Cumbersome By Design? Thoughts on ‘The Process’

“My child, when you come to serve the Lord, prepare yourself for testing.”

-Sirach 2:1

Taking on UMC ordination practices is all the rage.  I appreciated my pal John Meunier’s thoughts about the ordination process, and I’ve been following Jeremy Smith’s investigative blogging about young clergy falling out of the ordination track with interest.

All this has me wondering: Jim Collins has argued that great organizations are Great By Choice.  I wonder if our ordination system is Cumbersome By Design?

There was much discussion last General Conference about simplifying the ordination process for Elders and Deacons in the UMC.  Not long ago, the Book of Discipline was changed so that Annual Conferences could choose to ordain after a two-year full-time ministry “residency” rather than the previously required three years.  My own AC is one of the few that stuck with three years (though, to be fair, neighboring conferences seem to have found other ways to gum up the process that more than make up for the change).

But the infamy of ‘The Process’ (as many of us affectionately refer to the ordination gauntlet) is not only due to the time involved. Yes, a minimum 9 years of training (undergrad, seminary, ministry “residency”) before one is fully accredited is daunting.  But in the meantime, there are a plethora of smaller steps: mental health evaluations, local church and district gatekeeping, required coursework (sometimes seminary curricula and conference requirements clash), reams of paperwork, vetting, District Superintendent and SPRC evaluations, culminating in a two-stage paper-writing & (usually) interview process where one is judged on criteria that are anything but objective. Think about it: How do you define effective preaching? Which forms of Wesleyan theology are acceptable?

Needless to say, I’m glad to be (almost) done.

But does that mean all of this should be made easier streamlined to encourage more young people to enter ordained ministry?  I’m not so sure.  Pastors’ work is often ambiguous and difficult, the relational and organizational systems of our churches and communities are highly complex, and being agents for change and growth means fighting rudeness, apathy, and roadblocks at every turn.  Welcome to leadership.

In that sense, then, ‘The Process’ just might perfectly prepare ordinands for the world of the church: a world where good deeds are punished, where everything is not simple, fast, or fair, and which requires a surprising level of personal fortitude.

Does that mean everything is perfect? No.

‘The Process’ too often becomes a forum for personal vendettas and agendas.  Many people are dangerous with a little bit of power and unfortunately they know how to gain it.  Too often, as I have experienced, upper-echelon clergy in these settings are unwilling to police their own and put a stop to borderline-abuse of ordination candidates.  Stories abound; if you don’t believe me, ask around.  Ordination should not be an easy thing, but it should not be hazing either. There must be systems in place that guard against such maltreatment.

Does an extensive and laborious process guarantee the quality of those who get through it? No.

Like any other method of vetting, there are people who get through who are quite gifted and talented, and some who aren’t.  There are brilliant young clergy who are held up needlessly (and some drop out), and people who get through who should never be in any kind of leadership position.  I know PHDs in theology who have been held up by theology committees, and theological n00bs who have sailed through.  Systems are made of people, and as such no system will be perfect.  I have friends who absolutely should be on stage with me this year, and their absence makes my presence a near-farce.  That probably happens every year in every conference.

I have no illusions that everything is right in the world of ‘The Process’.  But just maybe the difficulty does us a favor.  Perhaps we are not well-prepared for church leadership by administrative pats on the back.  Perhaps the proper response to a “crisis” or “exodus” of young clergy is not to make ordination as simple as starting a Pinterest account.  ‘The Process’ as currently arranged in many parts of the denomination will prepare us well for a future that is difficult but promising, ministry settings that are often unfair but sometimes grace-filled, and systems that are complex and flawed but also full of people doing their best for God.

“Systems are designed to give you the results you are getting right now,” we are often told.  Maybe ‘The Process’, cumbersome though it is, is an excellent preparation for the church we are seeking to lead.

