“I’m not getting fed.”

In my teenage years I finally began to notice the phenomenon of people leaving my church to go attend another one. Some Christians are nomads like that: They attend a church for a few months, even years, and then switch. They stick around till the novelty wears off. (Others stick around until they’ve burnt too many bridges, but I’m not writing about those people today.) That church got boring, so off they go to find a new one, which won’t be boring… for a few months anyway. Once they’re bored of that one, they’ll once again move on.

But these Christians still live in town, so every once in a while you’re gonna find them at a grocery store, restaurant, park, library, theater, or wherever. And you might have time to catch up, and find out where they’re going to church now; hopefully they’re still going. And they might tell you why they’re not going to your church anymore: They didn’t like the music, or had problems with your church’s doctrines, or grew outraged by your church’s politics, or your youth pastor molested their kids. Issues which range from petty to profound. But most often they’re petty.

A rather common one I kept hearing from ex-attendees was, “I just wasn’t getting fed anymore.”

No, this wasn’t a complaint about how our church didn’t have potlucks regularly enough. By “fed” they mean spiritually fed. Spiritual food is what Christians tend to call our encounters with the Holy Spirit’s wisdom. We expect him to tell us profound things… and we expect him to do this through our church leaders. We expect the sermons to be full of deep, meaningful stuff.

Well, things we consider deep and meaningful. Some of us haven’t a clue about what’s actually deep and meaningful. For a while there I used to think it was historical background about the bible which I didn’t yet know. Plenty of other Christians believe the very same thing, which is why whenever I teach on the bible’s historical background, I get compliments from people who love how “profound” my teachings were. Meh; you can find that stuff in books. The good stuff is when the Holy Spirit uses that raw data to provide us insights about how he works.

And the Spirit can get our preachers to give plenty of profound insights in their sermons. But if we don’t recognize these insights as profound—or if we don’t like these insights, ’cause they rub our flesh the wrong way—we’ll presume there’s something wrong with our church. And leave. And go try to find one which pleases us more.

All that aside, I have a bone to pick with the underlying presumption: Is the point of church to get us “spiritually fed”? Or is it something else?—something more?

Yeah, I won’t leave you in suspense: It’s something more. The point of church is to interact with our fellow Christians. To worship together, and encourage one another to follow Jesus more and better, and discourage one another from slacking. It’s to support one another, and build each other up.

But, same as those people who followed Jesus only because he fed ’em bread, there are Christians who don’t give a rip about fellow Christians and encouraging one another. They want bread. “Spiritual bread,” but bread just the same, and not because it’ll actually make ’em better Jesus-followers, but so they can add to their stash of bible trivia.

Thing is, if you wanna increase your knowledge of bible trivia, you can do that at home. It’s not something we need to do together with fellow Christians. Worship, fellowship, and encouragement is stuff we need to do corporately, in church, as the church. Education?—you can read a book. I learn way more from books than from any lecture series—even the ones I took in seminary.

If the only time we ever get spiritually fed is when we go to church, it means we suck at following Jesus.

Elijah prepares the Lᴏʀᴅ’s altar.

1 Kings 18.30-35.

You already know how this story ends, so I’m not building up any suspense by only discussing the section just before Elijah prays and God sends fire.

In the previous passage, Baal’s prophets were cutting themselves till they got blood all over them, from around noon till the evening sacrifice. Once they were finished unsuccessfully calling upon their god—or maybe they were still trying, but the Israelis grew tired of watching and Elijah was now able to hold their attention—he called them over to himself, to a knocked-down altar of the LORD which happened to be there.

Most translations make it sound like Baal’s prophets did their thing till the time of the evening sacrifice, and only then did Elijah get to work on the altar he’d use. Maybe; then Elijah’s sacrifice would’ve taken place after sundown, while it was kinda dark, which would’ve made it far more visible and dramatic.

But the wyqtl past imperfect Hebrew verbs make it sound to me like while the Baalists were busy making noise, Elijah had been quietly working on the side. Probably with help, since he did have people who poured water for him. We don’t know what time of year this took place, and how hot an afternoon it was to be heaving stones and digging a trench, but obviously they did bring water. In any case Elijah’s work would’ve been finished by the time of evening sacrifice; his sacrifice would’ve been the evening sacrifice.

1 Kings 18.30-35 KWL

30Elijah told all the people, “Come near me.”

All the people came near him.

He had fixed YHWH’s torn-down altar.

31Elijah had taken 12 stones,

like the number of tribes of Jacob’s sons,

Jacob to whom YHWH’s word came,

to say, “Your name is Israel.”

32Elijah had built the stones into an altar

in the name of YHWH.

