-dedicated to the outcasts and the fallen heroes
Hail to the Campfire Lighters
I swat away a mosquito as I stare expectantly at the wood pile. My church is hosting its weekend camp for the children at this campground called Ney-a-ti. The night is ending as it always does, with the campfire lighter ceremony. Three kids will be chosen to help light the campfire. These kids are usually chosen for some good deed. I wait with baited breath to be picked, to be deemed worthy to help light that sacred fire. The names are called. They are not mine. They are never mine.
That weekend camp was for kids in the first to fifth grades. I went every year. I never helped light the campfire.
Maybe that’s where the idea that I don’t belong sprouted, that there was something off about me, which is why I was not worthy enough to light the campfire.
As I get older I do more with that church. I volunteer, go on mission trips, go to prayer meetings, lead Bible studies, yet this chasm of isolation keeps getting wider.
I feel like a homeless man looking into the window of a country club. I see the wealth, the happiness, the community, but there’s something blocking me from getting it. God and church are these things I can recognize but never accepted into.
I feel like I don’t belong here.
No One Is Good Enough
I found Caedmon’s Call during my sophomore year of college. I had been serving in a campus ministry where my suitemates led worship. Many of the songs they played were from Caedmon’s Call. Their songs were different than the worship music I grew up singing. Their lyrics were rich and thoughtful, and they were not afraid to discuss taboo issues in the Christian faith.
As I began to research the band, one member immediately stood out: Derek Webb. I was enamored with Webb. He didn’t act like the Christian artists that played at my youth retreats. He was raw, he was blunt, he cussed! Webb wrote songs about the hypocrisy in the church, the legalism preached from the pulpit, and the frustrations he felt from his fellow Christians. He also wrote songs that communicated the beauty and grace found in the gospel of Jesus Christ in a clear and simple way that I had never heard before. In many ways, I understood the gospel for the first time through Webb’s music.
My sophomore year was a transformative one. Webb’s music is intrinsically tied to that time. I still remember singing, “No one is good enough to save himself” for the first time and being floored by that simple message. I remember listening to “Nobody loves me,” and wondering how this man was able to see my thoughts so clearly. All my life, I thought I had to have my house neat and tidy in order for God to accept me, and hear was Webb, throwing his dirty laundry at his savior’s feet with no abandon. For the first time, I saw that following God wasn’t restrictive it was freeing.
Now, obviously there was a lot more working in my life than Derek Webb, but his songs are the soundtrack to a very formative and positive period. So, I was taken-a-back during my senior year when Webb announced his divorce from his wife due to infidelity. It stung. I was upset that this man I looked up to could mess up so badly; and yet, Webb’s songs had prepared me for such disappointment. No one is perfect, everyone has shame, everyone needs forgiveness. These were truths sprinkled throughout Webb’s discography.
Yes, Webb had sinned, but we all sin. We all fall short. We all need grace. Webb sang that, Webb believed that. I was upset that this songwriter had fallen, but I also did not judge him. I didn’t know his struggles, and who’s to say that I wouldn’t have fallen into the same trap given the circumstances. So, I prayed for Webb and waited.
I assumed Webb was making peace with God. Months turned into years, and I yet I was confident that one day Webb would come back and release new music.
I Don’t Know What to Do With That
The rhythmic beat of feet hitting the hard, South Carolina back-road create our beat as my boss and I trot along in the sunny mid-day. Our weekly “runs” are never very productive, but the weekly routine is the only time during the week I get to spend with someone who is older than 24, so I look forward to them.
I am working in a campus ministry at a college in the middle-of-nowhere. The college is flailing, the students are broken and lonely, and my boss is drowning in responsibilities. Every campus minister has to meet with their staff once a week, he used our one-on-ones as a time for exercise.
During our runs, I try to talk about my week, what is going on, and what I am processing through, but that is hard to do when the man you’re trying to talk to sounds like he is about to cough up his lungs. Still, I persevere and try to get his advice.