P.S. I understand that, at its best, the ordination process is designed to be a holistic formation for effective ministry, and not merely a series of “hoops” through which to jump.  In that sense, it is not entirely satisfying to speak of the transition to set-apart ministry merely as a “process” or something to get “through.”  While I appreciate that sentiment and welcome efforts to change those tendencies, I have described it as I experienced it, and not as it exists ideally.  Please share with me places where your own experience is either similar to or divergent from my own.  May God bless his church, whom “the gates of hell will not overcome.” (Matthew 16:18)

The Entitlement Plague in the Church

From Bishop Grant Hagiya’s brand-spankin’-new book:

“This leads to another deep-seated systematic constraint of The United Methodist Church, and perhaps other denominations: namely, the culture of entitlement over service in ministry.  With the professionalization of ministry in North America and the setting aside of full-time vocationally compensated clergy members, a culture of entitlement over service has crept into our clergy orders.  It works in two ways, one for the clergy and one for the laity of local churches.  As it plays out for clergy, there is a built-in expectation of a livable salary and accompanying benefits for full-time ministry.  Because The United Methodist Church currently has a guarantee of full-time ministry employment for life in its polity, there is the expectation of that entitlement by the clergy.  As it applies to the laity, there is the built-in expectation that they will receive a full-time minister, even if they cannot sustain the cost of that minister.” (pp. 64-65)

It would not be difficult to twist this into a screed about a culture of entitlement writ large over 21st century Western life, but that is not my purpose here.  Rather, it is to name what is a great part of our problem in the church: entitlement.  While the above quote hints at the entitlement mentality of churches (and he does develop it somewhat), as a pastor I want to focus on the clergy.

General Conference 2012 was disappointing in many respects.  I remain hopeful that some lessons will be learned and that meaningful changes can grow from the seeds planted last year.  What we know is that the one meaningful thing that passed – ending the (yes, admittedly, “so-called”) guarantee of appointment – was later rejected by the Judicial Council.

As Bishop Hagiya concludes, “entitlement has become embedded in the fabric of the church culture itself.”  Culture doesn’t change overnight, and evidence suggests it may not change from the top down.  It starts with me and with you, it starts with a focus on the responsibilities of the gospel and not just the benefits of the church.  Changing the culture of entitlement means focusing more on my duties and my God-given call as a pastoral leader than my rights as a member of the clergy; it means thinking more about what I owe (and to Whom I owe it) than what I am owed.

One person, one church, one conference at a time.  That is how the entitlement plague ends.  As the old hymn goes, “Let it begin with me.”

Holy Saturday, Failure, and Seth Godin

When it looked like Jesus has failed, he was actually on a rescue mission. From a 15th century Italian master, courtesy of http://www.geopolicraticus.wordpress.com.

“…but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews
and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called,
both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom
of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom,
and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength.”
-1 Cor. 1:23-25

“Only the crucified Christ can bring the freedom which changes
the world because it is no longer afraid of death. In his time the
crucified Christ was regarded as a scandal and as foolishness.
Today the church…must return to the crucified Christ in order
to show the world the freedom he offers.”
-Jurgen Moltmann, The Crucified God

According to Frederick Buechner, the resurrection means that “the worst thing is never the last thing.” In Christ’s victory at Easter, sin and death are destroyed, their power is gone, and we are freed in Christ to live new lives that boldly testify to the risen savior. Paul tells his young protege, Timothy, “God did not give us a Spirit of timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.” (2 Tim. 1:7) As Christians we must discipline ourselves to fail well.

I was lucky enough to see Seth Godin give a talk at High Point University recently. Godin is a writer and entrepreneur who has some insight on failure that Christians should take to heart. In a blog post titled “How to Fail” he writes:

“There are some significant misunderstandings about failure…
All of us fail. Successful people fail often, and, worth noting, learn more from that failure than everyone else. Two habits that don’t help:
• Getting good at avoiding blame and casting doubt
• Not signing up for visible and important projects” (1)

Godin pushes us to see that if we aren’t failing, we aren’t trying hard enough. If we are only doing “sure things,” if we are only traveling well-worn paths that we think are guaranteed to work, then odds are we aren’t jumping in with both feet. Like Edison discovering 10,000 ways not to make a light bulb, we make often make breakthroughs only after failing a lot. Like Godin says, successful people fail along with everyone else, but they learn from it more than everyone else, too.

