Multi-Sites, Simulcasts, and Scripture: Summit Church (Durham, NC - April 10, 2011)

Okay, it’s time to sift through my eight pages of notes and reconstruct my morning.
Theological reflection can come later; commence braindump . . .

I woke up with a stomach ache this morning, and I’m not completely sure why.  Maybe it’s a natural result of forgetting to take my acid reflux medication for the past three weeks.  Maybe it’s because of the stress brought on by the impending end of another semester.  Maybe it’s because chocolate-covered pretzels are a terrible bedtime snack.  Or maybe it’s because today was the first of many church visits that will be taking place over the next four months.  Very many church visits.  Regardless, I dragged myself out of bed, grabbed a quick shower to wake myself up, and then stared at my open closet for a minute.  How would one dress to attend Summit Church?

All that I know of Summit I had learned through videos on their website and through a few conversations with friends at Duke Divinity School.  Most of my friends at Duke were familiar with the church as something of an oddity: a Southern Baptist, multi-site megachurch with a contemporary, emerging church flavor to it.  In other words: lots and lots of projector screens.  Affiliated with the Southern Baptist Convention and originally called Homestead Heights Baptist Church, Summit began in the 1960s and experienced a revival in the late 90s and early 2000s while in between pastors.  The church credits much of this to the involvement of Southeastern Seminary’s Dr. Keith Eitel, who acted as an interim minister from 1998 to 2001.  The church then called college pastor J.D. Greear to serve as their senior pastor and began meeting in a high school to accommodate their sudden growth.  The church soon outgrew even this venue, so they needed to come up with a new plan.  Rather than meeting in one building, Summit opted for a multiple-campus approach, meeting in four separate locations on Sunday mornings and having Pastor J.D.’s sermon broadcast to all campuses.  Hmm . . . what to wear to blend in at such a setting?  Slightly distressed-looking dress shirt.  No tie.  Jeans.  Sandals.  Leather wrist cuff.  Rob Bell glasses.  Perfect.  I hopped in my car and jumped on the freeway.

Arrival

I had arrived at Summit with nearly half an hour to spare, so I decided to drive around the Brier Creek area for a bit and get a feel for the community.  There’s not really much about Brier Creek that stands out.  The brown brick strip shopping centers and industrial/office complexes interspersed with cookie-cutter homes make Brier Creek look like any other developing suburb.  The church is in a nondescript strip-mall that I only managed to find thanks to traffic cones and movable fabric signs outside the main entrance.  On a weekday, I imagine people would drive by Summit without even realizing what it was.  The parking lot was dotted with attendants in reflective vests, and a sign instructed me to turn on my hazard lights if I was a first time visitor.  I obeyed this instruction and was promptly directed to a front row spot right beside the “First Time Guest Tent” at the church’s entrance.  Sweet.  I got out of my car, grabbed my Bible and my notebook, and headed inside my first church of this holy, crazy experiment.

I was nervous.

Okay, that’s an understatement.

I was really nervous.  I felt like some sort of infiltrator with my notebook and my div school education and my agenda.  I decided right out of the gate that I would not try to create any sort of clever cover story to allow me to blend in.  I would not be a recent transplant to the area taking notes on the church for a significant other.  I would not be a Southeastern student working on a project for my worship class.  I would admit right up front that I’m a div student at Duke researching churches’ models of local community engagement in the hopes of eventually doing a church plant myself.  Somehow, this didn’t make me feel any less like an invader.  I walked into the foyer-- a modestly appointed room that looked something like a visitors’ center complete with a coffee bar and an information desk.  I must have looked lost because a friendly man in a button-up shirt with a receding hairline waved to me from the information desk and shouted a friendly “Hello there!”  He looked to be in his early 30s.  His name was Eric, and it turned out that he too had dabbled in the world of divinity school, having taken a few courses at the University of Chicago div school before growing dissatisfied with the lack of spiritual sustenance he found there.  It was nice to have someone relatable there, but I will admit that, given Eric’s history and my school’s reputation, I felt the need to defend my choice of academic institutions, insisting that Duke makes a conscious effort to keep us both spiritually and academically fed.

