The Wake of Evangelical Tragedy Tourism

Alaska

My wife, kids and I recently spent time with family in Alaska. We immensely enjoyed our time there. The scenery was overwhelming, and the fishing was exhilarating. For a midwestern kid used to catching bluegill from the local pond, a 27-pound halibut is thrilling.

But we also enjoyed simple moments on the water, watching whales, or enjoying the beauty of the Alaskan landscape. Our family noted that the quiet we enjoyed was abnormal. The summer is a busy time in Alaska. Tourism is a significant source of income for the state, and cruise ships consistently fill every port with visitors. COVID-19 severely impacted that industry, and ordinarily bustling waterways were silent, and traditionally busy ports were eerily quiet.

We found that those who relied on tourism for their income were worried about the downturn, but residents loved the quiet. They could travel easily, fish wherever they wanted, and generally live at a calmer pace. Simply put, Alaskan residents have a love-hate relationship with tourism. 

Residents and Tourists Meet the Author

During the season of our vacation, I had also begun listening to The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill, the podcast by Mike Cosper chronicling the meteoric rise and catastrophic fall of a Seattle church and its pastor, Mark Driscoll. The podcast is profoundly well-produced, and there are many points of guidance worth noting. But at times, I feel like a tourist. I pass by general reflection and introspective evaluation and enjoy the show. But something in it all feels disruptive. I sometimes wonder what the members of the former Mars Hill campuses are doing now. Do they listen? They invested their lives in a church, a movement, and, however unwise, in a person. I am merely floating by to see the sight. 

In a recent interview with Tim Keller, the New York pastor advised against writing a book while serving a pastoral role. He noted that many of the people who would come up to speak with him after his church service ended weren't from his church, and some weren't even from New York. They were attendees who liked his books and wanted to meet him, have them sign a book, or take their picture with him. They were tourists, and he was a sight to see. Members of his congregation who used to speak with him were no longer able to do so because of the tourists. 

Reflection

Could the love-hate relationship Alaskan residents have with tourism be similar to evangelical celebrity worship? On the one hand, it is exciting to go to the church about which everyone is talking. "Yep, that's John Piper. Well, we call him Pastor John, but whatever." Still, for covenant church members, the pastor isn't merely a dust-jacket image. He delivers the Scriptures to them every week; he leads them in communion; he may have baptized their children. 

Residents can understandably respond negatively to the celebrity and hype. Tourists can enjoy the show and move on. Residents still live there. That is, during good seasons, tourists can take what they want from the church, including the pastor's insight and leadership. But church members are forced to maintain the show and invest in its upkeep. During bad seasons, tourists can examine, dissect, and criticize a church and its leadership. But church members have to explain to their kids why Pastor Mark isn't preaching upfront anymore. So to the pain of losing a pastor, shepherd, and friend, add rubbernecking tourists with phones held aloft crying out, "Look at that! What a train-wreck!" Something so public that seemed so promising is now horrifically painful while remaining just as public. Don't misunderstand. I'm not saying that Christianity Today shouldn't have done the Cosper podcast. There are certainly lessons to learn. But in gleaning those lessons, we mustn't forget the people who still serve their local church. Three warnings emerge upon reflection: 

The Internet Has Made Us All Tourists

The hyper-connectedness of our lives allows for a writer or podcaster on one coast or country to comment on a church's ministry practice across the world. We are all tourists now. We are allowed to be disconnected observers entitled to a show. 

Residents Resent Tourists

We mustn't forget that church members invest their lives in a place, a movement, a man. Yes, that is at times an unwise investment, but it is a crushing loss to the people who loved their church, movement, and pastor. It is easy to float in, destroy a place, and leave. Residents stay and keep the economy going after the cruiseliner chugs out to see the next sight. Church members keep teaching Sunday school, taking communion, hosting home groups, and sharing the gospel with their neighbors. 

Incidentally, while we think about church members, we should also think about their unsaved neighbors. The latter see the evangelical hype and must wonder how it is that we exult in a charismatic leader’s rise only to similarly exult in his destruction. 

Don't Be A Tourist At Home

Not only has the internet made us all tourists, but it has also made us all investigative journalists. We are all looking for the scandal. When researching my dissertation on Charles Spurgeon, I spoke to a fellow historian and noted, "I haven't found a skeleton yet." He spun around and rebuked the very idea. "Why do historians act this way? Why are you surprised that a Godly man is a Godly man?" This kind of habit can be damaging, and not just for historians. There is a kind of distrust and assumed phoniness about church leadership in modern evangelicalism. The pastor seems kind, but he's probably a jerk when he's not in the pulpit. The pastor seems like a strong leader, but he's probably too strong and abusive to his staff. But not every pastor who raises their voice in the pulpit is a vicious leader. Don't be too surprised if a Godly man is a Godly man. Join the church, encourage your pastor. Be a resident.