As Christians, we know what God can do with an apparent failure. The cross is still a stumbling block and foolishness to the world because it is shocking that death has been conquered by death, that the moment when it looked like God had failed became the place of God’s greatest triumph.  Drawing on images from 1st Peter, Christians have long pondered how Jesus spent Holy Saturday, and prayerfully considered that Jesus was in fact in the realm of the dead reaching out to the righteous in Sheol.

To live in light of the resurrection means that we, too, are free to fail, free to risk, because we know that our efforts are not in vain. We know that we work for a Kingdom that will come, regardless of our faults and failures. We work for a savior who can do marvelous things with shaky disciples and a few loaves of bread.

Thanks be to God.

Daniel Day-Lewis and The Art of the Holy “No”

I said no to something today, something pretty cool.  Not because I wasn’t interested, or because it wouldn’t be beneficial in some ways.  I just knew that saying “yes” meant I could not do that, and probably many other things, as well as I should.  So I said no.

It felt weird. But also good.  I’m not good with “no”.  I like it in theory.  I know that boundaries are important.  I know, as the saying goes, “every time you say ‘yes’ to something you are saying ‘no’ to something else.”  But it’s so hard to practice that.

Christians are often bad with “no”.  We are so infected with the culture of nice, and often so motivated by the twin demons of people-pleasing and guilt, that we can’t utter it.  But there is such thing as a righteous, healthy, and holy “no”.

I found some inspiration from Daniel Day-Lewis via Ain’t It Cool News.  It seems that initially the acclaimed actor was going to turn down Steven Spielberg’s offer to star in the now-successful Lincoln.  This is the email he sent to the director before he, in the end, accepted:

Dear Steven,

It was a real pleasure just to sit and talk with you. I listened very carefully to what you had to say about this compelling history, and I’ve since read the script and found it in all the detail in which it describes these monumental events and in the compassionate portraits of all the principal characters, both powerful and moving. I can’t account for how at any given moment I feel the need to explore life as opposed to another, but I do know that I can only do this work if I feel almost as if there is no choice; that a subject coincides inexplicably with a very personal need and a very specific moment in time. In this case, as fascinated as I was by Abe, it was the fascination of a grateful spectator who longed to see a story told, rather than that of a participant. That’s how I feel now in spite of myself, and though I can’t be sure that this won’t change, I couldn’t dream of encouraging you to keep it open on a mere possibility. I do hope this makes sense Steven, I’m glad you’re making the film, I wish you the strength for it, and I send both my very best wishes and my sincere gratitude to you for having considered me.

That’s how you say “no”.  Of course, since he relented in the end, maybe it isn’t the best example.  But the language is there.

A great question for everyone, especially those in the caregiving business, is this:

When was the last time you said no?

Langford on Tradition, Preservation, and Idolatry

 

 

At what point does the preservation of tradition – particularly organizational patterns and structures – become little more than idolatrous self-preservation?  Do we in the Church cling to old models more out of anxious fear and idolatrous calcification than a concern for the message, will, and work of Christ in the world?

“Tradition,” said Jaroslav Pelikan, “is the living faith of the dead.”  On the other hand, “Traditionalism is the dead faith of the living.”

Is the Methodist movement, particularly as instantiated in the United Methodist Church, representative of a valuable, vibrant, living tradition, or have we devolved into a virus-like self-replicating traditionalism?