 --- ATTENTION, PEOPLE CONSIDERING DIVINITY SCHOOL! ---

What I said to Eric is commonly known as a “lie.”  We’re supposed to avoid them as Christians, but I do it compulsively sometimes in order to defend institutions or protect people's feelings.  Duke is a fine academic institution, but you should never expect to find complete spiritual fulfillment in a university setting.  That’s not how divinity schools are supposed to work, and Duke is no exception.  Moving on . . .

I admitted to Eric that I had doubts about the multi-site model, and he assured me that it’s actually quite nice to have a variety of worship settings where you can still get the same message.  I asked if the different sites really feel like they are one church, to which he responded, “We get the same message on Sunday and the same material in our small groups, so that sense of community is there even if we don’t see each other on Sunday.  It’s great to bump into someone on the street, start talking, and suddenly realize that you go to the same church!”  I’m still trying to digest this, but he made it sound quite appealing.  Eric was incredibly useful and gave me a few more multi-site churches to investigate this summer, but I can tell that I caught him off guard at one point with my knowledge of Summit.  Eric was explaining to me, “Yeah, I like this setting because I’m not really a formal guy; I’m an old rocker, and we’ve got a rockstar leading our services down here!”  “Yeah, Matt Papa,” I replied.  Eric cocked an eyebrow, and I informed him that I had done my research the night before.  I had devoted an hour or two to Summit’s website Saturday evening, and that is how I knew to visit the Briar Creek campus this morning as opposed to the more convenient West Club location (within walking distance of my apartment by Duke’s East Campus).  Today was a special event: the official opening of Briar Creek’s new building, and that meant a guaranteed visit from Pastor J. D.  More on him in a little while.  I thanked Eric and headed into the sanctuary.

Worship

The floors were a brushed concrete that looked like linoleum tiles had just recently been stripped from the surface.  The walls had been painted black only within the past week, and the smell of drying paint still lingered ever so slightly in the room (which would become a recurring joke throughout the service).  There was intentionally-exposed scaffolding around the stage, and a glance upward revealed low-hanging beams and rafters that enhanced the bare-bones, industrial flavor of Summit.  We sat in surprisingly comfortable mesh folding chairs; no pews here.  Three large screens hung around the stage, each bearing a series of announcements that ran in sequence, and I found some of these to be quite clever.  In particular, I loved a promotion for the Easter service that read, “As it turns out, chocolate rabbits aren’t the point.”  I was glad for the humorous signs because the easy-flowing ambient music in the sanctuary was adding to my nausea.  I decided to tune out the music by eavesdropping on conversations instead.  I was impressed by just how friendly the people were with one another.  You would think that these folks had known each other their whole lives (and a few very well might have).  I was also struck by how young this church is!  At 23, I was probably the median age in the room, maybe even a little older.  The room was flooded with highschoolers and college students, and I’m pretty sure that at least three other people in the room were wearing my exact clothing ensemble.  I covertly patted myself on the back for my impeccable emerging church fashion sense.  I was also quite surprised when no one seemed to notice my taking notes.  In fact, I was so surprised that I started to feel just a little paranoid, as if I were some sort of spy sent from Duke to bring down the whole kingdom.  I tried even harder to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Matt Papa, Brier Creek worship leader

A countdown clock in the upper right corner of the center screen signified that the service was about to begin, and worship leader Matt Papa walked onto the stage.  Skinny to the point of emaciated, Papa wore a slightly raggedy button-up shirt and skinny jeans and sported untamed red hair and a beard.  He really did look like the “rockstar” that Eric had described, and I was impressed that Papa didn’t exactly fit the usual contemporary stereotypes: his demeanor on stage felt very real, even though the music was clearly well-rehearsed.  My notes on Papa read “genuine, enthusiastic, shaggy.”  In fact, looking at his expansive mane, I thought to myself, “That is probably how I’m going to look after three months without a haircut this summer.”  Pastor J.D. later quipped about Papa’s appearance, repeating a joke that another staffer had made via twitter: “Summit not only helps homeless people; it employs them!”  Attached to the tweet was a picture of a dejected-looking Papa.  I laughed at first but winced a bit when I started thinking about how this homeless stereotype affected the people I worked with last summer at the Inter-Faith Council in Carrboro.  I decided not to think about this at length.  Back to Papa, as a casual musician myself, I respect musicians who can get caught up in the emotion of the show but still maintain their musical abilities.  Papa never once dramatically lifted his hands from his guitar or allowed his voice to crack, and yet, it was clear that he was very emotionally invested in the music.  In a snootier moment, I thought to myself, “Max Weber would have a field day with this guy-- so much charisma!”  I know.  I am such a religious studies nerd.  Seriously though, Papa almost had me raising my hand during the invitation.  The guy’s got a real gift for leading worship.

