Remember how shows for kids always had a word of the day, like “ball?” Then, they would spend the whole episode discussing balls.
This week's word for stop thirty-one of the Church Experiment is “contradIcTion.”
I'm going to contradict myself multiple times. Including a huge contradiction at the very end, so no matter how judgmental I may sound throughout this chapter, you have to keep reading until the very last sentence. Second, I'm going to discuss my visit to Southland in a way that highlights many of their contradictions (from an outsider's perspective). You'll see what I mean.
First, a little back-story. A young lady from Kentucky began following the Church Experiment months ago. As I recall, from the beginning, she wanted me to come visit her church in Lexington. The only thing I know about Lexington is that I loathe University of Kentucky basketball, so a trip seemed unlikely. Then, a while back, she gave me an update about “IT.” Southland Christian Church began a summer-long marketing blitz for a series beginning August 1, called IT. No one knew what IT was, only that IT was going to be huge. My interest was piqued, so Saturday night, I made the ninety minute drive from Cincinnati to Lexington to experience IT firsthand.
When I first pulled into Southland’s parking lot, I was overwhelmed (in a good way). I had to park so far away from the main building that I expected an airport shuttle to go racing by. Although I arrived on Southland’s campus five minutes early, I walked into the building one minute late. That’s how far away I had to park.
Once inside, I was blown away. I have never seen anything like it before in my life. As worship music blared from up front, I was confronted with a sea of people. I am almost certain Southland uses a converted basketball gymnasium for their services. On the gym floor were hundreds of seats, almost every one filled. In the bleachers (which had been renovated to individual seats instead of hard benches), there were thousands more. My best guess is that at least three thousand people were in that room. Probably more.
On a Saturday night. Unreal.
One explanation is that people were so eager to hear about IT that they went to the first possible service instead of waiting until Sunday. Maybe the Sunday celebrations were light. The other explanation is that lots of people who normally don’t attend Southland showed up because the church blitzed the city of Lexington with an intense marketing campaign. Either way, mission accomplished.
The first thing I noticed was the vibe of Southland. It felt like a party. Fun vibe in the room, people were dressed up (not in suits, but more like clothing for a night on the town). I saw three black faces in the sea of thousands, and there were hundreds of young people. Some were older, but the main demographic was between eighteen and forty. (The lead pastor is thirty-five.) The whole production definitely felt like an “event,” which I think is great. If you’re going to gather thousands of people in one room, you might as well have a good time and make the evening memorable.
A quick structural rundown before I dive into the good stuff: They opened with a couple of worship songs, played a video hyping IT, and then played a third song before the pastor, Jon Weece, came on stage. After his message, there were a few more worship songs (the congregation stood for the first time with about three songs left), someone painted a picture of Jesus on stage, the whole church took communion, the lead pastor came back on stage to do announcements, ushers collected tithes, the service ended, and people flooded out to their cars. We all know the only thing more important than Jesus is avoiding traffic.
Okay, so what happened between the masses flooding in and flooding out? This is IT …
Jon Weece is an excellent speaker. Funny, intelligent, charming, good storyteller, young, good-looking, clean shirt, and I assume he smelled nice. He looks and acts almost exactly like Daniel Tosh, who happens to be one of my favorite comedians, so that didn’t hurt. I have to give Pastor Weece tons of credit. He has either built or been an integral part of building and leading a church of ten thousand people. Impressive stuff.
Weece had me hooked from the beginning. Started with a funny story, used great quotes from people I admire (Erwin McManus, John Ortberg, Brennan Manning, and others), and then he said this:
“The way I was doing the work of God was destroying the work of God in me.”
That resonated deeply—both for me and for other Christians I know. (I can provide a list of names upon request. Just kidding.) He talked about how church leadership damaged his relationship with his wife, kids, and friends. So, about nine months ago, he began a journey of radical transformation. Jon began praying Psalm 139 every morning (search me, O God, and know my heart), going to counseling, meeting with church leadership, and so on. Then, on Saturday, July 25 (one week before my visit), the pastor of Southland got baptized. I assume he had never been baptized before, so that was his way of making a final, symbolic commitment to Jesus.
I loved it. (Even though he “teared up” while he spoke about his baptism—but there weren’t any actual tears—which always seems fake and lame to me. Especially if he cried on cue at exactly the same point during all three Sunday services.)
But then, things got weird. And here is where our word of the week—contradiction—comes into play.
Weece explained, “IT is a radical commitment to a radical mission.” Okay, I’m with you so far.