On these and similar questions, I culled a helpful tidbit from one of our greatest theologians in the last half century.  In his classic Practical Divinity, Tom Langford makes the following insight:

Further, it may be argued, there is no value in continuing a tradition only to perpetuate its life.  Indeed, there is a pernicious idolatry in sustaining an organizational form only in the interest of self-preservation.  As the vitality of purpose within a movement declines, there is often an aggressive effort to reinforce the organizational structure that earlier served its dynamic life.  A developed church order may be confused with the initiating and ultimate cause it was intended to serve; and by subtle shift, structure may be perpetuated in the name of the cause.  If the Wesleyan tradition no longer possesses a distinctive contribution and no longer enriches total Christian witness and life, then this tradition and its ecclesiastical structure have no reason to continue. (Nashville: Abingdon Press 1983, 270)

There are dynamics here that play out in every organization, of course.  But given the current state of the church in North America, they are particularly applicable for discussion by contemporary Christians.  These are questions that come up at every level of ecclesiastical life, from the local church struggling to “get back to what it used to be” to denominational officials clinging to structures whose original purpose and meaning have been lost.  I see both flexibility and fearful preservation in my own denomination.

We see evidence of flexibility – for better or worse is a matter of judgment above my pay grade – in a recent Call to Action report suggesting some pretty major changes to polity and ministry.  Most interesting is the end of the so-called “guaranteed appointment” and the suggestion to do away with the language of “commissioning” in the ordination process (an obvious move given that no one, outside or inside the UMC, has ever understood exactly what is meant by a practice that amounts to de facto psuedo-ordination).

One aspect of preservation that is clear to see is the traditional(-istic?) insistence on itinerant ministry.  As one hoping to be ordained as an itinerating Elder, I wholeheartedly assent to this practice as is currently implemented by the church.  The issue as that what we now call itinerancy bears primarily a nostalgic resemblance to the itinerancy of of the Wesleys in England and Asbury in the US.  The ideal itinerant was a single male travelling  a “circuit,” not staying in one place very long.  He generally lodged with laypeople on the road, was expected not to marry (to do so would require “location” usually), and his primary ministry was preaching, organizing small discipleship groups, and administering the Sacraments.  We have retained the language of itinerancy while absorbing the larger practices of Mainline Protestant ministry: the professionalization of clergy with its corollary educational requirements, credentialing process, and cultural respectability.  Clergy went from traveling a circuit for a number of years to being in a parish for a number of years.  Even now, when all the stats point to longer pastoral appointments being healthier for all involved, we insist on calling our form of “sent” ministry itinerancy.  We are dangerously close to Papa Wesley’s warning about seeking the power without the form.  Why cling to something just to retain the name?  I think Langford’s warning about “structure being perpetuated in the name of the cause” may ring true here.

At what point does tradition become traditionalism?  When is preservation not idolatry?  If our efforts at excellence/effectiveness/fruitfulness/(insert-cliche’-quasi-business-terminology-for-growth-here) are driven only by a desire to preserve existing structures, to what extent are we serving ourselves rather than Christ?

Langford’s words are interesting fuel for thought for those in any organization facing the specter of decline.  Why keep it going?  If we in the Church don’t know what (read: Who) we are about – and at the local church level this question is often pathetically lacking – then we have a bigger issue than trying to find new and clever ways to grow: we don’t deserve to.

Eugene Peterson On Contemporary Worship

Just finished my first Eugene Peterson book.  Well, unless you count The Message – but I hear he had help with that one.  I decided to start early in his writing career; admittedly, Five Smooth Stones for Pastoral Work did not sound exciting to me at all.  This is probably because the Old Testament books he based these reflections on did not, at the outset, interest me.  How stupid of me!  The hype about Peterson’s pastoral writings is dead-on.  This is balm for the pastor’s soul.  There is so much that could be highlighted, but what I found juiciest was the discussion of Hebrew/Christian worship contrasted with Baalism in his chapter on Ecclesiastes and the work of ‘nay-saying’:

Pastors are subjected to two recurrent phrases from the people to whom they give spiritual leadership.  Both are reminiscent of Baalism, enough so as to earn the label “neo-Baalism.”  The phrases are: “Let’s have a worship experience” and “I don’t get anything out of it.”

