You're Not Great (Probably), And That's Okay

Photo by Clark Tibbs on Unsplash

I remember growing up believing I could (and would) change the world. As an X-ennial (borderline Gen X and Millennial), I was awash in all the positive, you-can-do-anything-you-put-your-mind-to youth education of the 90s. And like most generations, my friends and I believed we would have the world fixed by the time we became adults. 

I also remember having my mid-life crisis at thirty years old when I realized I hadn't changed the world or accomplished "all the things" I thought I would. Instead, I had a very "normal" life. It wasn't a bad life, and was actually pretty close to what I wanted when I was younger (the career I wanted, a loving spouse and family, and a mortgage on a modest home). 

But I wasn't "great." I hadn't transformed the world, or published a book, or started a mega-church, or won a Nobel prize. (Okay, that last one was probably never a realistic goal.) And not being great made me feel like a failure, like I'd squandered my potential and was a disappointment to myself and my family -- and even God. 

(Side note: Therapy has helped me recognize there's a ton of space between "great" and "failure," and I'm more content trying to live there.)

I was reminded of my struggle to be great recently as I've been reading through Paul's letters for my devotions. Someone recommended that I read them not as theology textbooks, but as what they actually are: letters from a pastor to his church about everyday issues. 

It's amazing what a difference it has made. Instead of a treatise on the end times, 1 Thessalonians says, "I know you feel discouraged, but keep loving each other as you have and it will be fine." 1 Corinthians is less the final word on how to run a church and more: "Stop bickering and pointing fingers like 5 year olds! You know better than that!" 

I'd always kind of thought of Paul's letters as a roadmap to conquering the world, but while the scope of God's story is universal, Paul's concerns are far more personal. When you realize most of the churches he was writing to were probably fewer than fifty people, they feel even more restrained, maybe even mundane. 

Even Jesus rarely acts on a huge scale. The Feeding of the 5,000 happens when he's trying to get AWAY from the crowds (Matthew 14:13). Instead of "Go plant a mission start in the Sinai," he tells many of the people he encounters in the Gospels to go home and live their lives according to the love they've learned.

What I've come to recognize is that much of what Jesus teaches and Paul writes aren't commands to be successful or great or even effective. They are calls to be faithful and follow. 

Martin Luther was passionate about the Priesthood of All Believers, the idea that every Christian is a "priest," called by God to do holy things, but that those "holy things" are generally in our normal lives: being a parent or friend, being kind and honest in our work, etc. 

In other words, God doesn't expect everyone to change the world or be wildly successful in their job. Most of us won't do "great things, only small things with great love," as Mother Teresa once said. And that isn't failure or second class faith; it's how God operates. 

I continue to learn that I don't need to be "great" (whatever that means). My normal life can dwell in a great love from a great God, and that's better anyway.

From the Gray,

Pastor Ari

“When you find there’s nothing special, yeah, about that big hole in your heart, ‘cause everybody’s got one, with precious little time to talk about it.” -Vigilantes of Love, “Nothing Like A Train”

AI Sermons and Bible-bots Answer the Wrong Question

Back in May, I received an email from one of the software companies my church uses that they were going to launch an "AI Sermon" tool. I made a mention of it on my Facebook that basically amounted to an eye roll and then forgot about it.

A couple months later, a friend sent me an article about a "New AI app lets users 'text' with Jesus." Around the same time, I found another article about Biblemate.io, an AI app designed for people to ask faith questions and get quick answers. My friend joked when he sent the article: "They're coming for your job."

Joking or not, there is a lot of debate happening now in our culture and in churches about AI technology, whether it's a good or bad thing, and how, if at all, it should be used. There are some solid concerns about these tools that claim to have a "biblical worldview." There are hundreds of Christian denominations in this country alone and I've never met one that doesn't claim to have a biblical worldview, but they disagree on what that means. Which parts of the Bible should be taken most seriously? Literally? Which translation? Which scholars or pastors do we trust to interpret?

But the debate over accuracy and bias is not the problem I have with a faith-based AI that answers your questions. My problem is they are trying to solve the wrong problem.

Underlying these tools and the intentions of their creators is the assumption that faith is primarily formed by knowledge. But faith is primarily formed by relationships and experiences.