Sadly, the songs themselves didn’t impress me as much as Papa’s stage presence.  With the exception of a contemporary adaptation of “How Great Thou Art,” the lyrics of the songs were fairly bland.  Of course, these were supposed to be songs to pump up the congregation and get them in the right mindset to hear Pastor J.D.’s sermon, so I was willing to look the other way when we sang on and on about God being on our side without there being much more to it.  Papa caught me off-guard at one point though when he started talking about the importance of testimonies and led a group reading of Ephesians 2:1-9.  I work in a small Baptist church, so I’m used to these group readings going over like a lead balloon as the congregation mutter the words into their pew Bibles, but with the whole church reading off of the screens at full volume, this group reading was actually quite an impressive display.  I scribbled something about “collective effervescence” in my notes and then chided myself again for being such an intellectual snob (even though my silent chiding would be nothing compared to the verbal beating that Pastor J.D. was about to give my intellect, but I’m getting ahead of myself).  Of all the contemporary music, only one line really stuck with me: “Hallelujah, He’s alive; join the song of the ransomed bride!”  Ooo, that’s a really cool image.  I later found out that this song (called “It Is Finished”) was written by Papa himself.  When he started playing it, it elicited a few spontaneous claps and screams of enthusiasm that gave the service a sudden pneumatological flair reminiscent of a tent meeting (or maybe a boy band concert, but I prefer to remain charitable).

Announcements and Such

At this point, Omar King walked up on stage.  A young black man whose attire was a step up from Papa’s (but still casual), Omar serves as the Briar Creek campus’s “venue pastor,” an associate heading up an individual campus.  Omar seemed a little out of place in the predominantly-white church, but he gave an enthusiastic welcome and asked that we “Give Jesus a hand clap!”  A little bit of subpar stand-up ensued, but I’m willing to cut Omar some slack since this was an exciting first day at the new site.  I was amused when he made a very self-aware criticism of his trendy clothing, tipping his hat to the church planter stereotypes that pepper divinity student humor these days.  Omar reminded the congregation that “God does not dwell in temples built by human hands” and that the people are the church.  He encouraged them to “feel free and comfortable” and remember that they were there to celebrate.  Omar then launched into a prayer that caused my jaw to drop.  It began simply enough with an invocation, but then Omar started talking about the Bible . . .

“We know that all Scripture is totally true and trustworthy. It reveals the principles by which God judges us, and therefore is, and will remain to the end of the world, the true center of Christian union, and the supreme standard by which all human conduct, creeds, and religious opinions should be tried. All Scripture is a testimony to Christ . . .”

Wait a minute.  I know that litany.  I’m pretty sure that I got condemned to Hell over it one time.  It took me a second, but I soon realized that Omar was quoting directly from the Baptist Faith and Message, the statement of belief of the Southern Baptist Convention-- a document so controversial that missionaries and seminary professors and pastors have lost their jobs for refusing to sign off on it.  To an SBC refugee like myself, the repetition of such a litany borders on offensive, but for the congregation at large, it was a perfectly acceptable sentiment.  Truth be told, there’s nothing explicitly wrong with the words themselves, just how they’ve been used through Baptist history as a litmus test for orthodoxy.  I cringed a little and then set my feelings aside to watch a video that had popped up on the screens.