About the call for a “worship experience”:

…neither the Bible nor church uses the word “worship” as a description of experience…worship is neither subjective only nor private only.  It is not what I feel when I am by myself; it is how I act toward God in responsible relation with God’s people.  Worship, in the biblical sources and in liturgical history, is not something a person experiences, it is something we do, regardless how how we feel about it, or whether we feel anything about it at all.

About the complaint that “I don’t get anything out of it.”

The assumption that supposedly validates the phrase is that worship must be attractive and personally gratifying.  But that is simply Baalism redivius [yeah, I had to Google it], worship trimmed tot he emotional and spiritual specifications of the worshiper.  The divine will that declares something beyond or other than what is already part of the emotional-mental construct of the worshiper is spurned.  That worship might call for something beyond us is shrugged off as obscurantist.  And so the one indispensable prsupposition of Christian worship, the God of the covenant who reveals himself in his word, is deleted.  A Freudian pleasure principle is substituted and worship is misused to harness God to human requirements…we may be entertained, warmed, diverted, or excited in such worship; we will probably not be changed, and we will not be saved  Our feelings may be sensitized and our pleasures expanded.  But our morals will be dulled and our God fantasized. (Peterson, Five Smooth Stones for Pastoral Work [Grand Rapids: Eerdman's 1980], pp. 183-185)

Whew.  Now, nowhere does he come out and say this is a direct reference to the worship wars.  But I don’t see how it could be otherwise.  This is clearly a dig a the feelings-centered, emotionalistic worship that is widely assumed to be the only legitimate form of worship in certain Protestant circles.  At the end of the chapter, he does make a note indicating that not anything is to be tolerated in worship, that the pastor must be sensitive to the felt needs of the congregants, and that worship should be intelligently executed, vital, creative, and passionate.  But still, the bulk of the arguments seems to be against non-liturgical worship; the kind of worship that somehow draws a line between “praise” and “worship”; worship that assumes the gathering of the church community is only worthwhile if everyone leaves on a “high” and is planned as if Christians have only been gathering for worship since the Macintosh.

This is probably one of the best indictments of the philosophy behind contemporary worship that I’ve read.  But still, questions remain.  More and more, I’ve been wondering about the sociological draw of certain kinds of worship.  It strikes me that certain forms appeal to certain folks.  I’m not willing to write this on stone tablets, but it seems to me that there is a class correlation to worship preferences.  Now, whether there should be worship preferences is a different question altogether.  I’m no Luddite, either; I lead a liturgical service that makes use of a projector, sound, and video equipment.  But I do it wearing an alb.  Yeah, call me strange.

I don’t recall having reading about this elsewhere but I’m sure I’m not the first one to think this.  Anyone know of any resources that explore this?

A working thesis: perhaps, just perhaps, folks who are at the margins of society, folks who do not feel empowered  or believe their views and experience are deemed valid by the wider culture, would be drawn to worship that validates and encourages personal expression.  I am aware this is oversimplifying, but my own observation is that charismatic and pentecostal (and in general, “expressive”) worship tends to attract people on the underside of the social order, while “high church” worship seems to appeal to folks who are empowered by and within the prevailing order.  Exceptions abound – but I think I have enough evidence to convict.  Thoughts?

At any rate, Peterson is awesome; don’t let the validity or invalidity of any of my commentary dissuade you.  Any pastor would benefit – spiritually, psychologically, vocationally – from this work.

What makes a better pastor, youth or experience?

I have a bone to pick with CNN writer John Blake. His recent article ponders some new statistics about seminaries which, in part, find,

…the nation’s seminaries are enjoying a baby boomers boom – the 50-or-older demographic group is the fastest-growing demographic at U.S. divinity schools, according to the Association of Theological Schools (ATS).