Nils Gulbranson, the creator of Biblemate.io, said his goal was to create a tool that would answer the questions he had growing up. That is commendable and I think is a worthy goal, but having the answers to questions alone does not create the trust and allegiance that is a living faith, just as knowing my wife's age, name, and favorite color doesn't create the love we share.

Jesus himself often answered questions with more questions -- "Who acted as a neighbor?" or "Who do you say that I am?" -- or with parables that often raised more questions than answers. When he gave direct answers to religious leaders, it often angered or confused them instead of sparking devotion to him. And even his disciples seem confused more often than they appear knowledgeable.

(The men who opened fire on a Black church in Charleston in 2015 and a Jewish synagogue north of San Diego in 2019 were both "knowledgable" about the Bible. They had been raised and confirmed in mainline Christian churches [the former in my own, the ELCA] and they used what they "knew" to defend their hate. As James 2:19 says, "Even demons believe" God is real.)

I love questions and I love knowledge (I used to joke about becoming a professional student), but they are a part of my faith, not the source of it. My faith came about because of the people of faith who raised and shaped me, because of the love and welcome I experienced as a child in church, and because of hundreds of moments of grace and joy that drew me closer to the source of them I've come to know as God. Questions and answers have helped me make sense of these experiences and relationships, but they aren't really the foundation of it.

I'm reminded of a story that was shared with me from a summer church event at the park. People of all ages were playing games, laughing, eating, and talking to one another, when a youth (who was not from our church) said to a friend, "What is going on here?" His friend looked around and said, "This is church." That moment of confusion and wonder is the seed of faith, watered with the knowledge that what you are experiencing is God at work. 

In May, I wrote about Sermon AI: "I’ve long held that a sermon is a living thing that is much more than information. It is an invitation into the ongoing story of God and God’s people. It is a marriage proposal from God asking us to change our lives forever week after week. If I preach well, I am not the focus and I am not the 'expert', but a fellow student ... [AI] cannot be a Living Word that connects the physical and divine. It cannot proclaim with any authority 'we are trapped in sin, but God loves us anyway and wants to set you free.'”

AI tools can be useful for supporting faith, or helping someone along in faith, but they won't take my job because my job isn't really about knowledge or answering every question. My job is trying to create the experiences and relationships that lead people to WANT to ask questions in the first place. 

Or, this may all be a very long way of saying: faith isn't taught, it is caught.

From the Gray,

Pastor Ari

“Unbelievable. The gospel according to who?” -REM, “Living Well is the Best Revenge”

The God I Don't Believe In

Photo by Ari Mattson

If your faith is more interested in drawing lines and building walls between people than building bridges and seeking connection, I don't believe in that god. 

If your faith agrees completely with the platform of any political party, I don't believe in that god. 

If your faith believes that your nation is specially blessed by God to save the world, but it isn't named in the Bible, I don't believe in that god.

If your faith never challenges you to change, but makes you hyper aware of other peoples' flaws, I don't believe in that god. 

If your faith never challenges you to change and agrees with everything you already believe, I don't believe in that god.

If your faith practices fear and compulsion to create "converts" instead of attracting people by its beauty, I don't believe in that god. 

If your faith believes it needs power to force people to fall in line, I don't believe in that God. 

If your faith condones violence as anything but a last resort and only to protect others, I don't believe in that god.

If your faith requires hierarchies based on gender, age, ethnicity, sexuality, or political persuasion, I don't believe in that god. 

If your faith wants to avoid the pain and confusion of the cross and only talk about Easter, I don't believe in that god.

If your faith only cares about your soul going to heaven and not the physical plight of others, I don't believe in that god.

If your faith only cares about physical needs and not spiritual transformation, I don't believe in that god. 

If your faith believes faith is a place you need to arrive and stay, instead of a journey of discovery "to grasp how long and high and wide and deep is the love of Christ" (Ephesians 3:18), I don't believe in that god. 

If your faith is only about what you believe in your head, or what you do with your hands, or what you feel in your heart and not all three, I don't believe in that god.

If your faith offers simple answers to every problem and demands you don't ask questions, I don't believe in that god.