The video featured a Christian RA and another student at an unspecified university, and even though the school was never named, I’m pretty sure that these two weren’t actors but actual students affiliated with Summit.  My notes read, “If these guys are actors, they are GOOD.”  The RA had led the other student to Christ, and they were both explaining how there is no true fulfillment in the things of this world, citing Jeremiah 2:13, Romans 6:23, and Romans 5:8 as references.  (Incidentally, I was really impressed with just how much Scripture was worked into this service.  The staffers here speak Scripture as if it were a second language, dropping in and out of it with remarkable fluency.  My notebook is overflowing with Bible verses right now.)  I will admit that I shuddered a little as the RA described a diagram he drew with Christ as the bridge between Earth and Heaven with total nothingness in between.  That diagram has been around for ages, and it’s definitely not my tool of choice for explaining my beliefs to my atheist and agnostic friends.  The video highlighted Summit’s clear evangelistic emphasis, which is definitely not a bad thing in and of itself, but in this particular case, the mention of the diagram gave the video a kind of coercive bent that I’m sure was not intended.  Still, the RA had done something that I really liked: building a relationship with someone and genuinely caring about them instead of just shoving a tract in their Godless, heathen hands.  Following the video was a long string of announcements (mostly promoting upcoming conferences and worship opportunities), and then came the sermon.

“The Hiddenness of God”

The more I think back on this sermon and read over my notes, the more conflicted I become.  I have not met Pastor J.D. one on one, and I sincerely hope that my first impression of him was wrong since “abrasive” is the main word that comes to mind.  Pastor J.D. was dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt, and a casual-looking blazer.  His hair was gelled, and he had a fairly athletic build with a voice that was strong but had a certain rasp to it that sounded like it might have been the result of a few years of smoking (or maybe years of shouting).  Pastor J.D. kept his notes on a music stand and spoke into a headset microphone, keeping his demeanor casual but very intense.  I found his sermon style very reminiscent of Mark Driscoll in its forcefulness, and --as I’ve learned the hard way a few times-- when you have a very forceful delivery, you have to exercise extra caution in not letting personal biases slip in unnoticed.  In this case, I eventually started keeping a running tally of the times that Pastor J.D. alluded critically to college professors or religious leaders or pretty much anyone in a position of intellectual authority.  Though I only started the tally in the latter half of the sermon, I had reached 5 within about ten minutes.  Given that I run in most of these circles, I couldn’t help but feel slightly targeted by Pastor J.D., and I found it interesting that, when he gave the sermon again at 11 AM, he had toned down his rhetoric considerably.  More on that later though.

Pastor J.D.

I had no problem with the content of the sermon, just the rhetoric with which it was delivered.  The message centered around our frustration with God’s presence not being more obvious in our daily lives, and Pastor J.D. repeatedly observed that this was not a sermon you would hear in most churches.  He’s right about that, but there was a certain disdain with which he said it, and I wondered how he would react to the fact that I preached a very similar sermon on doubt about three weeks ago in my oldschool country church house.  Again, I tabled this question to be chewed upon later.  Pastor J.D. used an impressive cross-section of quotes in his sermon-- John Updike, C.S. Lewis, and some less-frequently-cited Scripture.  When he gave a humorous retelling of the story of Naaman and Elisha, he almost had me out of my chair laughing with his paraphrase of the prophet: “Hey, I’m kind of busy playing PS2 in here.  Have him talk to my intern.”  Of course, the mention of the PS2 video game system made it clear that he was targeting my exact age demographic, but the older church members were laughing too.  He also talked about hearing the story growing up in Sunday School and about the visual aids his teacher would use, and I wondered to myself how this sort of talk would go over with a “seeker sensitive” crowd.

Pastor J.D.’s ultimate message was that the human heart is naturally blinded by its own pride and will try to give weight to things other than God.  “Aha!” I thought to myself, “He’s been reading Augustine!”  Of course, when Pastor J.D. continued and talked about how you don’t do God a favor by loving Him and how God owes us nothing and how God must give us the right mind for us to accept grace, I revised that assertion, “Okay, so maybe he’s been reading John Piper too.”  Of course, I thought Pastor J.D.’s most controversial and fascinating point of the sermon was when he suggested that some Christians are so proud and haughty in their faith that they fail to understand the Gospel at all and actually cease to be true Christians.  Wow!  Aside from maybe a few soteriological issues, that’s a really convicting point that could really cause folks in that church to give their faith a second look.  I liked it.  In fact, I resisted the urge to give an enthusiastic “my my my.”