The article glosses over the motivation for older individuals entering seminary.  Not to disparage my late-blooming colleagues, because many of them are excellent pastors, but I don’t think we can overlook the appeal of ministry during an economic downturn.  This, I think, is especially true in the mainline denominations, many of whom provide relatively stable jobs (sometimes, unfortunately, tantamount to tenure) once you have been fully recieved as a pastor in the ecclesial community.  We shouldn’t be ashamed of the economic motivation; pastors are human beings, after all, and we want our kids to have food like everyone else.

But near the end, the article descends into the realm of “maybe…” and annoys me.  Here’s what Blake asks:

The article brought a question to my mind, though. In athletics, age is a liability.  Older athletes lose strength and flexibility.

But could old age equip people to be better ministers?

For example, how can a young minister who has never been married or had children or even lost many friends to death counsel grieving couples?

And might an older minister do better at dealing with the temptations of ego, sex, and money?

Is it better to be a rookie minister when you have gray hair?

I shall respond to each question in turn:

A)  Possibly, at first.  An older pastor can potentially relate to older church members better.  Also, there is a feeling that an older person has the “wisdom of age” even if they don’t have church experience.  But my experience has been that, at under 30, I love spending time with my older members and have an excellent report with them. 

B)  I’m not sure what this question is asking.  It looks like it may be asking specifically about counseling a couple grieving the loss of a child.  But really, the question is nothing new.  It’s the same old, “How do Catholic priests counsel married couples?” issue, which misunderstands the nature of pastoral counseling.  A pastor is equipped to be present with people at any stage of life, pray with and for them, and share with them the wisdom of the Church as handed down through Scripture and tradition.  Serious counseling should only be done by pastors with serious training.  But, old or young, new or veteran, a good pastor can sit and grieve with anyone.  We are always dealing with situations we’ve never faced (because there are a lot of different things that go wrong in this life!); that’s the nature of the calling.  We might just as well ask, “How can a pastor who was married at 23 counsel a person who is single at 45?”  As pastors, we must do our work in the hope that the Lord will provide what He requires.  That’s faith.

C)  No.  Dumb question.  As we age, the temptations of ego, sex, and money do not go away.  Look at Hugh Hefner.  Look at Silvio Berlusconi.  There are a lot of ego-driven, sex-crazed, greedy old men around.  And women.  Think about all those “real housewives” shows.  I hope they use the term ‘real’ lightly.

D)  Perhaps.  But there is one big drawback: it takes time to learn the ropes of ministry.  You can read all the books you want to, get all the degrees you want to, but nothing replaces time in the pastoral office for understanding and effectiveness.  “Life experience” does not replace actual pastoral experience.   Pastors, old and young, can of course serve with faithfulness and effectiveness.  It is never too late to hear the call, and I appreciate all most who heed it.  But there is no denying that starting out early gives the pastor a chance to learn, over a lifetime, what the ministerial vocation is all about.  Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither are pastors.

So you want to go to seminary?

I’m not cool enough to embed.  But if you want to go to seminary, especially if you happen to be a woman, you should watch this immediately.

Amazing.

Wisdom From James Harnish

Churches in decline, like any other institution facing the potential of a slow fade and eventual death, get stuck.  Any entity focused primarily on survival is not likely to thrive.  Yes, survival may take place – for a while – but eventually the survival mentality kills you.  For churches, this mentality translates to a self-centeredness  that is contrary to the gospel and the mission of Christ’s church.  The apostles, Bishops, and Fathers of the early church did not sit around asking, “How do we survive?” or “How can we get more money?” or “How can we get more people?”

They especially did not ask that unholiest of church questions: “How do we get more people so we can get more money and survive?”

The gospel is not an invitation to mere survival, but a call to new life.  Thus the message and focus of the Body of Christ cannot be an anxious struggle for survival.  Instead, it should be related to discerning the aid and call of the Holy Spirit to reach, welcome, equip, and send disciples in Christ’s name.

