I’ve been reading about churches that have begun incorporating Twitter into their services. I guess it works like this: people send their 140-character message to someone in the booth, and it pops up on the video screens. If that’s not how it works, someone please enlighten me.

I do wonder if this would only work in mono-generational churches. In places where you have young and old gathering together, you’d likely see some interesting tweets.

“Music too loud!”

“Sermon too long!”

I also wonder how honest people are allowed to be. For example, could someone tweet: “Singer off-key” or “That’s not what the verse means in context”?

I suppose the person in the booth just filters those out, but you get my point. Technology can be a wonderful tool, but I’ve always thought the best technology is invisible technology. It enhances the message, rather than intruding upon the message.

Now I’ve gone to wondering what happens when technology becomes the message. But that’s another post for another day.

When I was in youth ministry, I wouldn’t let the teens in my group listen to headphones while we were on trips together. We have a rule at our house that no one is allowed to have headphones on at the dinner table. I have always felt that it’s a form of checking out, and it disrupts the community-building such trips and such meals can (and perhaps should) be.

Furthermore, I’ve heard recently about how single people know a date’s not going well when the other person interrupts their time with you to text someone else. That makes sense, right? If you’re out with me, I assume you want to spend time with me. Text on your own time! Don’t we have enough electronic chatter in our lives? Couldn’t we all use a good, healthy dose of face time with a real, live human being for a change?

Still, I will admit that sometimes Jill will be upstairs on her laptop while I’m in the office downstairs on mine. As strange as it may seem, it’s often easier for us to iChat one another rather than poking my head out the office door and shouting up the stairs. Of course, I realize I could actually leave my computer for a minute or two and have a live conversation with her, but that would mean having to get up and walk all that way. Honestly, if I want exercise, I’ll go to the gym!

Even as I was typing that last paragraph, I could feel how unhealthy my addiction to electronic communication has become.

Honestly, I’m no Luddite! I’m a Mac-user! We Mac-users pride ourselves on being the most tech-savvy people in the neighborhood. But has my ability to virtually reach out and touch my wife replaced by ability to literally reach out and touch her? Just because it’s easier, that certainly doesn’t make it better. Just because we can do something, certainly doesn’t mean we should.

And now we’re contemplating bringing Twitter into our Sunday morning gatherings. I thought the purpose of our gatherings was to actually gather and be present both physically and mentally. I, personally, find it difficult to gather with someone who is constantly checking their phone for messages. The idea of Twittering through Communion is really…um…off-putting to me. You don’t Twitter at the Table, do you?

Maybe I’m missing something. I’m fully aware that I don’t know everything, and I make no pretense of having church stuff all figured out. Maybe Twittering really does build community when used properly. Of course, I also wonder what happens when someone tweets a question to the guy preaching only to discover that he’s not real — he’s just a video.

But, again, that’s another post for another day.

So, tell me what I’m missing here. What are your thoughts on this whole concept of Twittering in church? Is this engaging culture or capitulating to it? A welcome addition or an obnoxious intrusion? Is there a way to do it well?

I’ve been thinking about sin a lot lately. Mostly, I’ve been thinking about why we sin, and by “we” I mean me. Why do I sin?

Here’s what I’ve come up with: When I sin, it’s because I don’t trust God. That’s it. Not very profound, I know. But it’s true.

When I choose to do something that I know is wrong, it’s because I mistakenly believe one or more of the following:

1. God does not really know what’s best for me.
2. God does not really want what’s best for me.
3. God cannot really cause what’s best for me to come to pass.

I doubt God’s wisdom, God’s kindness and/or God’s ability.

If I ever get to preach for a group of people on a regular basis again, I think I’ll spend more time focusing on these three things.

Last night my blog went down for a couple of hours. It seems I somehow managed to exceed my bandwidth allotment. According to my fantastic webguy, I got more hits yesterday than I normally do in a month.

Take that Scot McKnight!

But how shall I explain this massive increase in my popularity? To what may I attribute this sudden spike in information superhighway traffic?

