Ministry

Politics, Plumeria, and the Kingdom of Heaven

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“I miss Ima,” my daughter tells me. “I miss her singing, and I miss her flowers.”

Ima was one of the best worship leaders I’ve ever known, and I’m so glad our paths crossed at an international church in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

Originally from the islands of Fiji, Ima always led worship with a tropical flower in her hair. Usually, she chose a frangipani (plumeria), the bright yellow satiny flower that smells like the most luscious citrus dessert and is the mainstay of Hawaiian leis.

Cambodia has a tropical climate and wonderful people, but even so, the country has suffered much as a result of war, genocide, and corruption. Cambodia is not a tropical paradise, but the church is growing, and Ima is helping.

With her global team she led our global church. Typically, she shared the stage with a Filipino on keys, a Pakistani on percussion, an Australian on guitar, and a Malaysian on drums. Together, they helped lead a rag tag group of Jesus followers from over 30 nations in worship. They helped us declare, week after week, the hope of the cross and the certainty of God.

Our church was full of missionaries and businesspeople, those involved in anti-human trafficking work, and those serving in the relief and development sector. Many of us came to church on Sundays tired, exhausted, and poured out. We traveled by motos and tuk tuks, buses and cars, to be reminded of our Hope. We came to drink of Life, and we came to declare the death and resurrection of our Lord, until he comes again.

I hadn’t grown up in a church like this. I hadn’t grown up in a church with pastors from China, New Zealand, the Philippines, India, Canada, Cambodia, and the United States.

I thought the church was primarily American.

I mean, I didn’t really think that; it’s just that growing up in the Midwest in a standard evangelical church, the church just was pretty American. And Caucasian too. Our authors were American, our musicians were American, everyone was American.

Typically, the only non-American folks I ever came across were the ones we were sending missionaries to. We were the ones sending the gospel, and they were the ones receiving it.

As believers in America we’re taught, often accidentally, that to be a Christian is to be American, or at least to look like it. Even if not purposeful or intentionally racist, the trickle-down effect of this theology is dangerous and thieving, denying us connection to the breadth and depth of the global church.

But here was Ima, a Fijian woman, singing the gospel with power. She was pouring her heart out in prayer, and she was ushering a global community into the throne room of God. The Kenyan sister was dancing, the Samoan brother was singing, and the Australian guy was jumping up and down with a huge smile.

The global church was so much more beautiful and diverse than I had ever known. Christ’s people had come from all over the place, they were going all over the place, and they were worshiping.

I love the American church. But I’m afraid that somewhere in our history, we began to believe that we Americans held the keys to the Kingdom. We would never say it like that, but we sometimes act like that.

So long ago, our spiritual forefathers rightly declared that Rome was not the central hub of global Christianity. But I’m afraid we’ve drifted into our own hubris and begun to believe that the American church is the hub, the main gospel force in the world. It is not.

That vision is too small. That church is too claustrophobic.

I want to be brothers with the Swiss guy who runs a climbing gym in Cambodia. I want to serve alongside a Chinese businessman who converted himself (as far as that is possible) by picking up a Bible someone left behind in a hotel room in Nepal.

I want to rejoice with the Pakistani couple who opened their hearts and kitchen to us, telling stories of the faithfulness of God and how they escaped to safety. The unique flavor of homecooked samosas will always remind us of our friends’ faith and our Father’s faithfulness.

I want to honor the Japanese man providing care and education to disabled Cambodians. I want to join in with Cambodian pastors who continue to teach God’s word to God’s people in difficult times and challenging places.

Christ is the King, and his church is global.

We must remember: the church existed before America.

We must remember: the church will endure long after America.

We must remember: the church is older than Western civilization.

The church is global, and she is not dying.

And while the church is global, the gospel always gets worked out locally. That’s the beauty of it. The church can be local precisely because it’s so stunningly global. The church is big enough to be local everywhere.