Today, I am more persistent than usual in getting him to talk. My last couple of months have been wrought with uncertainty, and I need some direction. I am not sure what I want to do next. Should I go to seminary? Should I pursue vocational ministry? Do I even have a knack for this? Is this where I belong? I pick my boss’s brain as we take our last trot down the old country highway.
My boss says to me. “Ben, you have the gift of being an older brother. You are great at being a mentor and caring for students. I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what to do with that.”
I am a camper at Ney-a-ti again, looking at the campfire I didn’t light. I feel lost, aimless, and alone. I have no more questions and finish our trot in silence.
Rumors and Rumblings
The whispers about Derek Webb’s apostasy began soon after his announcement. There were rumors that he wasn’t making an effort to try to mend the marriage, he was being difficult with any type of church discipline, he was isolating himself from his friends, but I took those for what they were, rumors. It might take time, but I fully expecting Webb to come back to the feet of the Father again.
At first, it seemed like he would. He released a public apology and began working on music again. He was even planning out a new album for 2017.
But then, Webb began talking about change. How he’d grown from the affair, and how it had impacted his faith. And then, he started talking about suffering two divorces and that his album would explore both.
Two divorces? What is Webb talking about? Could the man who recorded She Must and Shall Go Free, the man who wrote about the love and grace of the cross so beautifully, become an apostate? Had Derek Webb done what he at one time thought impossible. Had he left God?
I’m For You
I sit in my pastor’s office, squirming in this small, squeaky, leather chair, avoiding eye-contact with the man across the table. I’ve been in this office many times before, in fact I’ve made sitting in this uncomfortable chair something of a weekly habit. Up until very recently I had looked forward to these meetings.
I had been picked to be part of something: a cadre. My church had selected a group of young men to train up in the church, and I had been one of the people selected! I had been deemed worthy to belong.
And I did belong, for the first time in a long time. I had friends and mentors. I was leading student small groups and growing; I truly felt like I had found my spiritual home. I’d even met my fiance, who worked at the church. And on top of that, I was becoming friends with the head pastor. “I’m for you,” he used to say. Me, the kid who never lit the campfire, whose boss couldn’t figure where he fit in this church-world, was now being groomed on how to be a leader in the church. It felt like home. I felt wanted.
But things have recently changed. My friend has become distant and our meetings have become awkward. I begin to feel like my friend isn’t “for” me anymore. I can smell the smoke as I sit across the table from him. I see that Ney-a-ti fire reflected in his eyes; I hear the sounds of two men trotting in his silence. I know what he is going to say before he says it.
Fingers Crossed
Derek Webb released Fingers Crossed on Sept. 27, 2017, and from the first track I could tell that this was going to be a different. The first song is called “Stop Listening,” and it is to be Webb’s interpretation on how Christians will receive this album. From the lyrics, it seems that Webb believes he is about to offend Christians and they will stop listening to the album. After listening to the rest of the album, it is apparent why he thinks this.
Fingers Crossed is best described as a break-up album. It is Webb’s break-up with his wife, with the church, and with God. Webb is brutally honest about the frustration he feels towards the church, a feeling he apparently had been trying to bury for years but came bursting out like a creature of the undead.
Fingers Crossed is the separation announcement between Webb and God. No where is this more evident than track 3, “The Spirit Bears the Curse.” It begins as a standard worship song, but throughout the song something seems off. It’s not until the bridge when Webb comes in for the blow. The thing he’s been singing about, it’s alcohol. Get it? The spirit bears the curse. Hilarious.
When I listened to the album, however, the feeling I gleamed more than frustration was rejection. Webb feels dismissed by his church-family, his friends, and his God. There’s a line at the end of his last song that says,
“so you left me here to document the slow unraveling
of a man who burned the house down
where he kept everything
excommunication never made much sense to me
like abandonment to demonstrate how you’ll never leave”
To me, these lyrics are from a man who feels rejected and abandoned; rejected by his friends and abandoned by his god. This album is about a man in pain, a man who is lost. Lost like me.
