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When Jesus told the disciples he would be killed, Peter was scandalized (Mark 8:31-33). He had imagined, I suppose (for the text doesn't really say, though the larger context suggests it), that Jesus was moving from success to success. Jesus had started with a small band of 12, and lately he'd had up to 5,000 attending his little talks. He'd challenged the authorities of the day, but given his popularity, they had been unable to lay a hand on him. Peter likely imagined that when Jesus spoke about the coming kingdom, he was talking about politics, and Peter and the disciples would someday be cabinet members in his future administration. Power. Glory. Success.

Jesus knew very well that craving success and respectability was a temptation to his disciples, and he spent his whole ministry trying to disabuse them of it. He told those whom he'd healed not to tell anyone—an inept marketing decision if there ever was one. He warned bickering disciples that they should worry less about who would have authority in the coming kingdom and more about serving one another.

And he explained that his ministry, as "successful" as it appeared, would culminate in his death.

Peter would hear no such thing and rebuked Jesus, which provoked Jesus to "rebuke" him in turn. As is fitting, Jesus had the last word: "Get behind me, Satan!" He called Peter the incarnation of evil and then told him (in verse 35 about saving and losing life) to stop measuring success by human standards.

Since Peter is understandably confused—I mean, nearly everyone thought of the kingdom in political terms—Jesus seems cruel to chastise Peter as satanic. Not the most diplomatic approach in any circumstance. But apparently Jesus thought that Peter was not just guilty of misunderstanding, but also of betrayal.

Today, we know all too well that the kingdom of God is not a political entity (though many on the Left and Right are sorely tempted to think otherwise). But we still, like Peter, thirst for glory and power. We make much ado about our Christian superstars—bestselling authors and platinum-selling musicians and powerful preachers who draw people in by the tens of thousands. We not only admire, but we also lift up and reward such success. We too easily imagine that growing numbers are an infallible sign of faithfulness. We confuse righteousness with arithmetic.

Conservative churches, for example, often point out gloatingly how liberal churches are shrinking and conservative churches are growing. The usually unspoken assumption is that such growth signals God's blessing.

But church growth is often nothing more than the product of good social science. Today, when someone wants to start a church, the first thing they do is study the people they are trying to reach and then craft worship and ministry to meet the needs of that target audience. That is, church founders do their best to appear acceptable and relevant to their target audience.

To minister to college-educated, upwardly mobile 20- and 30-somethings—target of a lot of new ministries these days (whatever happened to preaching to the poor and the prisoners?)—you forbid hymns and organs, and preach—no, make that "share"—sans pulpit, while wearing an Abercrombie & Fitch shirt, Dockers, and flip-flops.

And it works, because lots of churches that do this sort of thing are bursting at the seams with 20- and 30-somethings.

Donald Miller, a 30-something himself, talks about this in his book Blue Like Jazz. He has a pastor friend who started a new church. It was going to be different from the old church, Miller was assured: It would be relevant to the culture and the human struggle.

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July 2006, Vol. 50, No. 7