Pastor J.D. closed out all of this with words of assurance, explaining how we know that the Gospel of Luke has not been embellished over time and was written as a record, not as a fiction or mythology.  He explained how the apostles really had nothing to gain by promoting Jesus’ message (except for martyrdom and poverty) and how the idea of creating “historical fiction” wouldn’t even come around for another 1700 years.  Even though he was critical of college professors, Pastor J.D.’s argument here was remarkably colored by historical criticism, so wherever that bias originates, at least he’s done his research and really given this a lot of thought.  Summing up his sermon with the parable of Lazarus and the rich man, Pastor J.D. explained, “The Bible gives enough evidence for those whose hearts want to know God.”  He cited the promise to Jeremiah that those who seek God in earnest will find God, and then he called on everyone present to approach God with a childlike heart but still read their Bibles with their brains turned on.  Not a bad take-away message.

It was a long sermon, and I wondered how someone could really absorb it all without the use of a notebook and the writing speed of a stenographer.  Perhaps that’s why my copious note-taking went unnoticed for so long-- people were accustomed to seeing it.  I had lost track of time at this point, but the sermon had to have lasted at least 45 minutes, and with Pastor J.D.’s rapid-fire delivery, it was a very full 45 minutes.  In answering two questions (“Why do the wise miss God?” and “How can we be certain about God?”), Pastor J.D. had used somewhere around a dozen quotes, a minimum of eight scripture references (and that’s just cited references, not the general Scriptural language), and more illustrations than I could count, using a combination of Scripture and his own experiences.  It was an impressive sermon with a good message, but he openly admitted in his introduction that it would be a little convoluted, and I still wasn’t really okay with the anti-intellectual vibe he was giving off (despite his clearly being no dummy himself).  I also noticed something else: Pastor J.D.’s remarkably fast talking actually seemed to give his message more weight.  Somehow, by speaking at such a rapid pace with such hard-hitting rhetoric, he gave his words quite a bit more authority.  These were not the mere crescendos of a typical sermon; it was a constant flow of information that made his points seem incontrovertible.  It was a solid rhetorical technique, but I thought it bordered a bit on ranting.

Wrapping Up Service #1

I looked down at my watch and saw that it was around 10:15, and I was starting to worry about getting to the other campus in time.  Pastor J.D. led the church in prayer and prompted them to evangelism with the interesting take of “Don’t just talk to people about God; talk to God about people.”  In other words, instead of trying to be some diehard defender of the faith, pray for the people in your life that God would move in their hearts.  There’s a certain evangelical streak in me still that couldn’t help but smile at this idea of a sort of pacifistic evangelicalism.

Believe Project Promotional Image

I will admit that I was unimpressed with the songs that ensued.  “You are stronger.  You have saved me.  Jesus, you are Lord of all.”  There wasn’t much depth to this.  “Let your name be lifted higher” repeated ad infinitum-- not exactly the stuff of theologians.  I was also a little surprised when the hand-raising started almost as if on cue during certain choruses, and I wondered if Matt Papa had sent out a covert signal that I had somehow missed.  The crowd seemed very emotional at this point, and when we kicked into the next song (“to finally let go of my plans, these earthly kingdoms built on sand . . .”), their volume seemed to increase a hundred fold.  Ever the skeptic, my main thought was “I wonder if they just know the words to this one better.”  Omar returned to the stage and gave a quick promo for the “Believe Project” before collecting the offering.  Several plastic buckets were passed around the room while a video played featuring Dave Turner, Summit’s new college minister.  I looked over and realized that the real, in-the-flesh Dave was actually sitting across the aisle and about four seats away from me.  I wondered how it felt to watch yourself pre-recorded on screen like that.  Screen Dave proceeded to tell Real Dave about a few upcoming meetings, including an interest meeting to start a Cary/Apex campus, and Screen Dave then gave one more promo for the upcoming Easter services as Real Dave nodded in agreement.  Again, this was all a little surreal to me, and that was only aggravated by the fact that, with the exception of Omar, all of the ministers at Summit looked just a little too much like me.  Good thing I wore my Rob Bell glasses this morning-- have to stand out somehow.