A Tempest in a Teacup
I listen to Webb’s new song as my chest rises and falls with the beat of his song. My breath fogs the driver’s window for a second before vanishing off the pane. I am sitting in my car outside of work. The overcast sky bleeds into everything else. The clouds are gray, the pavement is gray, my work building is gray, my gloves are gray; the world is hued in gray. Another breath disappears as the lyrics of “A Tempest in a Teacup” flow through my ears.
’cause something deep down in my heart
something that made me who i was
invisible
oh, i guess it just didn’t pan out
guess it’s just another heart i broke
a dream i woke up
I exhale, look out into the gray and wonder, “Have I woken up, or is this the dream?”
It has been six months since my wife was let go of her job at the church, six months since we left the church, and six months since my friend told me they could no longer work with me. I am adrift, lost in the gray. I feel like something doesn’t work in me, like I was made wrong.
“Why can’t I get this church thing right?” I think as another breath fades. “Why can’t I belong there? Is it something with me?”
Without that church there is not much direction for me. I am trapped in a small town, and my claustrophobia grows the longer I stay. I am grasping for air yet can’t breathe.
“Is this worth it?” I exhale, “Or was it all a lie?”
I find Derek Webb once again writing the soundtrack of my life, but this time it is to a tune I’ve scarce entertained. Has God abandoned me, or was He even there to begin with?
Whatever was going on before, either a special feeling I created or some other presence inserting itself into my life, it’s not in my life now. I pray and plead and hear nothing in response. My prayers are like a breathe vanishing in the cold, and I wonder, “Am I on the same path as Derek Webb?”
Good News
there is no inherent meaning. there is only the meaning we assign. this is good news.
After the release of Fingers Crossed, Derek Webb went on a tour among a group known as “ex-vangelicals.” This subculture is made up of men and women who grew up in the evangelical church, left the church, and believe that the church is harmful to individuals. Webb has become their poster boy.
On his podcast, The Airing of Grief, Webb has explained the damage Christianity did to him, how he felt constrained and judged. According to Webb, he has found more mystery and freedom in atheism than he ever did in Christianity and believes that people need to escape their oppressive ideology.
In many ways, Webb is the same man that I discovered during my sophomore year of college. He is brazen, outspoken, pushes boundaries, and isn’t afraid to upset his listeners. Yet, it is hard to reconcile this Webb with the one I found in school.
For one, the man who fought hard against the temptations of the world is now embracing the world fully. His new best pal is a sex therapist, he talks about drinking a lot, and he now encourages going with the culture instead of taking a stand against it. For someone who was once so counter-cultural, Webb seems so…normal now. He’s traded in preaching about the meaning found in identity with Christ to preaching about the meaninglessness of the universe and how that is a good thing. He no longer looks to the great healer to find restoration but instead to the power of positive thinking. Instead of finding our purpose from the one who made us, Webb states that we now make up our own purpose and by doing so find freedom, but I wonder how free Webb is.
Because if Webb’s new life is freedom, then I don’t think I want it. He posts a lot about being lonely, and while he claims finding joy in nothingness, I only find emptiness and depression. Webb also cannot let the church go. He brings it up all the time, like a lover spurned.
He doesn’t seem free, at least on his social media. He appears to be a man possessed with the idea of destroying the faith he once loved. He appears to be a man with a developing drinking problem trying to convince the world that he chose the right path. Webb has found peace in meaninglessness, but he seems as adrift as I was during my depression, two men lost in the gray.
The Still
The sun’s heat radiates off the back of my chair, causing me to sweat a little as I scribble my frivolous thoughts. I don’t mind though. It hasn’t been this beautiful in a while. I am at my favorite coffee shop in Greenville on a picture-perfect Saturday afternoon. Around me, families sit, eating pizza and Popsicles as cyclist speed across the bike path in front. I take another sip of my coffee and look at the words staring at me.
They are words I know well, the words of the Bible. There was a time when they seemed to speak to me, but lately they’ve been silent. This book that was once dynamic and living has now become just type on pages.