As citizens of America, we should celebrate and honor and cherish the church in the United States. She remains beloved and part of the Bride. But as citizens of the Kingdom, we should celebrate and cherish and love the global Church too, wherever she may be found.

A Fijian worship leader with a flower in her hair helped me learn that.

When I finally get home and meet Jesus face to face, I will not be surprised at all if he bellows out the Fijian greeting: “BULA!” which means, “Life to you!” I hope to hear him say on that day, “Welcome home, my son. Here is the life you’ve been searching for! Well done.”

And then I will wander.

I will find a frangipani tree. I will inhale its cheerful citrus fragrance, I will smile, and I will look out on the nations that God has brought together, and I will declare, “This looks familiar; look at what the Lord has done!”

And then I will find Ima, and I will thank her for what she gave our church and what she gave my daughter. I will thank her for what she gave me. With her uniquely Fijian flair and a frangipani flower in her hair, week after week, she led God’s people to paradise.

When Depression Descends

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Author’s note: This article should not be used to diagnose or treat clinical depression. If you are having thoughts of hurting yourself or attempting suicide, please seek out a medical and/or mental health professional immediately, visit the Lifeline online, or call 1-800-273-8255 (U.S.). A list of international suicide prevention hotlines can be viewed here and here. — Jonathan

It feels like a leaden mantle descending over everything, blotting out the sun, joy, and the belief that there is anything good in the world. It leaves your feet bolted to the floor and your heart frozen in the empty void of black space.

It feels like liquid cement pouring into your body, heavy and thick, slowly solidifying, hardening, restricting movement. It feels like your chest is being crushed. Like a polio victim without an iron lung, desperately searching for the energy to overcome diaphragmatic paralysis. It feels like a suffocation.

It doesn’t always feel like sadness. It might look like incessant weeping, sure, but it just might look like staring at a blank wall for fifteen minutes. Unmoving.

Even if you’re a missionary. Even if you love your wife and kids. Even if you have enough money and love your job. Even if you have a fulfilling ministry, both on and offline. Even if you work with therapists and help pastor a church. Even if you love the Psalms and know about lament and have written extensively about emotional health. Even if you’ve studied depression and sat with suicidal clients (in a counseling center) and patients (in an ER). Even if.

Sometimes, it’s just there, and it is so terribly heavy.

I have been there. And still, after our unplanned transition back to America, our dislocation and eventual resettling, COVID-19, a dark winter, and political chaos, it still threatens. Occasionally I get a whiff of the darkness, and it turns my stomach sour.

If you’ve been there, if you’ve felt these things, please know this: you are not alone.

For me, at the scariest point, I started thinking about ending my life. I never developed a plan (which is a blaring warning sign, especially if the person has the means to carry out the plan), but I was ruminating more and more about death and dying, and it scared me tremendously.

I had started taking an occasional non-narcotic pain medication to help me sleep. In Cambodia, so many prescription medications do not require a prescription and are available in blister packs at the cash register. This can be handy, but it’s also very dangerous and should probably be the topic of a later essay. Anyways, we had neighbors on both sides of our row house that kept very late hours. On one side, it was drunk karaoke followed by the smashing and screaming of domestic violence. On the other side, it was a bit of a house-turned-warehouse where they repackaged boxes for local distribution – think screeching packing tape – until 1 or 2 am nightly. The packaging center was about three feet away from the head of our bed. The drunken abuse was about five feet from the foot of our bed. Bricks and a little plaster and tile were not enough. I wasn’t sleeping well, and I was getting more and more anxious and agitated.

So I started taking this medication.

Looking back, I think the spiritual, environmental, and psychological stresses brought me to the tipping point, and the medication nudged me over the edge.

Incentive to Hide

In any sort of Christian ministry, there can be an immense incentive to hide things like this. If the person who’s asking how you’re doing also has the power to fire you, relocate your family, or detach you, your spouse, and your kids from your church, school, and social support, well, honestly, that’s a ridiculous ask. (I’m not saying that’s a healthy dynamic, by the way, I’m just saying that it’s pretty typical in the missions world. Again, another essay for another time.)