Was it a swarm of spammers come to tempt me with their online pharmaceutical wares and promises of nude celebrity photographs? Did one of those pesky New York Times reporters finally cite my site as the source of their editorial insight? Is there some controversial person out there talking about me behind my back? Is Perez Hilton perhaps taking me to task for my views on gay marriage?

No, my personal theory is that it is a group of angry baristas who want to stop me and my message about the potential dangers of including coffee bars in church assemblies! That’s the only explanation. Every Starbucks on the planet is encouraging its employees to log on and clog up my blog.

We haven’t done any kind of roll call in a while, so let’s try it today. Lurkers, come out of hiding! Who are you? Where are you? How did you come to discover my little corner of cyberspace?

For the record, I remember a time when an elder in the church suggested that the ministers on staff should not listen to secular radio stations in their offices for fear that the slippery slope of “gradualism” might tempt them to want to bring such secular music into the sanctuary.

Of course, the word “sanctuary” was not used. “Auditorium” was the word, but the gravitas normally attached to the word “sanctuary” was clearly intended.

I’ve visited churches where food and drink were expressly forbidden. “Eat and drink on your own time, or keep it in the Fellowship Hall.”

I even remember the debate over whether or not women would be allowed to wear pants in the assembly. “First it’ll be women wearing pants, then it’ll be men wearing blue jeans. Before you know it, we’ll all be in shorts, tank tops and flip-flops.”

I have no desire to go back to those small-minded arguments. And yet….

I do wonder if we’re shooting ourselves in the foot with the vast amount of time, money and creative energy we spend on creating “Irresistible Environments” — complete with intelligent lighting, fog machines, come-as-you-are informality and the ubiquitous coffee bar.

There’s a saying: “What you win people with is what you win people to.” I’m not sure I agree with it completely, but there’s at least a kernel of truth in there that I think we need to think about. Is it possible to become so reliant upon gimmicks and graphics that we fail to remember how reliant we are upon God to provide whatever increase we enjoy?

More to the point, if people are showing up because our band is really tight and our espresso is really strong, will they come back when Jesus asks them to put down their nets (or guitars or lattes), take up the instrument of their own death and follow him? Or will they ask Jesus to water it down a little, add a little foam or some whipped cream on top?

Serve them coffee. Serve them donuts. Serve them a full continental breakfast. Just be sure to remind them that Jesus may be many things to many people, but Jesus is not your barista.

A couple of years ago, a guy from Eerdman’s Publishing stumbled across the blog. Somehow he got the impression that I had some influence especially among a more emergent-leaning crowd (perhaps he got me confused with Scot McKnight), and he offered to give me several new books from Eerdman’s catalog in case I wanted to mention them on my blog.

Of course, I mention my own books all the time, and I’m not sure how much that helps sales. But that’s another story. Never mind. Anyway….

One of the books he sent was by Paul Louis Metzger, professor of Christian theology and theology of culture at Multnomah Biblical Seminary in Portland, Oregon. The book is titled Consuming Jesus: Beyond Race and Class Divisions in a Consumer Church, and the first irony of all is that it’s an academic book with a Foreword by Donald Miller.

Here’s what Metzger says about coffee bars in church:

“I like a latte as much as the next person does. Coffee bars have their place — but they are problematic at the back of a sanctuary, especially when there is no Lord’s table in front. That’s because the coffee bar and the Lord’s table are symbolic: both are symbols that communicate powerfully their use of ’sacred’ space. The coffee bar connotes pleasure and leisure (good things in their own right), whereas the Lord’s table always connotes joy though suffering: the bloody grapes of wrath have become a river of life. Like coffee bars with their sweetly flavored lattes, many churches (subliminally) suggest that the church will provide those who attend with the very things the world does — everything involved in self-fulfillment. Christ, on the other hand, drank from a very different cup, one that was bittersweet, in order to bring meaning, purpose, and life.”

I’m not saying Metzger’s completely accurate in his criticism, but I do think he’s got a point. When I go to Starbucks, I know what I want, I tell them what I want, and if I don’t get what I want, I complain. I custom order (usually a grande, triple-shot, vanilla latte), and they make it right there just for me. I’m willing to pay for the service, but let’s not pretend it’s something it isn’t. It’s a consumer-driven, well-marketed, relatively expensive product.

