Jen U

Last week I realized two things.

I spent three days in another gathering of great Christian leaders discussing church and cultural trends and theology. And I was reminded for the 389th time that because I’ve not gone to seminary or studied some of the thinkers and topics covered there, I have less to contribute to these discussions.

During this meeting we also had the opportunity to share something good happening in our ministries. From church merges or learning Spanish to preach in two languages (whoa) to community gardens feeding the homeless, these guys had great stories to share about making a difference. And I realized I once again had little to contribute because I spend my days crossing off copywriting and social media to-do lists that make groups like theirs successful.


“Helping organizations doing good to do better” is my Twitter bio and it’s grown into a fun career. But it means I have nothing that’s “mine”—nothing I lead, nothing I’ve launched. At the same time, I feel unequipped to strike out as a leader without more grounding in history, philosophy and strategy.

So I need a project and I need to learn—how did I not think of Jen University before now?

This new school will include books, blogs, podcasts and magazines. It will not include homework, papers, internships, sororities, or courses involving terms like “cosine” or “lipid.”

To paraphrase Good Will Hunting, you can get a great education for $1.50 in library fines (although I may use this as an excuse to buy a Kindle). I’m compiling a master list of stuff to read and I welcome your suggestions for the best resources in biblical studies, ministry trends, spiritual formation, leadership, theology and doctrine. (I’d even like to see the syllabi from your own graduate programs—email jen@seejenwrite.com.)


It”s time to think about what I want to accomplish before my status changes from “emerging leader” to “over 40, kind of emerged, and not that effective.” Tomorrow I turn 35 (good grief) and Jen U officially begins—Kindle donations welcome.

future tense

For the past two days I’ve been privileged to be part of a group of 25 Christian church leaders gathered to discuss the future of the church. (Special thanks to Christian Standard, Orchard Group, and Provision Ministry Group for sponsoring the event.)

Yesterday morning we broke into groups of six to dig into the question of the church’s future, especially the next ten years.




Some were very optimistic: “I think we are moving toward our greatest opportunities to share the gospel.”

Some were less positive: “We don’t have a shot at global evangelism unless we change.”

Some gave me stuff to think about for days: “Has our pragmatism neutered the church? Major changes to the way we do church could threaten the livelihoods we’ve come to enjoy as full-time pastors.”


When asked my thoughts (offered with reluctance, believe it or not, because I was one of only three women in the group and the only one not on staff at one of our churches or colleges), I shared your response to my church fatigue and said I think inertia will carry our churches for the next ten years, but probably not the next twenty. (After that, both the boomers and their children will be older and it will be in the hands of the next generation, who are not reached by or satisfied with our current methods.)

More on this soon—I recently created a video about it for the Destiny Leader conference. Right now I want to hear what YOU think—where is the church going in the next ten years?

what singles want to tell your church

—We’re not a life stage. Although statistically many of us are in our 20s and early 30s, to equate singles ministry with a “college and career” group leaves many of us out. A divorced, widowed, or never-married person in her 30s, 40s and beyond has little in common with the never-married, childless, recent college graduates involved in these groups.

Singleness is not just a phase of life for the young who haven’t yet married—it’s a marital status that can be part of life at any age.

—We can do more. Whether it’s expanding that group to reach other singles like us, joining a Bible study, teaching VBS or serving on a praise team, many of us can often serve more and more often than our married friends. Although we have full lives and demanding jobs, those of us without kids probably have a bit more free time (and money) to contribute.

—But we need to be challenged. An occupational hazard of long-term singleness is selfishness. From the furniture in our homes to the appointments on our calendar, our lives revolve around our own needs and interests. We don’t want to be self-centered, but it takes effort. Challenge us to lead a small group, build homes in Mexico, or tutor a child.

—Invite us into community. These activities not only serve others, they create new ways for us to build relationships. We need regular opportunities to connect with other people because single life can be lonely, and we like the idea of the church as an extended family with room for us. But we don’t want to intrude on your literal family or be the proverbial fifth wheel. We love when you invite us to have lunch after church, include us in a holiday celebration, or encourage our relationship as an “aunt” or “uncle” to your child who thinks we’re awesome. (We are, by the way—and we give great birthday presents.)

—One is a whole number. We live in a culture geared toward couples, and we love you guys. But please don’t feel sorry for us. Most of us who want to be married eventually will be, and in the meantime we are enjoying life. Please don’t try to “fix” us by fixing us up (unless we ask you to, of course) or constantly reassure us we’ll find the right person someday. We’re working on becoming the right person, which is a better bet long-term and a lot more fun, too.


