Buying Influence or Being Influential

Thanks to Instagram’s algorithm, I have been seeing a lot of sponsored ads from pastors and preachers. For a while, the algorithm was showing me ads for dentists. Then there were basketball players. I have no interest in dentistry or basketball, so it’s been an interesting change of pace. 

Lately, I’ve been clicking on these ads (which probably messes with the algorithm meaning I’ll have more ads like this show up). These pastors are from evangelical churches all over the country. Most of their posts are short clips from their sermons. They usually all look the same: trendy, somewhat hipster, white, male, and probably church planters. 

Because of these ads, however, I’m quickly becoming convinced that too many pastors believe the lie that they must become social media influencers to have influence. Even more, because these are sponsored posts, they think they must buy their influence rather than be influential within their communities. 

Now, I have to confess, I internally wrestle with this as well. As an author, preacher, and pastor, I have tried to increase my “followers and subscribers,” so I can have more page views on this blog, possibly book another speaking gig, and sell a couple more copies of my book. There was a time where my blog had thousands of more clicks than the few it has now. And as much as that might be a kick in the ego, I’m ok with it.

The one thing I have learned in intentionally spending more time offline and regularly taking time off of social media is that buying influence, increasing subscribers, and having more followers does not make you influential. Influence is not about the number of clicks, downloads, followers, or subscribers. It’s greater than that.

The people who have influenced me the most throughout my life were not on social media. And, they did not influence me through their social media posts.

Instead, their influence came because they were present in my life, not simply on my newsfeed or timeline. 

We are all more influential than we think. Sometimes, we have to get off social media to realize it. 

May it be so of all of us.

Free Advice for Pastors and Preachers

Here’s some free advice for my fellow pastors and preachers. It came to me after I visited a church recently. 

If you’re a pastor, if you’re a male, if you’re trying to be relevant or hipster and connect with your congregation, please for the love of Jesus, don’t ever share in a sermon you are circumcised. Ever. Times sixty trillion.

I saw a pastor do this in his sermon. I almost had a heart attack. And rather than thinking about Jesus in church all I could think of was a random pastor’s man parts. I should probably go to confession. And therapy. 

Some things should never, ever, be said from the pulpit. This is one of them. 

Another thing you shouldn’t say from the pulpit is that the main point of your sermon is “exegetically and theologically incorrect, but it makes for a great point, so I’m gonna preach it anyway.” 

This is why I will only be a one-time visitor to this church. 

So, just some free friendly advice for all you out there.

Exploring the Spiritual Life in Public

In my younger and well-intended-but-ignorant-conservative-evangelicalism-slipping-into- fundamentalism Christian days, I used to love listening to the Bible Answer Man. It was a call-in radio program where Hank, the Bible Answer Man, would answer any and all questions about Christianity, the Bible, and faith.

Hank knew it all. He had all the right answers. He shot down certain beliefs and religious traditions, pointed out fallacies, proved Christianity to be true, and knew the Bible better than the back of his hand. He was what every Evangelical wished they could be. Thus, why I listened regularly to Hank. I, too, wanted to know all the answers.

Entering seminary, I assumed I’d learn enough to answer any question. Early on, however, I learned that I don’t have all the answers and probably never will have them. Seminary taught me just how little I actually knew. And, it didn't’ give me all the answers. Instead, it taught me to ask questions; about the text, about the context, about the original languages, about textual variants, about ministry models. Rather than avoiding difficult texts or topics, we were challenged to dig in deeper. But, it didn’t mean we always found an answer. Sometimes it was a theory or two while other times we discovered more questions.

The longer I have been a pastor the more I have realized I still don’t have all the answers. In fact, I think I have a lot more questions. As I study the text, explore spiritual practices, and listen to people’s experiences in life, I find myself with fewer answers and the realization that maybe I often ask the wrong questions.

Maybe I’m not supposed to have all the answers and knowledge, and maybe you’re not supposed to either. Maybe the more we contemplate the Infinite One, the more questions we find ourselves asking. Maybe exploring the Infinite One is more important than having answers about the Infinite One.

Recently, I was listening to a podcast of a former pastor who was sharing feedback he had received after a presentation he had given. The audience member came up to him and said, “I didn’t come to get answers. I came to watch you explore in public.”

“I didn’t come to get answers. I came to watch you explore in public.”

It got me thinking, exploring, and asking questions: What if this was how we understood a sermon? What if preaching wasn’t a way to give congregants answers, but instead a way to communally watch someone explore the spiritual life in public?

Instead of treating preachers and pastors as the ones with all the answers, the defenders of dogma and doctrine, the protectors of a particular faith, the gatekeepers of the godly, spewers of spiritual cliches and tweetable truisms, chaperones for the sacred, or judges of the heretics, what if we viewed them as people who were asking deeper and more human questions and allowed them to do that in public?

What if preachers, instead of being known for wearing expensive sneakers in public, were known to explore the spiritual life in public? What if they explored the character and dimensions of the Divine and, as congregants, we simply got to participate in that act?

What if pastors and preachers were never supposed to have the answers in the first place? What if they were simply to be people, like you and me, who ask the honest questions we are also asking, get us thinking together, and create the space so we can open ourselves up to the Divine?

What if a sermon wasn’t supposed to be simply an affirmation of what you already believe, but a chance for you to ask the questions and voice what you hope to someday believe?

I have a sneaking suspicion such preaching could move sermons away from simply giving spoon fed answers to an inclusive and participatory spiritual experience and event. I also think preachers would be less concerned about saying something that might offend and more able to say what congregants have been too afraid to actually voice. And, maybe such preaching would allow us to open ourselves up to the transforming Presence of the One always present to us.

I think that’s what I need in a sermon. And, I think that’s what I want to do in writing a sermon.

But again, I don’t have the answers, I just want to ask the questions and explore the spiritual life together in public.