Then, he announced the new church mission: “To make Jesus famous.” Okay … interesting choice of language, but I get the point. We make Jesus “famous” when we love people, serve the poor, and invite friends and family to explore a relationship with him. Just not sure Jesus would ever describe his own mission by using the word famous.
Next, the pastor announced the new church strategy: “Do what Jesus did.” Okay, that seems reasonable.
Finally, he transitioned into the practical plan, announcing that IT actually stood for “information technology.”
IT is a plan Southland is calling “10-7-5.” Ten thousand new people over the next seven years through five new satellite campuses, which if memory serves me correctly, is exactly what Jesus did. Or maybe not.
Huge contradiction number one: They played a funny video of the pastor’s wife and kids sitting around the kitchen table while Weece interacted with them on a video monitor. (Eat your peas, sit up straight, etcetera) Then, Weece playing a game of catch with his son via satellite. Then, Weece’s image on a television screen in bed with his wife. It was definitely funny, but didn’t the video actually highlight the main reason for not doing satellite campuses? (Satellite campuses meaning five new churches in Lexington will watch a video feed of what happens at Southland’s main campus. It is a trend sweeping the Christian nation. Instead of planting new churches, you technologically distribute your church to various locations.)
The video’s message seemed to be that relationships suffer when we have a satellite feed instead of a real person, and yet, that’s the plan? I’m not saying Satellite campuses are bad; I just don’t get how the video helped Weece’s argument. It seemed like the video a leader would have played in opposition of Satellite campuses.
The new tagline: “A new church like the first church.” Okay, sounds good. But then, Weece said, “We need to eliminate and eradicate the consumer mindset from the Christian Church.” That sounds lovely, but I watched him say the words on one of Southland’s four giant screens positioned at the front of the room. Again, I get the point, and I’m on board, but I was sitting in a giant auditorium on a huge church campus surrounded by people dressed better than what you would find at most nice restaurants in downtown Lexington. I kept thinking, “Am I in the Twilight Zone?”
Of course, maybe that was the pastor’s point. That Southland had become far too materialistic, and they needed to change. Just curious to see if anything actually does change over the next few months.
I liked Southland a lot. Keep that in mind. (Which is why I said this post would be one giant contradiction.) Stay with me. I promise this is going somewhere.
Weece mocked “church shopping” (which probably means he would hate my experiment), but wasn’t the huge marketing blitz in Lexington essentially asking people to come “shop” Southland?
I know Southland is not my home church, and I know I only saw week one of an extended series meant to further unpack IT, but honestly, IT sounded like a lot of empty rhetoric. He literally said they were starting a new church … that Southland was closing, and they were starting over. Weece was resigning as pastor of Southland and beginning a new church (also called Southland) with new people (the same people, just “new” in the way they approach church).
Really?
Jon Weece was a pastor struggling with his faith. He took nine months to unpack and process those struggles, had lots of wise, mature Christians advising him, went through counseling, and then stood on a stage and blindsided his people with, “You suck, now change.” Seriously, who doesn’t want a radically changed life? Who doesn’t want to experience freedom and help friends and family do the same?
But a creative marketing campaign doesn’t make it so.
If I was a new person lured in by the marketing campaign, Saturday evening at Southland would have sounded like more of the same Christian rhetoric. If I was a member of Southland Church, I would have felt blindsided by a new mission that I had no part in influencing. Every time the pastor has a crisis of faith, can they expect another resignation, another new church, and another lecture?
Of course, many people at Southland are excited about the new mission, including the young lady who originally invited me. She is thrilled, and as she explained why, it became clear that my frustrations weren’t with Southland or Jon Weece, they were with myself.
What bothered me most about Saturday …
It’s exactly the kind of talk I would give in Weece’s position. I would be funny, charming, tell good stories, fake my way through emotional moments, be strategically vulnerable, use amazing rhetoric that sounded like I had been the architect of the next great spiritual movement, and then walk off stage and change nothing. Because words are just words. Action requires more than clever rhetoric.
So, I’m projecting onto Southland and Jon Weece. Maybe his emotion was real; maybe his words were more than just words; maybe his mission is truly from God. I wish them the best in that mission’s fulfillment. Seemed like a good guy and a strong leader. Who the heck am I to judge him or his calling from God? Especially when I live ninety miles away, visited once, and will never step foot back in his church.
Maybe I am the one full of crap. And maybe that felt all too real Saturday night.
The scariest thing about the Church Experiment? If on January 1, 2010, I’m the exact same dude I was on January 1, 2009.
In the end, this whole chapter was really about myself, which isn’t a big surprise. Pretty much everything I do is about myself in the end.
Thirty-one churches down. Twenty-one churches to go.