Singletons, what else do you want your church to know?

ditching denominations

My local paper, which is usually as informative about current events as the back of a cereal box, ran an article this past weekend about the huge number of Americans leaving the major Protestant “brands” for nondenominational alternatives.

As is customary with The Tennessean, this is not really news, at least to those of us in the church. But I’m interested in your thoughts.


Do you agree with Pete Wilson—are there no longer any advantages to being part of a bigger group?

Or are we just replacing the traditional denominations with newer ones along newer lines—church planting networks, for instance, or regional alliances?


Does size of church matter—is it easier for bigger, richer churches to do their own thing?

What about the sort-of denominations that grow up around some of these bigger churches, like the Willow Creek Association?

What do we do with legitimate doctrinal differences? How alike do we have to be before we work together to plant a church or start a ministry?

And what does this mean for the independent Christian churches and our nondenominational denomination? More church leaders than ever before might be open to our emphasis on the simple New Testament church. Should we broaden our definitions of who’s in and who’s out—and would anyone like to comment on the irony of needing to?

church fatigue, part 2

Last week’s post, in which I confessed my boredom with attending church services, hit a nerve.

People re-posted it on their Facebook pages, linked to it on Twitter, and left dozens of comments expressing both anger and agreement with my thoughts. A few, including Skye Jethani, even wrote blog posts of their own in response.


Every blogger, if she’s honest, loves finding a topic that generates discussion (and page views). But I’m sad it was this one, because it means many of you share my “church fatigue.”


There was the anonymous pastor who confessed his own boredom with the services he himself plans and leads, a 70-something Christian who admits to being bored in church for most of his life, and a 40-something who’s resigned himself to it but wonders why it’s so hard to have this discussion and why his church’s answer is to volunteer more.

I wish these readers, and the many others who shared their stories, had said my perspective was incomprehensible. Unfortunately, the numbers who resonated with my confession point to some larger problems in the way we “do church.”


Here are my thoughts after a week:

—Skye nailed it with his observation that we are longing for “the transcendent” in our worship. “This is likely what’s behind, in part, the movement of many evangelicals toward high-church traditions and liturgy,” he writes. “They’re hungry for something beyond culturally-familiar or Christianized versions of pop trends.”

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard leaders proclaim the need for church to be “relevant” to our culture. They mean well, but relevance is not to be found in a music style or a sermon series playing off the name of a popular TV show. It comes from Jesus, the Jesus who hung out with broken people, the Teacher who modeled a new way to live in relationship with God, the Redeemer who lived among us and still meets us at the Communion table. Jesus is never irrelevant, never boring. Why is our worship?

—I don’t think our preachers and worship leaders are responsible for me having that transcendent experience every week. For one thing, we all define that differently. Recently I’ve experienced God by listening to music and watching a purple sunset, by crying with a dear friend who lost her husband to a heart attack, by reading and thinking about good books, and by exchanging ideas with perceptive mentors. Other people will have very different lists and no one weekly experience is going to speak to each of us equally. (Nor is the emotional impact of that experience the correct measurement.)  Seeing a worship leader as responsible for my relationship with God ignores biblical teaching and guarantees these pastors will feel a burden to, as one commenter put it, get it right at the front of the room. “I know I carry that burden,” he said. “And it’s wearing me out.”

—That being said, if going to church matters, then it matters what we do, and someone has to lead it. But must that look the way it does?

I like what Jeremy said in response to Skye’s blog:

“….many passages in the Epistles make me wonder if the traditional American church organization really is (or contains) a Biblical church.

I Corinthians 14 speaks to it most directly. “When you come together, each one has a hymn, a lesson, a revelation, a tongue, or an interpretation. Let all things be done for building up. … Let two or three prophets speak, and let the others weigh what is said. If a revelation is made to someone else sitting nearby, let the first person be silent. For you can all prophesy one by one, so that all may learn and all be encouraged.”

We pride ourselves on restoring New Testament Christianity, but I’ve never been to a service like this. Why not?

—Have we simply over-elevated the importance of one weekly service (and our expectations of it)? Dan Kimball’s books remind us we’ve made weekly worship the entrance point for seekers and the “if you do nothing else, do this” baseline of our faith.