He made a trench which could house

two seahs [15 liters] of seed

round the altar.

33Elijah arranged the wood.

He cut the calf into pieces.

He placed it on the wood.

34Elijah said, “Fill four water jars.

Pour it on the offering and on the wood.”

He said, “Again.”

They did it again.

He said, “A third time.”

They did it a third time.

35Water ran all over the altar;

the trench was full of water as well.

Crosses versus crucifixes.

The names in this dialogue were changed to protect the privacy of the people having this discussion. You’ll see why.

LUQMAN. “…You're wearing a crucifix, so you're obviously Christian.”

AISHWARYA. “Cross. Not crucifix.”

LUQMAN. “It's not the same thing?”

AISHWARYA. “No. A crucifix has a dead Jesus on it. Crosses don't.”

ME [butting in]. “Sometimes dead, sometimes not. It depends on whether it shows the spear wound. If no spear wound, he’s dying, not dead.”

AISHWARYA. “No, he's always dead. Catholics worship a dead Jesus.”

SYLVESTER [who’s Catholic, and is now offended]. “We do not. And Leslie’s right; it's a dying Jesus. Crucifixes don't have the spear wound.”

AISHWARYA. “Well I worship a risen Jesus.”

ME. “Every Christian worships a risen Jesus. Whether they wear crucifixes or crosses.”

AISHWARYA. “Catholics don't.”

SYLVESTER. “Where are you getting this [MALARKEY] about Catholics? It sure ain’t from Catholics!”

Lemme correct my Catholic acquaintance: Not all crucifixes depict Jesus as dying instead of dead.
A Russian Orthodox blessing crucifix. Wikimedia Some of them intend to show all the torture the Romans inflicted upon him. This includes all five of “the five wounds”—the nails through his hands and feet, plus the spear in his side. Crucifixes regularly put the nails in the wrong place—the Romans crucified people through the wrists and ankles, not the palms and dorsums, which’d break a number of bones and y’might recall “A bone of him shall not be broken.” Jn 19.36 KJV Plus the “five wounds” don’t count the flogging and the crown of thorns; not sure why not, though most crucifixes definitely include the crown. Anyway, since the spear wound came after Jesus died, Jn 19.34 displaying it obviously means he’s dead. And lots of crucifixes deliberately display it.

Anyway. The reason Protestants tend to be pretty clueless about crucifixes, is traditionally we don’t display them. Largely that’s because, during the Protestant Reformation, the Calvinists decided to undecorate their church buildings. They wanted nothing to distract people from their sermons: No gilding, stained glass, nor art. No statues, including crucifixes. (In fact many of ’em still aren’t entirely sure statues don't violate the command against graven images. Dt 5.8-9) Not even crosses, if you can imagine. Nothing. Bare walls.

The Calvinist sensibility gradually became the prevalent mindset of cultural Evangelicals. It’s only in the 1900s when we begin to see decorations seriously return to Evangelical churches. And not without controversy; many Christians still think there should be nothing but bare walls in our churches. But even in the newly decorated churches, no crucifixes. Great big crosses and lots of ’em, but Jesus isn’t on them.

Take off your shoes.

Back in the 1990s I visited the Al-Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem; you might know this place better as the Dome of the Rock. (This was back when they’d let non-Muslims visit.) It’s the oldest Muslim building in the world; it’s believed to be where the temple of the LORD, in Jesus’s day, once stood. It’s an impressive building. Neat mosaics. Pity it deliberately has anti-Christian verses from the Quran inscribed in them:

An-Nisa 4.171

Messiah Jesus ibn Mary was no more than a messenger of God, the fulfilment of his word, through Mary and a spirit sent by him. So believe in God and his messengers. Do not say trinity; stop for your own good. God is only One God. Glory to him; he is far above having a son.

Yep, Muslims believe Jesus is Messiah, that he’s alive, and that he’s coming back. But they insist he’s not God, nor the son of God. Sometimes they’ll teach even they aren’t God’s children; only his servants. But I digress.

Before we went in, we were instructed to leave our shoes at the door. I was wearing sandals, so it meant I had to go barefoot. Lots of people in there were barefoot. Why barefoot? Because it’s holy ground.

And that used to be the regular practice of monotheistic religions—

Exodus 3.2-5 NIV

2There the angel of the LORD appeared to him in flames of fire from within a bush. Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up. 3So Moses thought, “I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up.”

4When the LORD saw that he had gone over to look, God called to him from within the bush, “Moses! Moses!”

And Moses said, “Here I am.”

5“Do not come any closer,” God said. “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.”

When the ground was holy, you lose the shoes.