No ministry of consequence will come from merely a desire to survive.  In the excellent, theologically-grounded and accessible You Only Have To Die, James Harnish’s words to this effect hit me like a ton of bricks:

When a congregation becomes aware that it is in or on the edge of decline, the primary question can easily become, “What can we do to help our church survive?  How do we keep the doors open? How will we pay the bills?”  But when survival becomes the primary motivation for change, the congregation will inevitably turn in on itself and become so centered in its survival needs that it will be ineffective in responding to the real needs of real people in the world around it.

New people who come in contact with the congregation immediately sense that the church is not so much interested in using its resources to meet their need as it is interested in using them for its own survival.  In the end, the focus on survival easily becomes self-defeating. (99)

I wish I had these words at a recent meeting of church leadership.  He hits the nail on the head.  You Only Have To Die is a wonderful resource that I heartily recommend to any pastor or concerned layperson.  The only question I have – and this applies to the vast majority of ‘church growth’/congregational health books – is how does this model apply to a small church?  My sense is that in a small church, the survival instinct will only be more keen and finding leaders who can see beyond survival considerably more difficult.  Any thoughts?  Where do we go for resources on turning around, re-missioning, and enlivening small churches?

Glenn Beck: Restoring Jack Squat

I am continuously astounded that many on the far right – which has a large contingent of fundamentalist Christians – have been more than willing to overlook Glenn Beck’s Mormonism because they like his brand of low-brow, popcorn-density “journalism.”  I think that his particular blend of civil religion – one that confuses any reference to “God” to an endorsement of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit and cannot distinguish enlightenment Deism from orthodox Christianity – is so vague than many of these Christians on the right honestly can’t tell he’s coming from a different place from them theologically.

A friend of mine pointed me to an article by Dan Webster over at Episcopal Cafe’ that makes some interesting connections between Beck’s Mormon faith and his political program:

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the Mormon Church, believes Christianity fell into apostasy when the original apostles died. Joseph Smith, founder of the Mormon Church, believes he was called by God to restore the gospel that Jesus taught but had been radically changed by second generation Christians and those who came after.

So when Beck says America has been “wandering in darkness” and that he is here to help lead the country back to God he is emulating the founder of his religion. He wants to restore America’s greatness just like his church believes it is called to establish the “restored gospel.”

I don’t agree with Webster on all points, but he makes some interesting arguments that I have not seen elsewhere.  Webster also points out that, while Beck is vague on his own theological proclivities, he isn’t shy about attacking the details of others’ faith.

He’s expressed discomfort with Obama’s brand of Christianity (hey, props for calling Obama Christian!) due to its affinities with liberation theology, which he calls “socialist.”  And to an extent, he’s right.  Where he is wrong is finding any expressions of a strong faith in Obama’s policies.  It may be there, to the President, at least.  But Obama’s not really talking about it; whether because it’s not there, or he’s trying to distance himself from Bush, his outspoken evangelical predecessor, is not really possible to know.  Beck has made too much hay out of something he knows little about.

In his piece, Webster argues that Beck is channeling Joseph Smith moreso than Martin Luther King, Jr.  And so far as that comparison goes, he’s spot on.  But Smith wasn’t really a restorationist; he wasn’t restoring an existing church, he was making a new one.  The LDS church is a creation of his own mind, which I think makes him equal parts huckster and genius.

Like Smith, Beck isn’t really trying to restore anything so much as create something that never existed and in the process garner a great deal of attention, wives, money, and power: a pristine, just, and prosperous America that is simultaneously the sole superpower and completely God-fearing (though,significantly, the question ‘whose God?’ is never asked).

I think that makes Glenn Beck more like the Pied Piper of legend.  A man playing a flute, making pleasant noises, leading us away like children…on a journey to nowhere.