Well, it was time to pack up my things and head out.  I hastily shoved my notebook into my unnecessarily-trendy messenger bag, but before I could leave my seat, I was stopped by the man sitting next to me.  A friendly middle-aged gentleman who looked just tired enough to be the parent of teenagers, he had seen my extensive note-taking and was curious.  Rats, I couldn’t blend in anymore.  I told him that I was a Duke student preparing to do a church plant sometime after finishing my degree, and when he asked where I attended church, I told him about my current job as a student intern at a small Chatham County church.  “No way!  I live right up the street from there!”  Wow, my anonymity as a researcher was completely compromised by this conversation, but we still had a nice, friendly chat.  Realizing that it was now 11:45, I parted ways with him rather abruptly, waved quickly at Eric on my way out, and leaped into my car.  I blazed up the freeway and made it to Summit’s campus on West Club Blvd. in under ten minutes.  Let us hope that this does not set a precedent of horrendous traffic violations for the remainder of the summer.

The West Club Campus

Eric had told me that the West Club campus was Summit’s “most distinct” venue and that they were far more traditional than the Brier Creek venue (even using a guitar-accompanied choir from time to time).  Honestly, the first thing that I noticed was that the parking situation was far less organized.  Parked cars lined the streets for blocks around this Summit location, and I considered myself quite fortunate to find one of the few open spaces in the church’s parking lot.  There were no attendants in reflective vests this time, so I had to ask a passerby and make sure that I wasn’t parking illegally.  I only had about five minutes to jump out of my car and run around to the front of the church.  Unlike the industrial feel of the Briar Creek campus, this Summit location meets in a traditional church building complete with Duke blue upholstered pews, stained glass windows, and elegant molding work all along the walls.  A traditional baptistery loomed above the altar with a mural of a riverside painted behind it.  The racks on the backs of the pews sported the standard teal Baptist Hymnals and brown NIV Bibles.  You cannot find a more typical 1960s-era Southern Baptist church building than this.  It probably saw the golden age of American denominationalism that is now so romanticized by those declining institutions (but that’s a subject for another post).

This campus, if possible, felt even younger than the Briar Creek crew.  Almost everyone seemed college age, and I would guess that only about 1/12 of the congregation was over 30.  An enthusiastic usher with a bright green polo shirt and a Justin Bieber haircut introduced himself as Blake, and I filled him in a bit on what I was doing there.  Blake showed me to an open seat but then quickly got caught up in a conversation with another church member.  “Hey man!  Haven’t seen you in a while!  Doing alright?”  I found Blake’s friendliness and familiarity with the other church members pleasant, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he might also wait tables since I could swear I heard him say “How many in your party?” at one point.  The band walked up to the stage, and I got a sudden surprise.  There, with trumpet in hand, was my friend Scott Rowan, another Duke div student.  Scott looked at me and my notebook with a puzzled expression, and all I could think was, “Yep, he’s probably going to ask about this on Monday.  I’m going to have a lot less explaining to do when I’m doing this whole church visit thing in other cities.”

The worship service began, and as impressed as I had been with Matt Papa, the female singer with this praise band left his performance in the dust.  There is no way that she didn’t have some classical training under her belt, and I found myself not wanting to sing along with her just so that I could allow her voice to reverberate in my head.  The rest of the band was also pretty darn talented.  Scott’s trumpet lines were smooth and melodic, and the mutes he used created a smooth jazz vibe that reminded me of the more polished contemporary megachurch services you can catch on television while eating breakfast on Sunday morning.  Hmm, breakfast.  That might have been a good idea.  My stomach gave a little lurch, and I brought my focus back to the service.  The drummer here was not quite as consistently on-tempo as Papa’s drummer had been, but then again, Papa’s drummer had been so on-tempo that I barely noticed his presence at all (which may be the highest compliment I can pay a drummer).  The music here suffered the same problem of ankle-deep lyrics, and I quickly grew bored of repeating “We will wait upon the Lord.  We will wait upon the Lord.  We will wait upon the Lord. . . .”  The worship leader here seemed slightly less comfortable on stage than Papa had been, and as he led the congregation in a reading of Psalm 130:3-6, I couldn’t help but think, “Why aren’t they having that incredibly strong-voiced female singer do his job?”  My inner cynic popped up and informed me, “It's because these are hardline conservative Southern Baptists, and she’s a woman.  They're taking 1 Timothy 2:9-15 at face value.”  Wow, I am not an objective participant-observer when it comes to Southern Baptists!  I put a stranglehold on my inner cynic and forced him back into the cupboard under the stairs as we continued to sing.  Still, I was a little disquieted later on by the realization that I didn't see one woman speak on stage during my time at either Summit campus.  I want to give them the benefit of the doubt, but that is a sore subject with a lot of Baptists (especially the Baptists around Duke).