But when it comes to depression, silence could be deadly. And while I certainly understand the reasons for hiding, hiding depression can lengthen your misery, shielding you from help and resources. Depression is very treatable once it’s identified.

Don’t hide, and please oh please don’t feel like you’re a failed Christian or a failed missionary just because you’re depressed. You’re not less than or anything of the sort; you just may need a little bit of extra support for a time.

I did.

I still do from time to time.

How to Respond: Tell Someone

I talked with a doctor. I’ll never forget the day he said, “You know, it’s a rare side effect, but it is a documented side effect of that particular medication.” I went home and threw those blister packs in the trash like they were filled with gecko poop and crawling with giant cockroaches.

I increased the frequency of meetings with two good friends, one of whom was a therapist and one of whom was a pastor. I broadened my support base. I changed my diet, reducing processed foods and sugar, increasing fruits and vegetables. I started exercising more.

If you’re not sure, but you think you might be depressed, please consult with your doctor and/or a mental health professional. Check out our resources page for mental health professionals in your area. You do not have to do this alone.

There are so many resources available, and there are so many treatment modalities that are proven to help (talk therapy, medications, lifestyle changes, etc.). You do not have to do this alone.

NOTE: If someone hears your story and tells you that you just need to try harder or read your Bible more or root out the sin in your life or be more disciplined or some such nonsense, please smile and nod, turn around, and run the other direction towards someone who will give you good advice. Because that person’s not.

How to Respond: Educate Yourself

Sometimes, the depression’s so thick that you don’t have it in you to do any sort of online research or reading. That’s ok. If that’s where you’re at, reach out to someone and skip this part.

But if you can and if you want to, remember that you have access to a whole host of online resources. I typically turn to the Mayo Clinic or the Cleveland Clinic for medically accurate information that’s written for non-medical folks. Read their information on depression here and here and chronic depression (over two years) here and here.

The NHS has a short depression self-assessment tool that might also be a helpful place to start.

And now, please don’t laugh, but I REALLY appreciated the material in the book Cognitive Behavioural Therapy for Dummies, by Rhena Branch and Rob Willson. Their section on depression has been immensely helpful for me and several friends. Check it out.

Additional Resources

This is the first time I’ve written so explicitly about depression. Here are some musings (and a sermon/podcast) about related things, like Grief, C.S. Lewis and the Deeper Magic, and Hope.

Remember, you are not alone. The promises are true.

You are not alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From the Mayo Clinic: When to get emergency help

If you think you may hurt yourself or attempt suicide, call 911 or your local emergency number immediately.

Also consider these options if you’re having suicidal thoughts:

  • Call your doctor or mental health professional.
  • Call a suicide hotline number — in the U.S., call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (1-800-273-8255). Use that same number and press “1” to reach the Veterans Crisis Line. [Visit their website here.]
  • Reach out to a close friend or loved one.
  • Contact a minister, spiritual leader or someone else in your faith community.

If you have a loved one who is in danger of suicide or has made a suicide attempt, make sure someone stays with that person. Call 911 or your local emergency number immediately. Or, if you think you can do so safely, take the person to the nearest hospital emergency room.

Book Review: Where the Light Fell

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by Jonathan

I thought I’d like this memoir from Philip Yancey, but I had no idea it would be such a page turner, lurching from fundamentalism to racism to grace to dysfunction to mercy to LSD to classical piano to faith and on and on and on.

“An upbringing under a wrathful God does not easily fade away.”

For someone who’s written so much (and so gently) about suffering and grace, I should not have been surprised at the terror, trauma, and healing present in Yancey’s story.

“Like every secret, it gained power as it lay hidden.”

If you’ve wrestled with religious burn out, or if you’ve had a hard time reconciling the church with Christ, you might resonate with this book.

