with wisdom beyond their years and a fervor unrivaled by any past generation.

I am glad my son’s messages are superior to mine. I can only imagine how he and his comrades will be preaching in another decade. I am confident Christ’s church will be better for it.

I have known more than a few atheists in my time. Most were never Christians, but not all.

One of my favorite Christian college professors renounced his faith about a decade before he died. Just a couple of months ago I referred to my class notes from one of his courses. He was brilliant.

For about a year I corresponded with a Christian seminary graduate who had renounced his faith. He was thoughtful and warm in our correspondence. He had authored a book about why he was no longer a believer and felt the book was going to be a best seller. I read his book. It was well-written, though I did not find his arguments to be convincing. He hoped we would review the book in CHRISTIAN STANDARD. We decided against it.

Several of my fellow graduates from Christian colleges are no longer believers. I have talked with a few through the years. There is a common theme in the conversations. The majority felt the church provided no place for them to grapple with their doubts. When they began to question God’s existence, they were more commonly met with resistance than understanding.

My wife recalls a time she told a Sunday school teacher she wasn’t sure if Christianity was true. The teacher’s response? “Oh Cathy!” My wife remembers that moment, and not fondly. Unfortunately, many others have a similar experience.

I wonder, how many of those atheists would still be believers if they had been provided with a safe place to explore their doubts? I have experienced serious doubts throughout my adult life, but I have always had a plethora of mentors willing to shepherd me through those dark nights. I still keep handwritten letters Dr. Byron Lambert wrote to me in the 1970s. I freely expressed my doubts. He brilliantly responded with understanding, and thoughtfulness. Those letters were a critically important part of my spiritual growth.

Unbelief is sometimes a result of unresolved emotional issues. An absent father can make it difficult to conceive of a loving and present God. A trusted spiritual leader abuses a believer, and one of the tragic results is the loss of faith. During a period of depression, a person finds himself at the edge of belief. The answer for these types of unbelief is rarely rational argument. It is unrelenting love and steadfast companionship.

I think often about my professor. I’m told that a couple of his colleagues remained close with him to the time of his death. That pleases me.

We all have our doubts. To have a safe place to explore them and people who love us through them are true and blessed gifts.

Thomas Merton said it would be a terrible thing to spend your entire life climbing the ladder of success only to get to the top and realize the ladder was leaning on the wrong wall. I find the problem is more often that we do not realize there are two distinct walls in life. Once we have climbed to the top of the ladder in the first half of life, we must climb back down and move the ladder. To fail to do so will mean living, and then reliving, the first half of life, and never moving into the rich and rewarding second half of life.

In the first half of life your self-image often comes from others’ preferences for you and evaluations of you. You want success in your work as you establish you are someone to be reckoned with. You are driven to have what you love, be it the CEO position or a family or a prestigious job. You have a tendency not to see things as they are, but to see things as you are. In other words, you are self-referential. You have only one lens through which to see life, the lens of your own experience.

The first half of life is usually filled with rules, regulations, and boundaries. The Old Testament is a collection of books about the first half of life. The first half is a necessary building block to reach the second half of life.

The second half of life is more in line with the ministry of Jesus. In the second half, psychological wholeness and spiritual holiness come together. In the first half of life, you want to have what you love. In the second half, you are content to love what you have.

When in a group, you no longer talk too much or too loudly. You are more participatory and less assertive. You influence others by simply being who you are. Your self-image comes from inside and not from choices others make for you. In fact, in the second half of life you find most support comes from a couple of enlightened friends, not from organizations. You have fewer but deeper friendships. You belong to more than one group, because no single group can meet all of your needs.

In the second half of life you are more likely to do what you feel called to do, and let go of the consequences. You are less concerned about what others might think and more concerned about living at peace in your own skin.

Paul’s writings in Romans 7 and 8 are about the second half of life. All of John’s writings were clearly penned by someone in the second half of life.

Whichever half of life you inhabit, the entire journey is a privilege. We move from becoming and accomplishing to mentoring and being. And we do it all under the guidance of one who perfectly combines the two halves into one fulfilling existence.

As I grow older, I continue to make discoveries. Some are the logical conclusions of a life lived within a certain trajectory. Other discoveries are surprising illuminations that jump from behind the hedges with a mighty “Aha!”

