We were driving our rental car around cactus-lined streets on the first day of our snowbird getaway to Scottsdale, Arizona when we realized exactly where we were. We were only a few blocks away from a place of podcast infamy and evangelical intrigue: Trinity Church — AKA, Mark Driscoll’s new church.
It’s not every day that I am near the church of a man whose rise (and fall) was the topic of thousands of Twitter threads, blog posts, and podcast episodes about podcast episodes. That Sunday, we learned, Driscoll was starting a new sermon series titled “Real Romance: Sex in Song of Songs.” Perfect.
“Oh mannnn,” I exclaimed, rubbing my hands together in a manner not unlike that of a Disney movie villain. “Let’s go!!!” I told my family who was with me, feeling emboldened and excited by the prospect of seeing the spectacle that is Mark Driscoll live and in-person. What an interesting experience this will be, I thought! I would feel like an undercover Journalist for Jesus, a Spy Against Sacrilege! And my mission? Make enough keen and cogent observations that will allow me to report back to HQ (Christians on Twitter) and tell everyone what Mark Driscoll is getting up to in the desert.
It was an exciting plan until something — or perhaps it’s better to say someone (aka the Holy Spirit) — changed our plans. We decided not to go. Instead, we went to a different church, one whose sermon series was not about sex or manhood or running over the haters with metaphorical buses. That morning, the craziest thing that happened during the church I visited was that someone shouted “Amen, Jesus saves!” several times quite loudly from the back, causing some former Presbyterians to feel uncomfortable. The sermon was good, but not necessarily flashy or quotable at all. In short, it was the kind of Sunday morning experience that makes for a pretty boring story.
Spectacle, controversy, and drama are much more interesting to read about than the story I have to tell here. Rather, this is a testimony of my own time in the desert, of knowing what kind of content gets clicks and hearing that tempting whisper, “All this I will give you, if you will bow down and worship me.”
You see, my motivations for attending Driscoll’s church were not to be a Journalist for Jesus, but rather a voyeur who wanted to go viral. Sex sells, and I knew it. Going to Driscoll’s church and writing about his sermon on Song of Songs — that would’ve made for some #viral #content. But as Jesus warns in Matthew 16:26, “What will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul?”
It is not good for my soul for a Sunday morning to be treated as a spectacle, as “good” of a story as the spectacle might be for likes and long Twitter threads and blog posts. But what is perhaps even more destructive and more dehumanizing is to be a person who throws gasoline on the fire — to volunteer as a soldier in a “holy crusade” against Big Sins and Bigger Sinners. How quickly arson in the third degree becomes murder in the first degree. How easily I am inclined to engage with the option that would enable me to shake my fists alongside the angry mob. How enthusiastically I grab ahold of a flaming torch that someone handed me. How sobering it is to confess that the heat from flames feels good on my face.
But what happens, I wonder, when my dismay about the destructive nature of a man named Mark Driscoll turns into a crusade of fiery, self-justified scorn? A pile of ash is not a firm foundation to stand on. Walker Percy’s Love in the Ruins includes this convicting quote, “God, if you recall, did not warn his people against dirty books. He warned them against high places.” If Percy is right, then we could argue that Driscoll’s bad teachings about sex are less of a danger to the church than me thinking I’m holier than him while scornfully sitting in the pew listening to those same teachings and then gleefully reporting to all what sins I have witnessed. That meme of Elmo comes to mind, his hands in the air as fire burns around him. Sure, it’s a funny image, but I have to admit: I see myself in it.
Don’t get me wrong: toxic church culture and pastors (including Driscoll) need to be held accountable. I am tremendously grateful for the work of podcasters and authors who are investigating difficult stories, calling for accountability, and proposing much-needed reform in the church. But I am not one of those people, and that is not my work. Very few of us, myself included, will ever be called to join in a holy crusade with torches or tweets. We are not the hero of this story. As Alan Noble writes in the final chapter of his book You Are Not Your Own,
You will not save the world; you can’t even save yourself. At best, you may see the corruption in society more clearly, you may be better prepared to deal with the indignities of the modern world, and you may make small, rear-guard advances for truth, goodness, and beauty in your sphere of influence … Your obligation is faithfulness, not productivity or measurable results.