“As a boy wandering in the woods, a teenager constructing a psychic survival shell, a lovesick college student running from the Hound of Heaven — in all those places I found what T.S. Eliot called ‘a tremour of bliss, a wink of heaven, a whisper.’ I came to love God out of gratitude, not fear.”

This book will endure for quite some time, I think.

Find it on Amazon here.*

*Amazon affiliate link

Dead Grass

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by Jonathan

It was a weird shape outside my childhood bedroom window. A trapezoidal spot of dead grass that appeared during a terribly hot stretch of a long August, drawing unwanted attention in an otherwise green yard.

My parents had built their dream home several years prior, and they had taken particular care to tend the lawn. My parents had done well, which made this blight of death even more odd.

I remember digging with my dad.

I remember the smell of dirt, of mystery being unearthed.

And I remember striking plywood, oddly shaped, a few inches below the surface. Apparent detritus from the building process, it had somehow gotten buried under two or three inches of dirt. The grass had grown well there, for a time. But the roots weren’t deep enough for the long haul. The grass had withered.

For many in this season of pandemic and politics, of race and abuse, the grass has withered. It’s been a long season in our country and in our churches, and some things have wilted in weird ways. Blades that were once virile are burned, and we’re scared of digging. We’re scared of what we might find if we start overturning sod.

For some, the digging has already commenced. It’s terrifying, for sure, but the mess of unearthing the blockage is paving the way for a reseeding. Maybe.

And you?

Have you found yourself wondering where the life has gone? Have you felt the scorch of disappointment and confusion, like you’ve been bearing witness to the scouring of the Shire?

Perhaps it’s time to grab a shovel, not to destroy or annihilate, but to exhume. Perhaps there’s some piece of plywood that’s been neglected a season too long.

But remember, shovels are useful for planting, too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scot McKnight spent a few newsletters talking about these ideas, so if these musings resonate at all, continue your excavation here:

  1. Beyond Deconstruction: Start Here
  2. Beyond Deconstruction: Second Term
  3. Beyond Deconstruction: Third Term

A Lament for the American Church (or how I’m processing my codependent relationship with the church)

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by Jonathan

I love the church, and I have loved the church for a long time.

I’ve led worship 600+ times in local congregations. I’ve preached dozens of times across several countries. I served as an overseas missionary in Southeast Asia for 8 years. I’ve been in “church work” in one capacity or another for over 20 years.

In fact, I still serve with a church planting mission organization, providing pastoral care and coaching to missionaries around the world. My day job is walking alongside of hurting people who also love (and are serving) the global church.

I still love the church, but I’ve got a problem.

Watching the American evangelical church for the last several years has been devastatingly hard. Initially, I watched as a sort of outsider, living and ministering in a developing country that had a proud and boisterous autocrat as a leader. And now since COVID led to an early repatriation in March of 2020, I’ve watched from a more comfortable spot in the rural Midwest.

Has it been devastating for you too? Have you grieved at how some elements of the American church have responded to racial issues, to politics, to the Capitol siege, to the ongoing global pandemic that’s killed over 660,000 people in our country alone? Have you lost friends and maybe even family?

During all of this, I’ve desperately wanted to change the church. I’ve shared articles and written Facebook posts trying to convince people to behave differently, to care differently, to love differently.

I’ve needed the church to behave differently so that I would be ok, so that I wouldn’t be embarrassed, or ashamed, or angry. As it turns out, that’s not very loving or healthy.

I’m beginning to realize that there’s a difference between loving the church and being enmeshed with it. There’s a difference between being grieved at her sins and being so emotionally devastated by her sins that I want to scream at people. One is healthy and vital, while the other is evidence of codependency.

Definitions & Caveats

Codependency is “excessive emotional or psychological reliance on a partner, typically one who requires support on account of an illness or addiction.”[1]

In unhealthy systems like this, talking about things openly and honestly can get complicated; silence is of paramount importance, and silence helps to maintain the status quo. One writer described it this way:

“One fairly common denominator seemed to be the unwritten, silent rules that usually develop in the immediate family and set the pace for relationships. These rules prohibit discussion about problems.”[2]

I have felt this. I have felt the urge to sit down, to shut up, to stay silent. But I can’t anymore.