Joshua 5.15 NIV

The commander of the LORD’s army replied, “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy.” And Joshua did so.

When people stood before God, or went to temple and synagogue, they removed their sandals. Because that was the ancient custom: Holy ground, no sandals. In the Greek and Roman empires, the way you could tell slaves from freemen was the fact freemen wore sandals and slaves didn’t, and the Jews of that day recognized this was kinda part of the reason we remove our shoes for holy ground: We’re the LORD’s slaves, and need to remember our place.

So why don’t Christians remove our shoes when we worship? Well, some of us do. Sometimes I do. But you might recall we Christians are collectively the temple of the Holy Spirit: We’re always on holy ground. Because we’re holy, wherever we go is holy ground. And sometimes it’s just wise to wear shoes. Hence the barefoot-before-God thing became optional. And when it’s not our custom to ever go barefoot, sometimes we’re not aware it’s an option—one we might want to opt to do.

At the barest minimum, share.

Luke 3.10-11.

After John the baptist rebuked his audience of Pharisees and Sadducees for presuming upon God’s salvation, Matthew tells of no response they made to him. This gospel’s readers could’ve interpreted this omission either optimistically or pessimistically—depending on their own attitudes toward Pharisees and Sadducees. Either the rebukees indignantly stood back and thought mean things about John, like they tend to in the Jesus movies. Or they truly were there to repent and be baptized, same as everybody else. I presume John’s audience had both sorts, just as Christian churches do.

Or instead of Matthew you could read Luke, in which the collective crowd—which still includes those Pharisees and Sadducees—honestly sought to know and follow God better. And since John appeared to know him, they wanted his advice. We wanna repent; tell us how!

John’s response is extremely basic. So simple, Christians are in the bad habit of overlooking it, skipping it, or dismissing it entirely. Don’t do that; it’s important.

Luke 3.10-11 KWL

10The crowd is asking John, “So what might we do?”

11In reply John is telling them,

“If you’re one who has two tunics,

share with one who has none.

One who has food:

Do likewise.”

Why do Christians ignore this? Duh; we don’t wanna do it.

So we call it works righteousness and pretend John never said it; it never happened. Just like polite people respond to a fart in an elevator. We find various ways of hand-waving it away. Back when I was in a Fundamentalist church, our pastor actually told us John’s teachings can be safely ignored because John was from an old dispensation; one in which the Hebrews were saved by obeying the Law of Moses and supplemental good works. Nowadays we call this belief Pelagianism—and it’s heresy because God saves us, and has always saved us, by his grace. Abraham believed God, who graciously counted his belief as righteousness, Ro 4.3, Ga 3.6, Jm 2.23 remember? There is no dispensation of good works; no one has ever earned or merited salvation. If a person were ever as good as Jesus, they don’t need saving anyway! Pelagianism has never not been wrong. And heresy.

Unaccountable leadership.

Decades ago, just before I started attending a particular church, it went through a split. It was situated near a large gated community, and some of the folks who lived beyond the gates wanted only fellow gated-community members in the church. They wanted to hold church functions inside the gates; they didn’t want to accommodate people who lived outside them—which’d include me and my neighbors. Bluntly, it was a class-warfare thing: They didn’t want “poors” in their church.

So there was a fight amongst the members, the classist leaders were voted off the board, and they and their pastor left to start their own church—which met at his house, within the gated community. Met until the homeowners’ association shut ’em down for running an unauthorized “club.” Ironic consequences can be so fun.

I arrived right before the new pastor arrived. The new board members were running the church at the time, and invited me to lunch (at the community country club, in fact; seriously, a lot of ’em lived there) and warned me what I was getting into. “But you’re all good now, right?” I asked, and… well, sorta. Some of ’em were still grieving. They lost friends over this.

Sounds like the church handled everything correctly, right? The pastor was classist, contrary to the gospel; Jesus’s brother James straight-up calls it sin. Jm 2.1-13 The people of the church challenged him, challenged the other leaders who supported him, held a vote, and won the vote. All’s well that ends well, right?

Now what if they hadn’t won the vote?

Hey, sometimes it happens. What if the classists won, and people who didn’t live in the gated community were barred from ever joining that church? ’Cause here’s the biggest problem with democratically-run churches: Sometimes they vote wrong. I’ve been a member of churches which voted wrong. God was on our side, but the votes weren’t. Vox populi simply isn’t always vox Dei.