I wonder why I continue to read it as I scribble more about my flailing faith. What am I hoping to receive from this thing? Why do I cling to this belief that God will speak to me?
I look out and see the families. Dads playing with their kids, happy couples walking their dogs. They seem happy and content without God. Maybe Webb is right, maybe there is joy found in meaninglessness.
I look at the words again. They are from Philippians 2, a familiar verse.
“Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you.”
Something in me stirs, something that I have not felt in a long time. I look at the words again. “Christ Jesus has made me his own.” I look around as a breeze begins to blow. I am Christ’s. I look at those words again as I think of the campfire, the country road, the office. I do not belong to those people; I never did. I do not fit in with them, and I may never fit in with them. But I do belong to Christ. He has made me His own by dying for me.
I feel the stirring again. It is not silence, but it is still. The breeze now blows on my back and I look around me. In the stillness, the campfire fades, the beat of trotting feet cease, and I get up from the uncomfortable chair. I have let these things follow me for too long. I’ve focused on what is behind instead of looking towards what is ahead. I’ve focused on the course instead of the prize. There is no need to belong for I already do. I belong to Christ.
Maybe Webb’s forgotten that, maybe that’s why he’s seems to be in the gray. I look to my Bible again, sitting in the stillness, and smile. Then, a child trips over my foot as he dashes for a basketball. It is no longer still, the stirring is gone, yet I look up and grin. It is still a beautiful day and my coffee is rich. I take another sip, write some more in my journal, and know that I am now awake.
Targets
Derek Webb’s next album is called Targets. He has not revealed what it is about, but has tweeted that only now does he feel like he is doing ministry. I highly doubt that.
He is also planning more house shows and is speaking at a couple of ex-vangelical and liberal-Christian conferences. (How you can be a Christian and invite an avowed and excited atheist who thinks your religion should be demolished to speak at your conference, I don’t want to know.)
Webb also seems to be dating someone as well. What makes his relationship interesting is that his girlfriend is Abbie Parker, a singer for a Christian worship band. I’m curious to see how that works out, and am a little hopeful that Webb may return to faith in Christ one day, even if it is a little different than the faith he once had.
My faith has changed since I discovered Webb. I don’t think I’m as reformed as I once was. I’m no where near to being an arminian, but my theology has evolved over the years from a systematic one to a biblical one. I do think people can be sold out like Webb and then turn their backs to the cross. I believe that because I was so close to that edge at one point, but I did not make that leap.
I think Webb would say that I am a coward for not jumping into the abyss of unbelief. Maybe I am. Or maybe he’s a coward running from relationships he knowingly destroyed. Who knows? Maybe I was the one who made the leap, the leap to stay faithful and trust Christ. All I know is I have peace. Webb claims he does as well, and I hope that’s true.
Epilogue
We drive up to the steeple and park our car at the side. Our tiny, young church has had this building for about two months. It is a miracle that we own it. It is an old-fashioned church with colored window panes, an arched steeple, and an old church bell. The hardwood pews creak if you shift even an inch of your weight, and a piano and organ rest respectively on the sides of the stage. There’s even a lectern.
I say hello to my fellow members with a strained smile as I walk to my creaky pew. Even though it’s been over a year, it’s still hard to relax. “One step at a time,” I tell myself. Our pastor says hello to us before the service starts. He’s a friendly guy who has been patient with the both of us. I don’t know if I can say I trust him yet, but I no longer look for a fight when we speak. This church is small, but it is my church and is where God wants me for a now.
As our pastor ends his greeting, a kid two rows behind us drops a clipboard. The clatter disturbs the moment of silent reflection, but I keep my eyes closed. Finally, I hear the bells chime and rise to walk to the front. I am leading the church this morning in the call to worship and prayer time. I walk to the lectern, taking my place among my church. I lead the congregation in a responsive reading of Psalm 72, and as we bow our heads I say a quick prayer for myself, and for Derek Webb.
In the Thicket 
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