The real-world impact of codependency is complex, but at least in part, a codependent person will seek to control the ill person (or addict) so that the codependent will remain psychologically intact.

This was me. And it’s made me bone-weary.

My identity was so wrapped up in the church that a threat to the church (even if it was from inside the church) felt like a direct threat to my core self. I don’t want to live that way anymore.

Is the American church a functioning alcoholic, drunk on power and patriarchy? Yes, some of it is. But “the church” is a pretty large entity to lump together in an accusation like that. So please hear me when I say this: there are parts of the American evangelical church that really are sick. Those parts need to be honestly assessed and truthfully addressed. But that doesn’t mean it all needs to be burned to the ground.

Eugene Peterson spoke plainly about the tensions of living in (and serving) a community of believers. It was not all rosy. But even while admitting the challenges, he wrote, “I have little time for the anti-church crowd who seem snobbish and who have little sense of the lived way of soul and Christ.”[3]

C.S. Lewis would have agreed, I think. A generation before Peterson, Lewis wrote this in a letter to a friend: “The New Testament does not envisage solitary religion. Some (like you – and me) find it more natural to approach God in solitude; but we must go to Church as well.”[4]

I can’t “do faith” on my own. I’ve gained so much from my involvement in local churches. It has been good for me, spiritually, emotionally, and even psychologically. My family has found a local body of believers in our new town in the Midwest, and we are jumping in to community and fellowship.

I am not anti-church, but I am anti-pretend, and I can’t act like things are OK in the American church.

I resonate deeply with Beattie when she writes, “[C]odependency is called a disease because it is progressive. As the people around us become sicker, we may begin to react more intensely.”[5]

Is that what’s happening to me? To us? Have we been in a codependent relationship with the church? Is this why now, as her behavior appears to become sicker and sicker, so many of us are reacting more and more intensely, getting either angrier or else just running away? I think so.

Churches Love Codependents

Codependents make great church members. They’re sacrificial. They’ll do anything. They’ll go anywhere. And they’ll defend the leaders and the system if they have to. They care a LOT about the church.

Many church-growth strategies look like a playbook for making people codependent. Encourage strong identification with a specific church/leader/group. Call it branding. Teach a lot about the uniqueness of this church and church culture. Create a very strong “us vs. them” motif. Emphasize teachings on authority and respecting spiritual leadership/headship. And if our “family” is ever in crisis, circle the wagons. And God forbid, but if anyone from without or within criticizes the church, take it personally, react vehemently, and DEFEND.

As it does in the world of codependency and addiction, these strategies quickly lead to a persecution complex, and American evangelicals thrive on a persecution complex.

Local Church, Hope of the World?

The now-disgraced pastor and author Bill Hybels used to say regularly, “The local church is the hope of the world.” I used to quote that statement regularly. But you know what? I’ve learned it’s not true. In fact, that message causes a slow but steady trend towards deep dysfunction: Hide flaws. Silence survivors. Conceal abusers (or transfer them somewhere else). Don’t let those on the outside see reality.

Codependents always protect the addict.

But protecting the reputation of the church is a fool’s errand, and it typically ends up meaning, “We need to protect the reputation of our leaders.” If the leader is leading the church that is the hope of the world, or at least the city, then we must protect him, along with the system he leads.

And if a narcissistic politician promises to protect our churches and our “Christian rights,” then we must protect him, too, and hold him above reproach. This is so wrong and harmful for our nation, but we learned it in our churches first.

To put it more bluntly, if the local church is the hope of the world, then the leader of the local church is the hope of the world too. Chuck DeGroat, clinician and pastor, writes about narcissistic church leaders. These leaders are more than happy to be seen as the hope of the world. He writes, “The grandiosity, entitlement, and absence of empathy characteristic of narcissistic personality disorder was translated into the profile of a good leader.” In these systems, “Loyalty to the narcissistic leader and the system’s perpetuation is demanded.”[6]

This is not healthy.

