What If Men Went To Real Churches
In Which I Say Some Things About That Mark Driscoll/Jezebel Spirit Thing.
Comunione degli apostoli, cella 35/Last Supper Fra Angelico Comunione degli apostoli
I find it very strange, to be honest, that Christian Twitter is arguing vociferously over the strange trending mashup of Mark Driscoll, Doug Wilson, and Tucker Carlson, (though not all three in any kind of perichoretic relationship with each other). So out of morbid curiosity, I searched out and watched the clips posted of Mark Driscoll, and the sword-swallowing male stripper.
Would it be too far a stretch to say that the thing portrayed on my shiny cell phone screen is not recognizably Christian? I don’t want to be hyperbolic, or fly off the handle or anything, but the whole thing does not strike me as a “Christian” sort of event.
For those of you who didn’t click the link—basically, there is video of a young man on a stage who takes off his jacket, and, chest bear, proceeds to swallow most of a sword, to then climb a pole, and then to slide down said pole headfirst, catching himself at the crucial moment so as not to die by the sword, as it were. If you push the little forward arrow, there is an article about how that “performer” went from being a sweet small town All American kid to one of Vegas’ most prized male strip “performers.” Then you click the arrow again and you come to Mark Driscoll who strides masterfully onto the stage with a pile of books and papers, takes off his ball cap, kneels down, and announces:
The Jezebel Spirit has already been here. The Jezebel Spirit opened our event.
He explains himself, briefly, before being shouted down whereupon he goes away, ceding the stage to the main “pastor” who appears out of thin air, at least from the camera angle, and complains that Driscoll violated “Matthew 18.”
The whole thing, for me—I wouldn’t dare speak for anyone else—feels like that surrealistic painting, The Scream. What on earth are we even doing here? What is going on? Why is there a large number of men in an arena like that? Did they pay money? Are they worried about something? Did they need some encouragement? Are they confused about what it means to be a Christian and a man? I don’t even know because I haven’t watched or read anything about this peculiar occasion.
And, following upon that battery of questions, which I imagine don’t have any answers that would satisfy me, why the male stripper? What. The. Actual. Hellscape?
And all that before the entrance of Mark Driscoll, ballcap and Bible at the ready.
Let me just set forth on a little imaginative wandering. What if—I know it’s crazy, like that church that did their “What If” series that led them to actually wonder if God was going to worship them—what if all Christians for one year decided to have no more conferences of any kind. What if, for just a little while, everyone stayed home and concentrated on all those annoying tasks that fill up all the corners and make life the drudgery it is. What if, for just one year, all the men—and the women, but in this case, the men—didn’t go to other places to get pumped up for Jesus via the Male Stripper option, but instead stayed home and just cracked open ye olde Bible a few days a week.
And then, just imagine with me, what if all those men just went to a regular church. No stage, no light show. Somewhere with a kind of an ugly carpet and fairly uncomfortable seating. Maybe there could be some kind of historically Christian visual ques to let them know they were in a “Christian space,” like maybe a cross (because Jesus died on one) and some candles (because Jesus is the light of the world), and maybe a font, and maybe—bear with me here—a pulpit, a lectern, and some kind of flat surface held aloft on four legs upon which could be safely set, I dunno, a cup, and a plate. Maybe someone could put something red in the cup, like wine. And maybe someone could also put a piece of bread on the plate. And then, stick with me, for I know this is extremely and terribly shocking, what if all the people sitting in the uncomfortable seating stood up at the beginning and sang a song altogether. Maybe you could call it a “hymn.” After that they could sit down and listen to some portions of the Bible read out loud. Maybe throw in a Psalm sung altogether. Maybe go crazy, sing another “hymn.” Then, after that, maybe someone could stand up in the “pulpit” and talk for thirty or forty minutes about one of the passages of the Bible that was read out loud. Maybe that person could go methodically through the passage, showing the meaning, so that all the people sitting in the uncomfortable seats could, when they finally went back home, go back to the text and have a real sense of it, being really empowered to understand how it fits in with everything else. But also, maybe the person speaking from the pulpit could have so known that particular group of people, and the scriptures, that what he said could be exactly the right thing to strike all the hearts of those people, to make them feel bad about their sins, but also comforted by the Holy Spirit. So comforted that, and please, I hope you will be patient and open-minded because I know what I am about to say is completely insane, what if the person who just talked about the Bible went to that flat thing held aloft on for sticks of wood, legs if you will, or maybe there is a sort of structure that holds it up, maybe there could even be a beautiful cloth over it, go nuts, treat yourself, maybe he could go up and say a special prayer, invoking the Holy Spirit, repeating the very special words that Jesus said on the night before he died, words that no one had ever heard before. Then he could take a bite of the bread and a sip of the wine and then, get this, he could go and give bread and wine to everyone who came who had already been baptized [that thing where you pour some water over someone who, for whatever reason, really wants to be associated with the God you’re all there together with]. After that maybe everyone could sing another “hymn” and then troop downstairs for coffee and donuts or boiled eggs and strawberries and then, after a while, go home feeling renewed, like somehow, though no one can quite say with any kind of satisfying words, that God had been there and had ministered to his own people and fed him with his very own self, making them be his body even as they had taken and eaten it.
I don’t want to be accused of bringing about any kind of “Jezebel spirit,” whatever that even is, but I think it is perfectly fair to say that a gathering of purported Christian men who don’t stand up en mass when something so foul as a male strip-tease-sword-swallowing situation arises to leave the building are much better termed Pagan than disciples of the Lord. Driscoll, however weirdly he chose to do it—oh my gosh, so weird, so utterly cringe—is not the bad guy in this situation. But he doesn’t sound Christian either.
And then, to crown it all, the “pastor” comes out to decry Driscoll for violating “Matthew 18” as if any appeal to Scripture in such a context would have any possible spiritual effect. It feels like how, when I was wandering around the Holy Sepulcher, totally freaked out by the strange pale white Mary with a lily set behind glass, and Matt reminded me of how, in Prince Caspian, the children came across the Stone Table but didn’t recognize it because the Narnians had entirely lost all semblance of what it was. No one remembered, and so it was only a sort of shell, a strange inexplicable place of ancient rites and superstitions. For a man in a sweatshirt to stand on a stage surrounded by jumbotron screens shouting at a gathering of men to then invoke “Matthew 18” is vestigial, strange, unmoored, lacking context.
Oh wait! There’s more. I guess Driscoll and the guy in the sweatshirt have made up and there are no more problems. So anyway, go to a real church, if you are able. Just saying. Also, have a nice day if you’re into that sort of thing.
Spot on! This whole thing was surreal to me. What in the world happened to these men?
"Matt reminded me of how, in Prince Caspian, the children came across the Stone Table but didn’t recognize it because the Narnians had entirely lost all semblance of what it was."
Subscribed again, just to say this was a great piece. Well-done, Mrs. Kennedy. I love the glad irony of how actually spectacular is a 'boring', 'average' church service.