To no one’s surprise, as I age, my career matters less and my family matters more. I expected that. A wonderful “Aha!” discovery is that my 50s were filled with far less anxiety and turmoil than my 40s. So far my 60s are even better. I have no interest in reliving my 40s. I could run faster and jump higher, but those midcareer years were no picnic.

One of the more recent discoveries is that I am likely to die without having gained the wisdom and knowledge I once thought attainable. I have taken advantage of the lessons life has brought my way. I have found answers to many of the vexing questions I puzzled over when I was young. But for each answer I find, two more questions are raised. I have come to realize I do not know one-tenth of 1 percent about anything. For instance, I am supposedly an “expert” on the DiSC personality test, yet I discover new subtleties every time I give it. I know the test is quite accurate, but no one really understands why it is so reliable.

At this stage of life, the biggest questions are about God, the existence of good and evil, judgment, and the like. When it comes to those issues, I feel like the protagonist in my favorite novel, Wendell Berry’s Jayber Crow.

An underlying theme of the story is Jayber’s quest for faith, often met with disappointment. One of the book’s greatest quotes is on page 52 of my edition. Crow is speaking to Dr. Ardmire, the Greek professor he deeply respects at the college he attends. The professor says, “You have been given questions to which you cannot be given answers. You will have to live them out—perhaps a little at a time.”

Jayber asks, “And how long is that going to take?”

“I don’t know, as long as you live, perhaps.”

“That could be a long time.”

“I will tell you a further mystery,” Dr. Ardmire whispers, “It may take even
longer.”

I am beginning to resign myself to what Heaven is going to be like. It will involve a lot of me saying, “Oh, now I get it!”

I once thought of Heaven as a place where everything will be made instantly known. I now believe it is a place where there will be much to learn—about God, about life on earth, about the longings of our hearts. I look forward to passing through the pearly gates and into those halls of learning. I imagine it will bring new meaning to one of my favorite phrases—and so it goes!

By Paul S. Williams

I find God in the mountains. I always have. When I was a child, my family took a trip, my first trip, to Tennessee. The hills of upper east Tennessee were much higher than those I knew in eastern Kentucky. I will never forget the sun burning off the mists in the valley.

My first trip to the Rockies was in 1985. I spoke for a youth convention, and the entire three days I was on the Front Range, the mountains were nowhere to be seen. My hosts kept telling me how unusual that was. I now realize they were right. Denver receives 300 days of sunshine a year.

I returned there a few years later in July. As we drove from the airport I could hardly take my eyes off of the mountains. We vacationed in Rocky Mountain National Park, and I hiked my first mile of what has become more than 2,000 miles traversed in that majestic wilderness.

In my mid-50s, my wife and I moved to Colorado. We lived there only part-time, but my soul was satisfied. Over the past six years we have spent more and more time in Colorado and less and less time at our apartment in New York. I still love New York, but it does not have these mountains.

When I drive home from church I think of Katharine Lee Bates who penned the words to America the Beautiful. I understand how the lyrics could pour forth as she stood on the plains and beheld those amber waves of grain and purple mountain’s majesties.

I mountain bike, hike, run, or snowshoe in the mountains four or five of every seven days, all year long, whenever we are in Colorado. God whispers in the wind. The Spirit illuminates the sunsets. My soul is secure in the mountains.

My daughter, Jana, finds God in the waves as they stretch over the sands of the seashore. My friend Dave finds him in the faces and tiny hands of newborn babies. I once knew a moviemaker whose movies, while far too violent, surprised me with their spiritual insights. In one movie the protagonist finds God in the face of a homeless man.

I asked the moviemaker, Abel Ferrara, about that scene. Abel said, “My movies are violent because violence is as close as most people get to any kind of spirituality. Then, while they are terrified and reminded of their own mortality, I slip in a transcendent scene that takes them deeper.” I asked why that particular scene. He answered, “Because I have seen God in the face of a homeless man.”

God in the mountains, the sea, the face of a baby—those things you expect. God in the face of a homeless man—that is an image worth contemplating.

And so it goes.

I am in my 11th year as editor-at-large for CHRISTIAN STANDARD. I began working with Mark Taylor in October 2002, and my first column appeared in the magazine in March 2003. Since then I’ve written about 500 columns for the magazine and its website.