Sometimes churches aren’t even democratically-run; sometimes the pastor runs the church like a feudal duke, and the church board is just a bunch of yes-men. I’ve been a member of such churches too. In one of ’em, behind the scenes, the pastor was critically mismanaging the finances, and cuckolding his wife. How’d the church handle things? By sweeping the scandal under the rug and letting the pastor “retire”–at which point he simply did what I call “pulling a Mark Driscoll”: He waited a bit for the furor to die down, then quietly started running another church. A church which had no clue he was unfit to lead.

There are a lot of churches where this sort of thing happens. The wrong people get made pastor or board member. Sometimes they have serious character defects, and sometimes they’re just simply not up to the task of leading others. They think the Holy Spirit anointed them, and he never did; they psyched themselves into believing it, and got endorsed by people who confused personal likability with anointing. Or they don’t wanna lead for the right reasons—love for others, love for Jesus, love for his gospel. Instead they wanna be influencers. They want a megachurch and a book deal, and can’t figure out why Mammon Jesus gives these things to some pastors and not them.

In their wake, they leave a lot of broken Christians who trusted them to steer them right, and instead were crashed into rocks over and over again, and don’t wanna go to church anymore. Can’t say I blame them.

When Baal was silent.

1 Kings 18.25-29.

Often when I’ve heard preachers talk about the Baalist prophets, they tend to claim these prophets were frauds. That these prophets didn’t even believe in Baal; it was a con through and through. They only pretended to hear Baal so they could get acclaim, money, political power, and sex.

Archaeology doesn’t support this idea. Ancient religions relied on augury—on trying to find “signs” in the universe which might be messages from the gods.

Some Christians actually try to do this too: “Hey, my Burger King purchase after taxes came to $7.77! It’s a sign from God!” Okay clever guy, what’s this sign mean? Well they’ll think of something. Usually something they desire, something they were hoping they could get God’s approval on, and they’re gonna take that $7.77 to mean they got it. Whereas if the total came to $6.66, they’d either think they didn’t have God’s approval, and let go of that thing they wanted… but if they coveted it badly enough, they’d just presume the $6.66 was a warning or curse about some other thing, and keep on coveting.

That’s the thing about augury and “signs”: Unless God otherwise told us they mean something (like when a virgin happened to birth a son) they actually mean nothing. We’re just reading our own wishes and desires into ’em. And deceiving ourselves.

And that’s what Baalists did. They did believe in Baal; they were raised to. So they looked for signs of Baal’s will, and what do you know… they found some. This raven flew thataway; these entrails looked like the letter Mem; the rooster crowed after sunrise; they’d eat a brick of hashish and think their freaky visions and ideas came from Baal. They were entirely sure these things meant something. Pure superstition, but plenty of people throughout history have believed in superstition. Including all the Christians who, unprompted by God, look everywhere for signs.

Whereas we don’t need augury or superstition with the LORD: He talks to people. We can hear him when we listen. Those of us with the Holy Spirit indwelling us—the prophets in the Old Testament, the Christians in the New—can especially hear him when we listen.

And when Elijah challenged the Baalist prophets to a contest, he was entirely aware of this. He knew the Baalists weren’t gonna get any response from their god: Baal’s not real. It’s why Elijah felt perfectly free to mock their god, with no fear whatsoever that their god might take petty revenge—he ain’t no god. The Deuteronomistic Historian makes this clear with his comments, “No sound. No one answered.”

1 Kings 18.25-29 KWL

25Elijah told Baal’s prophets, “Choose one calf for yourselves.²

Prep it first, for you² are many.

Call on your² god’s name,

and don’t set fire to it.”

26They took the calf given to them,

prepared it,

and called on Baal’s name from morning to noon,

saying, “Baal, answer us!”

No sound.

No one answered.

They did a limping dance

before the altar they prepared.

27When it became noon,

Elijah was mocking them,

saying, “Call with a loud voice.

For he’s a god, isn’t he?

Maybe he’s meditating.

Maybe he’s pooping.

Maybe he’s far away.

Perhaps he’s sleeping! Wake him!”

28They were calling in a loud voice,

and ritually cut gashes in themselves

with swords and spears

till blood poured out of them.

29When it became afternoon,

they were prophesying till evening offering time.

No sound.

No one answered.

No one was listening.

Notice when they were exhausted and loopy from blood loss, the Baalist prophets started “prophesying.” Some bibles say “raving,” ’cause they don’t want to credit the Baalists with actual prophecy—if their god was silent, what on earth would they have to prophesy? But if you’re a superstitious pagan, you’d of course be declaring this was a sign, and that was a sign, and this meant Baal wanted one thing, and that meant Baal wanted another thing. It’s a pathetic substitute for actual prophecy, but plenty of people are perfectly happy with it… as any Tarot card reader will tell you.