(Addendum: Scott later informed me that the elders in the church have been debating the issue of female deacons for some time.  Pastor J.D. has even voiced support for the idea, but because they cannot come to a consensus, the issue remains tabled.  With this in mind, I decided not to push him on the no-female-speakers issue.  Perhaps it is just as sore a subject around Summit as around Duke.)

The band launched into a superb contemporary resetting of “Come Thou Fount” (which is still stuck in my head as I edit this over a day later), and this was followed up with two more contemporary praise choruses.  I noticed that, unlike the bare-bones crown of thorns motif on the screens at the Brier Creek location, the screens here featured a slowly pulsing red/yellow fog for a background that reminded me of a slowly beating heart.  The crown of thorns imagery was still present around the border of this image, but it was more soft and subtle, much like this campus itself.  I looked around and realized that I was actually a little underdressed here.  Dresses for girls and polo shirts for guys seemed to be the bare minimum here, so my hipster apparel was just a little out of place.  This campus also seemed a little more subdued (not that that’s a bad thing), and I only noticed one hand lifted throughout the first round of songs.  Still, the band was into it, and my notes read, “Bland lyrics delivered enthusiastically enough can still be moving.”  Of course, my notes also read, “Scott probably wonders what the hell I’m doing here.”  He was glancing in my direction periodically, no doubt intrigued by my constant note-taking, even during the music.  The worship leader offered up a very characteristic emerging church prayer, invoking God casually with a lot “God, we just . . .” language.  I don’t have a problem with this sort of approach to prayer, but I know Duke kids get their kicks making fun of it.  Hmm, I wonder if a little of Pastor J.D.’s scorn of academia might have rubbed off on me from the previous service.  Speaking of Pastor J.D., after another viewing of the same RA-and-student evangelism video from the Brier Creek campus, I was suddenly looking at Pastor J.D. again, this time with his face on a much larger screen that had been lowered over the stage.

“The Hiddenness of God” 2.0

Promotional Image for Pastor J.D.'s Luke Sermon Series

Honestly, this was the main reason that I decided to go to a second service this morning: this broadcast sermon thing just sounded so crazy that I had to experience it for myself.  Even though I openly admit to feeling biased against the approach on my way in, the experience of watching Pastor J.D. on a screen left me at least open to the idea of a simulcast sermon if using the multi-campus model.  I’m not sure why, but Pastor J.D. was far easier to follow this time around, and it wasn’t just because I had already heard the sermon once.  He didn’t spend quite as much time on his jokes and anecdotes, trimming a good solid ten minutes from his runtime.  He also tempered his anti-intellectual rhetoric considerably, which was probably a good move given the large number of college students present at this gathering.  Pastor J.D.’s delivery had also slowed, and he was taking more pauses.  Of course, even though this was easier to follow, it lacked some of the pizzazz that I had witnessed earlier that morning, but perhaps that was just the lack of a physical presence in the room.  It might have also had something to do with the fact that Pastor J.D. was consulting his notes more closely this time around, and as he never looked at the camera, it felt like he never really looked at me (which is always essential when driving home a point in a sermon).  Because the big screen enabled me to see Pastor J.D. up close, I was able to see just how sweaty he got as he spoke.  Between the heat of the stage lights and his layered attire, he was kind of a mess by the end, and that made me respect his dynamic presentation all the more (even if I found it a little gross).