And he concludes with this:
When we rest in God’s sovereignty, we can honestly observe how society negatively affects us without making excuses for our sins or denying personal responsibility. When we rest in God’s sovereignty, we can act to do good without deluding ourselves into thinking that we will save the world. When we rest in God’s sovereignty, we can have grace for ourselves and our neighbors as we cope with an inhumane society that will only be saved by God.
And so my boring non-story story ends here: with gratitude to God that the only story I have to tell about Mark Driscoll’s Scottsdale church is no story at all. Or rather, it is a story about my proclivity to be just as mad as Mark, just as attention-seeking, just as platform-hungry. It’s a story about God’s mercy for Big Sins committed by Bigger Sinners, sinners like you and me and Mark Driscoll and everyone he ran over with that metaphorical bus. It’s a story about the mercy of being kicked off the platform and being delivered from high places. It’s a story that is quite boring, but one that testifies of God’s goodness and love, even when I’m tempted and tried in the deserts of Scottsdale, Arizona.
COMMENTS
11 responses to “Mark Driscoll and My Desert Temptation”
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What a great reflection. I find myself being tempted by the attention economy all the time, especially with the rise of influencers and TikTok virality.
“But i am not one of those people. And that is not my work.” So good and convicting for me. Thank you for your “non-story” story!
Good thoughts, Grace!
Really, really well done.
Thought provoking and insightful, as always!
I’m sure it’s not meant to but this feels so performative. Mark Driscoll is a faithful man and he is also saving sinners. Different ones than go to your or my church but probably many that would go to his church or no church. How about a tiny slice of humility to see the good also done? The explosion of Mars Hill in Seattle left behind a network of new churches that never would have been there and opened the eyes of many in that “least churched city” to the existence and possibility of a current and relevant church. He is powerfully gifted in exegesis which has opened scripture to many, especially remotely via his podcast etc.. I would agree with many that his temperament is unsuited to nurturing pasterhood but are we now insisting that every faithful man or woman of God must display every gift and be without sin before doing any good to others? I’m a little tired of all the posturing.
I realise how harsh that sounds and it shouldn’t all feel directed at the author who, as far as I can tell, was trying to be very fair. But more at the implied homogeneity of opinion amongst “us good folk” in which it and so many many pieces in the Christian press and, it must be said, particularly Mockingbird, are written on the subject of Mark Driscoll. It is only in great overall admiration for Mockingbird and its mission that I make these remarks.
My obligation is faithfulness?…really? Wow!
Capon would eat you for lunch!
Let alone Paul…
This is a wonderful piece. It identifies a fork in the road that many come to in the journey of recovery from spiritual abuse: the path of seeking affirmation, exposure, public support, although often from anonymous people, or, the path of continuing with simple, personal healing, and a pursuit of faith and dependence. Both paths can lead to genuine, powerful, effective advocacy. One is dangerous with many pitfalls hostilities, and unhealthy stops and temptations along the way. Sadly, the temptations are often to act in ways similar to abusers. It is still legitimate…. just more dangerous.The other path is quieter, with its own temptations, but seems to lead more survivors to healthier outcomes and deeper healing. Neither path should entail silence in condoning abuse, on both should, hopefully come in lead to advocacy and assistance to survivors. But the one seems to me much more dangerous than the other. Thanks for a very thoughtful article.
Love this! Part of the power of the cross of Christ is its obscurity and perhaps its mundanity. He was condemned in the middle of the night, taken outside the city, crucified while few were watching, his disciples all scattered and mostly absent. We want to have a grand world-changing presence, criticizing people for wanting a grand world-changing presence, hahaha! We in our obscurity and mundanity need a savior who meets us in obscurity and mundanity and loves us there. This story really put all that into a great narrative, thank you so much!
Thanks for an eye-opening and awe-inspiring piece of writing. I appreciate what you’ve done here.
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