A Lament for Celebrity Churches & Leaders

Part of the way I processed my grief when I left Lake Pointe Church a couple years ago was to write out my lament. And pray it earnestly and honestly.

It really helped to clarify what I was grieving, and it enabled me to invite Jesus into my questions and anger.

As I read this now with fresh eyes in a new church with sweet friends, I feel the need to pinch myself. I’m so happy. So, so happy. Grateful. Loved. Needed. Embedded. Connected.

God did heal.

You may be in the beginning of your church bewilderment story. I hear you. I see you. I have been you. And I ache with you.

Take some time to write it all out, to give words to your anguish. It won’t feel like doing so solves anything, but slowly, beautifully, God will begin healing you, almost imperceptibly at first. I am proof that it does take time, but that it is possible.

With that in mind, here’s my lament from two years ago:

LAMENT FOR CELEBRITY CHURCHES & LEADERS

Lord, why do celebrity pastors seemingly get a hall pass for all their egregious behavior?

Why do people feel the almost-idolatrous need to defend the antics of those who are wolves in sheep’s clothing?

Why can’t people recognize that their fruit is rotten, though their gifts are heralded?

How long will we pursue a church structure that is solidly built on commerce and fame and control to the detriment of the type of church we find in the New Testament?

How long will we worship at the altar of big hype, weekend events, and churches with famous leaders?

Why has auto-tuned worship replaced simple, sincere songs that are music to your ears?

How long will we put up with NDAs, bullying from the pulpit, blatant plagiarism, and church systems that rejoice when they get rid of congregants to free up a parking place?

Why have we thought this is church?

It does not resemble you, Jesus.

I strain to see your reckoning on the horizon. I welcome the cleaning of your house—not to destroy it, but to tear down the stick-and-bubblegum structure and replace it with the Stone that the builders rejected.

Please continue to thwart our egotistical efforts in building edifices to our glory.

Melt the ice castles of our own building with the fire of your holy gaze.

Reform us. Revive us. Forgive us. Renew us.

Give us a renewed sense of what pleases you rather than what builds our pride.

Uncover the veil of predators in positions of leadership.

Pull it clear away, revealing the dead bones beneath.

Instruct us on fruitfulness, faithfulness, and humility.

I dare to trust you, though there are times my heart is holding on like a thread.

I am bruised, beaten, maligned, and dried up like an autumn leaf skipping along a barren roadway. Still, I know that I am not forgotten by you. I know you are faithful, even in the wilderness, the longing, the injury, the pain, and the bewilderment of leaving a body of friends I loved for over two decades.

Though I feel numb, I choose to believe you will make something beautiful of my life because of this experience. And I know that you will build your church, take care of her, reprimand her as you did in the book of Revelation, and the gates of hell will not prevail against her.

You are holy.

You are worthy of everything inside.

You are aware of the shortcomings of your body.

You are righteous.

You are just.

You will do the right thing.

And even if circumstances grow worse, even when evil people prevail against your church, even if I am maligned the rest of my life, I will praise you.

The fig tree is currently not blooming, and the atmosphere around my heart is autumn and winter. But you will bring new life. After death comes resurrection, after all.

I rest in your sovereign control. None of this took you by surprise. I rest in your capability, and I surrender my incapability. Please hold my heart as it bleeds. Stitch it back together again. Revive me. Revive your church. Heal your people.

Amen.