God, help.
JOIN THE CONVERSATION
This week's word for stop thirty-one of the Church Experiment is “contradIcTion.”
I'm going to contradict myself multiple times. Including a huge contradiction at the very end, so no matter how judgmental I may sound throughout this chapter, you have to keep reading until the very last sentence. Second, I'm going to discuss my visit to Southland in a way that highlights many of their contradictions (from an outsider's perspective). You'll see what I mean.
First, a little back-story. A young lady from Kentucky began following the Church Experiment months ago. As I recall, from the beginning, she wanted me to come visit her church in Lexington. The only thing I know about Lexington is that I loathe University of Kentucky basketball, so a trip seemed unlikely. Then, a while back, she gave me an update about “IT.” Southland Christian Church began a summer-long marketing blitz for a series beginning August 1, called IT. No one knew what IT was, only that IT was going to be huge. My interest was piqued, so Saturday night, I made the ninety minute drive from Cincinnati to Lexington to experience IT firsthand.
When I first pulled into Southland’s parking lot, I was overwhelmed (in a good way). I had to park so far away from the main building that I expected an airport shuttle to go racing by. Although I arrived on Southland’s campus five minutes early, I walked into the building one minute late. That’s how far away I had to park.
Once inside, I was blown away. I have never seen anything like it before in my life. As worship music blared from up front, I was confronted with a sea of people. I am almost certain Southland uses a converted basketball gymnasium for their services. On the gym floor were hundreds of seats, almost every one filled. In the bleachers (which had been renovated to individual seats instead of hard benches), there were thousands more. My best guess is that at least three thousand people were in that room. Probably more.
On a Saturday night. Unreal.
One explanation is that people were so eager to hear about IT that they went to the first possible service instead of waiting until Sunday. Maybe the Sunday celebrations were light. The other explanation is that lots of people who normally don’t attend Southland showed up because the church blitzed the city of Lexington with an intense marketing campaign. Either way, mission accomplished.
The first thing I noticed was the vibe of Southland. It felt like a party. Fun vibe in the room, people were dressed up (not in suits, but more like clothing for a night on the town). I saw three black faces in the sea of thousands, and there were hundreds of young people. Some were older, but the main demographic was between eighteen and forty. (The lead pastor is thirty-five.) The whole production definitely felt like an “event,” which I think is great. If you’re going to gather thousands of people in one room, you might as well have a good time and make the evening memorable.
A quick structural rundown before I dive into the good stuff: They opened with a couple of worship songs, played a video hyping IT, and then played a third song before the pastor, Jon Weece, came on stage. After his message, there were a few more worship songs (the congregation stood for the first time with about three songs left), someone painted a picture of Jesus on stage, the whole church took communion, the lead pastor came back on stage to do announcements, ushers collected tithes, the service ended, and people flooded out to their cars. We all know the only thing more important than Jesus is avoiding traffic.
Okay, so what happened between the masses flooding in and flooding out? This is IT …
Jon Weece is an excellent speaker. Funny, intelligent, charming, good storyteller, young, good-looking, clean shirt, and I assume he smelled nice. He looks and acts almost exactly like Daniel Tosh, who happens to be one of my favorite comedians, so that didn’t hurt. I have to give Pastor Weece tons of credit. He has either built or been an integral part of building and leading a church of ten thousand people. Impressive stuff.
Weece had me hooked from the beginning. Started with a funny story, used great quotes from people I admire (Erwin McManus, John Ortberg, Brennan Manning, and others), and then he said this:
“The way I was doing the work of God was destroying the work of God in me.”
That resonated deeply—both for me and for other Christians I know. (I can provide a list of names upon request. Just kidding.) He talked about how church leadership damaged his relationship with his wife, kids, and friends. So, about nine months ago, he began a journey of radical transformation. Jon began praying Psalm 139 every morning (search me, O God, and know my heart), going to counseling, meeting with church leadership, and so on. Then, on Saturday, July 25 (one week before my visit), the pastor of Southland got baptized. I assume he had never been baptized before, so that was his way of making a final, symbolic commitment to Jesus.
I loved it. (Even though he “teared up” while he spoke about his baptism—but there weren’t any actual tears—which always seems fake and lame to me. Especially if he cried on cue at exactly the same point during all three Sunday services.)
But then, things got weird. And here is where our word of the week—contradiction—comes into play.
Weece explained, “IT is a radical commitment to a radical mission.” Okay, I’m with you so far.
Then, he announced the new church mission: “To make Jesus famous.” Okay … interesting choice of language, but I get the point. We make Jesus “famous” when we love people, serve the poor, and invite friends and family to explore a relationship with him. Just not sure Jesus would ever describe his own mission by using the word famous.