According to Alan Hirsch and Tim Stevens, that’s only effective for a shrinking minority. Instead, what if consistent participation in service to others and personal worship were the true indicators of a person’s Christianity, and corporate worship was less about the seeker and more about equipping the disciple to live this sacrificial lifestyle?

Of course, that would require a congregation full of growing Christians, all serving and praying and forgiving and submitting and leading from their gifts. That’s messy and difficult. It’s hard to manage and requires many, many leaders each discipling a handful of others over time. It’s no wonder we’ve defaulted to a Sunday routine. But if God intended the church to be more than this, it’s also no wonder we’re bored.


I don’t think I get to complain about something if I’m not willing to be part of the solution. But I’m still not sure what that means. How do you think weekly church needs to change? Is going micro the solution? What can we do individually to make the corporate experience more meaningful, for us and the others who attend?

church fatigue

I have a confession to make.

I’m tired of going to church.


After 34 years of weekly attendance I’m bored, bored with long sermons and the two uptempo/one slow song liturgy of our megachurch worship. I’m bored with gymnatoriums and rambling communion meditations and the tasteless cardboard bread pellets that follow. I’m bored with announcement times for ladies luncheons and small groups and choir sign-ups. I’m bored with the same cliched phrases in the same spoken prayers offered at the same routine times.

I’m bored.

I know all the reasons to attend church services. But honestly, most Sundays at noon I think about other ways I could have spent the morning. Reading the New York Times with a pot of coffee, or hiking through the woods, or enjoying restorative sleep, or putzing around my kitchen trying a new recipe—these all seem more fun, productive, and restful than spending several hours at church.


It’s not about being entertained. As Brett McCracken wrote in his great Wall Street Journal article last week, 70% of adults 18-22 aren’t leaving church because it’s not “cool” enough.

“As a twentysomething, I can say with confidence that when it comes to church, we don’t want cool as much as we want real,” he writes. “If we are interested in Christianity in any sort of serious way, it is not because it’s easy or trendy or popular. It’s because Jesus himself is appealing and what he says rings true.”

So I’m not looking for a slicker sermon series or a faux-hawked worship leader or designer coffee in the back lobby. And for those of you who are my parents (hi guys!), I’m not pulling an Anne Rice and rejecting the Church universal or leaving the faith. I’m not even having a crisis of faith.


I’m just bored.


Because I also believe you make a commitment to one local church and invest in community with those believers long-term, I’m not going to start shopping for a new church. Besides, all those churches would also have long sermons and rambling prayers and worship leaders in skinny jeans. That’s the problem.

I also believe the writer of Hebrews was wise when he cautioned, “Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another.” I just don’t find weekly church attendance that encouraging anymore. In addition to its predictability, I have plenty of friends who also attend church each weekend and then get drunk, live with their boyfriends, or swear the air blue. In the south, church attendance is traditional. It is a habit, and one that doesn’t in itself produce life change.


So I’m sincerely unsure of the solution. Church, with two songs/greeting/awkward handshakes/one song/communion/offering/sermon/two songs/dismissal, is how our culture does Christianity. And I’m ready for something else.

Can you relate? How do you deal with “church fatigue”?

thoughts on visiting “the tribe”

This past Sunday night I had an opportunity to visit The Tribe, the church in Los Angeles where Alan Hirsch and his wife Deb serve and where Deb leads as a minister. I visited with my friend Mel McGowan and we were privileged to participate in the celebration of the church’s move into a new leased warehouse space.

(One of the things I love about LA is no one thinks it’s odd to see a group of 60 people parading down Albion Avenue carrying sofa cushions and following a very tall man wearing a top hat and hoisting a lit torch.)

So it was an interesting evening. In many ways, this artistic community fit my expectations; it’s a young crowd, mostly single. The people were warm and welcoming. The communal meal included hummus.

In other ways it didn’t. There was less ethnic diversity than I expected (the crowd was mostly Caucasian) and only one child.


But the most surprising thing was how closely this gathering resembled what we know about the early church. The Tribe gathers each Sunday night for a shared meal, then worships through original music, visual art, and study of the Bible. They rip pieces from a loaf of bread, dip them in a cup of wine, and celebrate communion together. They sing acapella and accompanied by drums. They know each other well and pray for each other. They toss crumpled bills into a bright red tote bag to cover the warehouse rent and learn from a small leadership team who coordinates the the weekend services and receives no salary.

