Some people thought we were making a mountain out of a Mars Hill.
When CT launched the documentary podcast series The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill, a few resented having the story told. Some of them, to be sure, defended the kind of behavior narrated in the series—of misuses of pastoral authority and power that ended with spiritual carnage all over the place. But many of those made queasy by the telling of this story didn’t dispute the harm done. They just said, “Things are hard enough for pastors and other leaders, and most of us are nothing like Mark Driscoll.”
The millions who resonated with the series—including those who had never heard of Mars Hill Church—are themselves testimonies as to why the story had to be told. Many encountered similar traumas, some in other mega-churches, some in small congregations. Wishful thinking or willed ignorance will not make those realities go away and will not help rebuild the trust many need.
At the same time, there are hills other than Mars. Pastors frustrated by yet another revelation of scandal and toxicity are correct that, in fact, the majority of leaders are not like the worst actors out there. A documentary series about most church leaders would be boring. That’s because most are in it for all the right reasons—and are facing with grit and grace the age-old problem of discipling people so they can live, and die, conformed to Christ.
One of the insanities of this upside-down age is that those who misuse the authority God gave his shepherds seem to pay little cost. They pack up and find greener pastures elsewhere, with new lambs to shear. Meanwhile, leaders who do model the way of Jesus face the consequences of a culture that doesn’t trust institutions because of the awful behavior of some institutions. They often find their best efforts stymied by communities who, magnetized by the narcissists and grifters, look at the wholesome leaders and ask, “Who the hell do you think you are?”
So how do ministry leaders actually minister in times like these? The most obvious answer is to refrain from conforming our own leadership to the bad models we have experienced. That’s true and right, but we must go beyond avoiding the wrong use of authority to find the right kind of authority—the kind Jesus embodied, which was startlingly different from that of the scribes (Mark 1:22)?
In a time of mistrust, how do the trustworthy gain enough trust to do all those right things to which they are called: to see lives changed, churches grow, people heal, communities form, and the gospel advance?
One of the biggest crises facing the church is that many have given up on the idea of such a good and cruciform model of authority and leadership even being possible. Yet this would mean giving up on the church, on the Spirit, on the kingdom. It’s counterproductive
and unnecessary.
We are confident that the good leaders who make up the majority—those interested not in building empires of their own but in seeking the kingdom of Christ—are not helpless in the face of burnout, discouragement, or confusion that comes with cultural forces moving at a breakneck pace. We can see these challenges, but we can also see beyond them, just around the hill in front of us to a future filled with life and hope and joy and peace.
Where are the leaders we need? They’re everywhere. They know why they’re called to do what they do. And they know who called them to it. What they need is the practical wisdom—much of it old, some of it contextually new—to know what to do in a moment like this. We believe these leaders are primed to forge a future worthy of news as good as the gospel. That’s what this first issue of the new, relaunched Leadership Journal is about.
That first band of disciples heard with their own ears Jesus say, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you” (Matt. 28:18–20). What we sometimes miss is where this happened. Matthew tells us the disciples “went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go” (v. 16).
Elevated places were commonly the sites of power misuses. The high places were spots of idolatry to the gods of power and prosperity. Even leaders who knew better would often leave these high places intact, in hopes of channeling whatever authority they found there.
But spots of elevation are also where God sometimes met with his people. Mount Sinai shook with fire and thunder as God delivered his covenant Word. On that mountain, Elijah encountered the same God, but this time in the sound of a low whisper. The sermon Jesus delivered from a mount was as far removed from the authoritarian ethos of human power grasping as possible. And, of course, the hill known as the Place of the Skull is where Jesus offered up his life.
A cross-shaped authority is genuine authority. Jesus led his people to and from the cross—when even those closest to him refused to see it. If a new generation glimpsed that kind of cruciform authority, it could change everything—as it has many times. That’s a hill on which to die—and live again.
Russell Moore, Editor in Chief, Christianity Today