If we ever get to the point where churches allow (or, God forbid, actually encourage) people to think Christianity is a consumer-driven, well-marketed, relatively expensive product…well…something’s gone terribly wrong. I don’t belly up to the Lord’s Table and custom order something to wet my whistle or boost my energy.

What do you think? Do lattes threaten to replace the Lord’s Table in some places? How would you know a church is headed down that path?

I have a confession to make: Last Sunday morning, my family slept in.

That’s right. On Mother’s Day. We attended the infamous “Bedpost Baptist” (which on any given Sunday doubtlessly has the largest attending body in the world). It’s not the first time; it won’t be the last time. We’re not proud of it, but we’re not ashamed of it, either.

The previous five Sundays we’d attended five different churches in four different states. All three of them were in varying degrees of “coolness”.

Some churches actually bill themselves as a cool church. That’s part of the marketing plan, part of the sales pitch. This is straight off the website of one such church: “We decided our adult environment should rock. We would play music that we emotionally connect with—music like what we hear on the billboard top forty rather than our grandmother’s church. The venue would be compelling like a cutting edge concert. People pay to go to concerts. We will do it for free every…week.”

There was one striking difference between the five churches, though, and this difference has me thinking. Two churches made sure we knew where the coffee was; three churches did Communion.

I’m not saying the two are mutually exclusive, but I do think they make for remarkable icons.

The Coffee Bar and The Communion Table.

How would you describe the differences between these two icons?

I like cool churches. I’ve been to several of them. I’ve even worked for a few, and I’ve coached several on how to become even cooler.

I remember — way back in the day — when I fought the good fight to turn uncool churches cool. I argued that Sunday’s gatherings were far too disconnected from Monday through Saturday. We used different vocabulary, different musical styles, different clothing, different everything, and it made it difficult to relate one world to the other.

The hardest part of transitioning a church was always getting the “older crowd” to admit that beneath all the arguments they made was one simple fact: they liked singing the songs they like (and the songs they liked were “older songs”). They liked doing things the way they did them, and the idea of changing it all wasn’t appealing to them.

Once you could get that on the table, making changes became possible. Until you could get that on the table, no significant changes would ever be considered.

I still believe all of this, by the way. I believe that each generation should do the work of figuring out how to use their own language and their own music in service to God and others, rather than relying on the language and music of previous generations. I believe in the concept of cultural relevance. I do.

And yet….

I also believe it’s vastly overrated in many places, and I believe every generation is in danger of becoming the “older crowd” that simply prefers to sing the sings they prefer.

How do we know when we’ve crossed the line and begun offering “cool” as our product rather than, say, God? Could it be possible for “cool” to become a distraction to our mission?

I get how an unchurched person might walk into a church, hear a John Mayer song and say, “I’ve never thought about those lyrics in this context before.” That might lead to some deeper thoughts and conversations and spiritual progress and all that. I get it.

But I also get how an unchurched person might walk into a church, hear a John Mayer song and say, “I thought they’d talk about — I don’t know — God or something.” That might lead to some shallow thoughts and shallow conversations and spiritual regression and all that. I get that, too.

There are some pretty heavyweight books talking about this kind of thing lately. What are your thoughts on “cool church”? How cool is too cool? How uncool is too uncool?

So, while we were traveling across the nation, I managed to get invited to speak in three different churches. In one of those churches I foolishly told a story about patience — casting myself in a positive light. I told the folks gathered there how I’d been working so hard, clinging to God with all my might, and patience had begun mysteriously appearing in my life.

It was a good illustration, and I had my wife’s permission to tell it.

Having landed back here in Atlanta, I think I may have left all my patience at the Forsythe Avenue Church of Christ in Monroe, Louisiana.

We have no cable and no internet. The dryer wouldn’t work. Both garage doors are broken. I left the power cord to my laptop at my parents’ house. I can’t find my phone charger. I have made absolutely no progress towards finding a job. Did I mention that we have no cable and no internet?

It’s been a long week, and it’s only Wednesday.

Q: What do you do when it’s been one of those weeks? Or months? Or years?