I’m not saying this a better way to do church and community, but it does seem more like a New Testament congregation than many of our “Restoration” churches modeled on that ideal. Yet I suspect many of us would be uncomfortable there—which is the most interesting thing of all.

holy crap!–why I don’t want to work at a church

This weekend I heard yet another story about yet another dysfunctional situation at yet another church.

Without going into detail that could identify the particular congregation, the issues involved manipulation, harassment, dishonesty, uninformed leaders making hasty decisions, six-hour meetings to deal with the fallout, firings, and inestimable wastes of time and morale.

Oh, wait, I don’t have to identify the church—it could be one of thousands.

That’s the sad thing, and it’s the reason I don’t want to work on a church staff.


Granted, my temperament is also part of it. I’m an independent spirit who disliked the institutionalized idiosyncrasies of school (no bathroom without a hall pass, lunch at 10:30 a.m) and the corporate workplace (no open-toed shoes, meetings about the ROI of thinking outside the box), and one of the things I enjoy most about the freelance life is an absence of drama.

But it would be nice if I did want to join a church staff team, if the beauty and community of God’s saints co-laboring at a church—any church—compelled me to be a part. Instead it compels me to run the other direction.


The local church is the hope of the world—Hybels and others have said it many times. And I agree.

I love my current church and the church I served in California and the one where I grew up, even though they haven’t been immune to the issues listed above. And I’ve invested in those churches, teaching preschoolers and memorizing choir anthems and washing dishes and manning registration tables and getting up at 6 a.m. for praise team rehearsal.

I love the church, serving the church, and being part of the church. I support my leaders and elders and try to be part of the solution.

But I don’t want to work there. If I’m going to spend 50 hours a week in a toxic environment, I know many that pay a lot more.


What do you think? Am I being too harsh? What causes these problems and how can we improve the situation?

new to you friday–your mama

Each year I believe this even more than when I wrote the original post. But, a happy P.S.—the friend who endured shots and tests delivered her first child, a handsome boy who’s just discovered his feet, last November.

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A couple of my friends lost their mom in a car wreck several years ago. Other friends tolerate relationships with their mothers ranging from strained to abusive to non-existent. Two friends struggled with infertility issues for years and almost adopted a baby only to have the birth mother change her mind at the last minute. Two others adopted a child; she’s now an adult, an addict, and a prodigal who’s left them to raise a grandchild. Some of my single friends long for a child of their own and don’t appreciate the reminder of another year ticking by. And one friend is currently undergoing shots, tests and ultrasounds to try to become pregnant. She’ll find out Monday—the day after Mother’s Day—if she’s carrying a baby.

Given all the complex emotions surrounding motherhood—being one or having one—I wish churches showed more sensitivity in recognizing Mother’s Day each year. I suppose there’s no harm in acknowledging it, but leaders must realize the day is not all corsages and overpriced buffets. For every woman experiencing hope or happiness this Sunday, another will be working through grief, regret, or anger.

So if you’re wrapping up (or just starting) your remarks for this weekend, please consider the range of life stages and hurts represented in your congregation. Each of the friends I mentioned will be in church this Sunday morning—they could be in your church.

Oh, and a hint for next year: this does not mean adding baby dedication to the morning’s activities. Wound, here’s some salt—start rubbing.

hot topics

I prefer to study an entire book of the Bible instead of topics.

However, judging from most church web sites, I’m in the minority. Most churches do series after series—sometimes on practical issues (finances, marriage), sometimes more theological ones (the names of God, Jesus’ parables).

I agree it can be important to study topics occasionally, especially if they address real issues going on in the life of the church or the larger culture. (A study of the biblical qualifications and expectations for elders enriched my own church’s elder-selection process last summer.)

But I wish topical studies were the exception rather than the norm. I much prefer working through a book, Old or New Testament, chunk by chunk. I want to learn about the author and historical context, the meanings of words in Hebrew or Greek, the way the original audience would have interpreted the text. I want to get a sense of the Biblical story, not its application—in verse-size bites—to the much less interesting narratives offered by our culture.

I wonder why most preachers (at least in our churches) don’t do this. Is it easier to preach topically? Do we think audiences (um, I mean, church goers) aren’t biblically literate and mature enough to benefit from it? If the latter, how are they going to grow to maturity through a steady diet of Bible sound bites?

Pastors, what influences your preaching calendar? Educate my ignorance about your strategy.

And pew people, am I alone in this? Which type of message do you prefer?