Next Steps

The last few years have revealed some of the addictions and illnesses of the evangelical church: patriarchy, white nationalism, a fervent and enduring embrace of narcissistic, abusive leaders, and a disregard for the truth.

During all of that, we were also taught to love the church. And we did.

I did.

What many of us learned, though, was that we needed to love the church as the prime thing. Nobody said it, but I think we gained more identity from our churches than we did from our Christ.

We desperately need to work on de-centering the church (and politics) and re-centering the Christ, the hope of the world. Karen Swallow Prior recently wrote about this in her article titled, “With this much rot, there’s no choice but to deconstruct.” She says,

“We must make Jesus the head of his bride again. We can no longer put the church — its name, its reputation, its money, its salaries, its staff, its programs, its numbers — before Christ himself.”[7]

Enmeshing ourselves with charismatic Christian (or political) leaders is tempting. It helps us feel like we belong and like we’re on the inside. But if our core identities hinge on our churches or our political parties, we have erred terribly.

The Church Called TOV

This article is not a book review. However, I believe a truthful review of Scot McKnight and Laura Barringer’s book, A Church Called TOV, would be this simple: A Church Called TOV is a textbook for walking out of religious codependency.

It’s that good.

The authors compare unhealthy, dysfunctional dynamics, with gentle, Christ-honoring pathways forward. Here are the main ideas:

Conclusion

I don’t want to love the church in a codependent way anymore. I will still love her, but I don’t want to be enmeshed with her, where her good (or bad) behavior alters my own sense of self.

I want to nurture empathy and grace. I want to put people first and tell the truth. I want to pursue justice and honor humble service. I want to grow into Christlikeness.

I will continue to be a part of my local church, but I don’t want my core identity to come from her. It can’t. I can’t be enmeshed any longer with the American evangelical complex.

The local church (even a great one) is not the hope of the world.

Jesus Christ is the hope of the world.

Amen.

Come, Lord Jesus.

A Lament for the Church: a prayer of letting go

The path to healing from codependency often involves an emotional detaching. That does not mean you care less for the person from whom you’re detaching. It just means you are detaching from “the agony of involvement.”[8]

This lament, patterned after the material in Mark Vroegops’ book, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy, is my attempt not to care less, but to care healthier.

God of the Church, the one who sees the end from the beginning, hear my cry to you today. You established the heavens above and the Church below, and one day you will invite your Bride, your people, to feast with you in the New City, the golden city of God.

But here and now, O God, your Bride seems sullied. More to the point, your Bride seems to be chasing after the wind, pining away for other lovers who promise power and a seat at the table. Your people are damaging people. They have turned on the least of these, preferring instead to join in with mockers, to stand with sinners.

You will not be mocked, and you will not endure their sins forever. So do something! Stop this madness! Bring light back to our eyes. Make compassion great again! Do not stop your ear to the cry of your people. No! Listen to their fawning over false prophets, see their bowing before every lying hashtag and would-be tyrant. Open their eyes and break their hearts!

You alone know, O God, the depths of the deceit, and the depths of your love. I yield the floor, trusting that this is your case to make, and believing that you will. Your ways are too complex and masterful for me to comprehend, so I yield.

I trust you to figure this out and respond appropriately.

And I rest in your promises to forgive me too.

Amen.

[1] Oxford English Dictionary

[2] Codependent No More, by Melody Beattie

[3] As quoted in the book, A Burning in My Bones, by Winn Collier

[4] The Quotable Lewis, by Martindale and Root

[5] Codependent No More

[6] When Narcissism Comes to Church, by Chuck DeGroat

[7] https://religionnews.com/2021/08/04/with-this-much-rot-theres-no-choice-but-to-deconstruct/

[8] Codependent No More