Occasionally I sit down to write and instead find myself reading through a long line of past columns. Sometimes I am pleased with the strength of the message in an old column I have all but forgotten. More often, however, I find myself saying the same words the protagonist of Marilynne Robinson’s novel Gilead spoke, “These words I write, so often they fall short of any hope I have of them.”

The characters in Robinson’s novels are, in common understanding, ordinary. Most of us would never see them as fodder for a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. They live unadorned lives in mundane places. But Robinson finds the sacred woven into the fabric of the ordinary. As she says elsewhere in Gilead, “There are two occasions when the sacred beauty of creation becomes dazzlingly apparent, and they occur together. One is when we feel our mortal insufficiency to the world, and the other is when we feel the world’s mortal insufficiency to us.” She notes, “Life itself is the miracle.”

My friend Florence was watching her daughter’s twins a few months ago. Their earliest days were filled with great uncertainty, but now they are delightfully healthy boys, bringing their own sunshine wherever they go. “They are like a miracle,” Florence said.

Her daughter Bethany corrected her, “Mom, they are not like a miracle. They are a miracle!” And so they are. And so we all are.

When my children were young I thoroughly delighted in them, but I was too close to see the miracle of their very existence. As a grandparent, my perspective has changed. With a wisdom born of experience, I now see my grandchildren’s little bodies as testimony to the sacred space we all inhabit. With their innocent eyes and busy feet, they announce their demands that life is to be explored, enjoyed, and wholeheartedly endorsed. I can watch my grandchildren for hours, drinking in the light emanating from their eyes. They stand in defiance of any notion of original sin. On the other hand, they do boldly proclaim original blessing.

When I look back at my old columns, the best are those expressing awe. As I move into my second decade at CHRISTIAN STANDARD, I want to write in the spirit of those hopeful columns, the ones with the “defiant nevertheless.” For they are the columns that echo the truth so beautifully expressed in the words of Marilynne Robinson: “Life itself is the miracle.”

By Paul S. Williams

Not long ago Cathy and I went to see Jersey Boys, the very successful Broadway show that is now traveling the nation. The son of longtime friends is a member of the cast, and we enjoyed dinner together before the show.

He has worked in a number of Broadway shows and said Jersey Boys is one of the most demanding. Not only do the actors sing and dance for 2 hours and 45 minutes, but they also serve as the only stagehands, moving all of the props into place as the show unfolds. If you have ever seen Jersey Boys, you might also have realized that every one of the singers is actually playing the instrument he is holding. Yep, the actors are singers, orchestra members, and stagehands, all rolled into one.

Our friend plays several roles, requiring that he not only sing in a quartet, but also play the bass, guitar, and saxophone. To top it off, actors who are offstage do not get to lounge around. No, they must watch the conductor on a monitor, because offstage actors sing into microphones, backing up the performers on stage.

As we watched the show, Cathy and I were amazed at the incredible talent that pulled it all off. No wonder the audience gave a rousing standing ovation.

The following weekend I preached at Parkview Christian Church in the Chicago area. During the couple of decades that Tim Harlow has been the lead minister, Parkview has grown from a small, traditional church into a rapidly growing megachurch, one of the largest in the nation. There were three services that weekend, one on Saturday evening and two on Sunday morning. All three services were amazing.

Denise Harlow programs the worship services, and the worship team is one of the best. From the opening dramatic monologue to the video immediately after the message, the service was 65 unified minutes gathered tightly around the weekend theme of overcoming fear through faith. When we finished the first service, it occurred to me, Jersey Boys has nothing on this church. This was one inspiring service.

I know some would not consider those words a compliment. They believe worship should be spontaneous and not at all like Broadway. I understand their perspective, but I disagree. God deserves our best in worship. Our best may be expressed as beautifully traditional liturgy, or as Broadway show quality. The goal is the same either way—worship and praise to our creator.

Chills shot down my spine during Jersey Boys. Chills emanated from my heart as I worshipped at Parkview. Both experiences were wonderful. People at both were giving their best. In high school, I did a lot of acting and singing in musicals. I often thought I might want to try my hand in theater. After watching Jersey Boys I thought, Yeah, that would have been fun. But after preaching and participating in Parkview’s worship I thought, Yeah, I was made for this.

And so it goes.