Next, the pastor announced the new church strategy: “Do what Jesus did.” Okay, that seems reasonable.
Finally, he transitioned into the practical plan, announcing that IT actually stood for “information technology.”
IT is a plan Southland is calling “10-7-5.” Ten thousand new people over the next seven years through five new satellite campuses, which if memory serves me correctly, is exactly what Jesus did. Or maybe not.
Huge contradiction number one: They played a funny video of the pastor’s wife and kids sitting around the kitchen table while Weece interacted with them on a video monitor. (Eat your peas, sit up straight, etcetera) Then, Weece playing a game of catch with his son via satellite. Then, Weece’s image on a television screen in bed with his wife. It was definitely funny, but didn’t the video actually highlight the main reason for not doing satellite campuses? (Satellite campuses meaning five new churches in Lexington will watch a video feed of what happens at Southland’s main campus. It is a trend sweeping the Christian nation. Instead of planting new churches, you technologically distribute your church to various locations.)
The video’s message seemed to be that relationships suffer when we have a satellite feed instead of a real person, and yet, that’s the plan? I’m not saying Satellite campuses are bad; I just don’t get how the video helped Weece’s argument. It seemed like the video a leader would have played in opposition of Satellite campuses.
The new tagline: “A new church like the first church.” Okay, sounds good. But then, Weece said, “We need to eliminate and eradicate the consumer mindset from the Christian Church.” That sounds lovely, but I watched him say the words on one of Southland’s four giant screens positioned at the front of the room. Again, I get the point, and I’m on board, but I was sitting in a giant auditorium on a huge church campus surrounded by people dressed better than what you would find at most nice restaurants in downtown Lexington. I kept thinking, “Am I in the Twilight Zone?”
Of course, maybe that was the pastor’s point. That Southland had become far too materialistic, and they needed to change. Just curious to see if anything actually does change over the next few months.
I liked Southland a lot. Keep that in mind. (Which is why I said this post would be one giant contradiction.) Stay with me. I promise this is going somewhere.
Weece mocked “church shopping” (which probably means he would hate my experiment), but wasn’t the huge marketing blitz in Lexington essentially asking people to come “shop” Southland?
I know Southland is not my home church, and I know I only saw week one of an extended series meant to further unpack IT, but honestly, IT sounded like a lot of empty rhetoric. He literally said they were starting a new church … that Southland was closing, and they were starting over. Weece was resigning as pastor of Southland and beginning a new church (also called Southland) with new people (the same people, just “new” in the way they approach church).
Really?
Jon Weece was a pastor struggling with his faith. He took nine months to unpack and process those struggles, had lots of wise, mature Christians advising him, went through counseling, and then stood on a stage and blindsided his people with, “You suck, now change.” Seriously, who doesn’t want a radically changed life? Who doesn’t want to experience freedom and help friends and family do the same?
But a creative marketing campaign doesn’t make it so.
If I was a new person lured in by the marketing campaign, Saturday evening at Southland would have sounded like more of the same Christian rhetoric. If I was a member of Southland Church, I would have felt blindsided by a new mission that I had no part in influencing. Every time the pastor has a crisis of faith, can they expect another resignation, another new church, and another lecture?
Of course, many people at Southland are excited about the new mission, including the young lady who originally invited me. She is thrilled, and as she explained why, it became clear that my frustrations weren’t with Southland or Jon Weece, they were with myself.
What bothered me most about Saturday …
It’s exactly the kind of talk I would give in Weece’s position. I would be funny, charming, tell good stories, fake my way through emotional moments, be strategically vulnerable, use amazing rhetoric that sounded like I had been the architect of the next great spiritual movement, and then walk off stage and change nothing. Because words are just words. Action requires more than clever rhetoric.
So, I’m projecting onto Southland and Jon Weece. Maybe his emotion was real; maybe his words were more than just words; maybe his mission is truly from God. I wish them the best in that mission’s fulfillment. Seemed like a good guy and a strong leader. Who the heck am I to judge him or his calling from God? Especially when I live ninety miles away, visited once, and will never step foot back in his church.
Maybe I am the one full of crap. And maybe that felt all too real Saturday night.
The scariest thing about the Church Experiment? If on January 1, 2010, I’m the exact same dude I was on January 1, 2009.
In the end, this whole chapter was really about myself, which isn’t a big surprise. Pretty much everything I do is about myself in the end.
Thirty-one churches down. Twenty-one churches to go.
God, help.
JOIN THE CONVERSATION