Pastor J.D. up close

The vibe in the room was difficult to assess.  For some reason, people seemed to laugh at Pastor J.D.’s jokes a little more freely without him physically present, but the room also seemed to get heavier than the Brier Creek setting had.  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had made the wrong assumptions about the use of screens in this sermon.  Rather than making things feel too slick and too polished, seeing Pastor J.D. sweating so much and changing his pace and never making eye contact actually had the opposite effect.  This was somehow less formal, and the sermon felt more like a casual lecture than an impassioned plea this time around.  I was reminded of an acting class I took in high school in which the instructor talked about needing to act more subtly for a camera than you would for a stage, and Pastor J.D. was exemplifying that.  Of course, another variable at play here was the 11 AM service time; it could be that Pastor J.D. had somehow expended himself in the 9 AM service, and now we were getting his sloppy seconds.  Another thought occurred to me: I wasn’t completely sure that this was a live broadcast.  Could this be a recording of Pastor J.D.’s sermon that had been made the previous night?  He was wearing the same clothes, so I wasn’t sure.  Regardless, this was a pretty different sermon.  The message was the same, but the delivery and some of the stories within had changed radically.  While the last sermon felt very anti-intellectual, this one featured more critiques of religious leadership.  Pastor J.D. also devoted more time to his exploration of pride and made the observation that “pride” and “sin” both involve making “I” the center.  It felt a little cheesy, but it’s a device that sticks with you.  Overall, this version of the sermon was far less dynamic, but I also felt much more comfortable with it.  Even though he never once made eye contact, it felt as though Pastor J.D. was still talking more to me than at me this time around.

Of course, after a while, having heard a variation of this sermon once already, my mind started to drift a bit, and in my notes, I wrote, “Dude, I am so hungry.”  Pastor J.D. started launching into his defense of Luke’s historicity, and he made a few different points this time.  He explained how the transmission of the gospels was not like a game of telephone and how the original church leaders who experienced these stories were still around at the time to respond to any mistakes in the reports of Jesus’ life.  Of course, then Pastor J.D. made me particularly excited by referencing Tertullian.  It seemed that, rather than assailing my ego with this sermon, he was now almost massaging it by referring to an early church father.  I was hit with another sudden wave of hunger.  I flashed back to a few days ago when my friend Erin had kindheartedly chided my frequent skipping of breakfast: “It really is the most important meal of the day.”  Next time I try to attend two church services in one day, I will definitely require a granola bar in between, but hey, this is why I’m doing a trial run.  I know for next time.  Back in reality, Pastor J.D. was wrapping up his sermon and calling on the church to make sure their hearts were childlike.  It was 12:30.  The sermon had come to a close, and the giant screen retreated into the ceiling.

Wrapping Up Service #2

Easter Service Promotional Image

I was really surprised when the full band didn’t return to the stage.  Instead, Trevor Atwood, this campus’s church planting resident (whatever that jargon means), ascended the stage.  He was on the young side and sported a fauxhawk, but his attire was still a little more groomed for this particular setting, being slightly more formal than the staff at Brier Creek.  He was accompanied by the worship leader, who strummed chords as Trevor talked.  I have to admit that I found this musical accompaniment cheesy, but I still listened as Trevor encouraged the church to invite as many people as possible to the Easter service.  He went through a few more announcements and then called for the offering, and at this point, Trevor said something that I liked: “Don’t feel compelled to give if you’re a first time guest.”  Sweet, I was exempt from feeling guilty when I just passed the bucket.  This was a surprisingly effective gesture of welcome.  Not only was he acknowledging those of us who were there for the first time; he was freeing us of responsibility.  Sweet.  The same video with Dave Turner played as the buckets were passed, and then Trevor prepared to close the service.  He asked church members to serve at the Easter service, and my inner Baptist (which is also my outer Baptist) really liked his emphasis on the shared responsibility of church members.  Trevor gave a promo for a one-day event called “Starting Point,” which he explained as a theological Q&A for new Christians, and then he led a very outreach-focused prayer with the theme of “Pray and Pursue: Co-Workers/Contacts” (which is written here as it was printed on the screens).  The service ended with a very casual “Okay, you’re dismissed.”  It didn't strike me until a few days later that there had been no invitation hymn, and given the focus on evangelism, I can't help but find that curious.

I tossed my Bible and notebook back into my messenger bag, slung it over my shoulder, and worked my way awkwardly through the pews to the exit.  I had hoped to grab Scott along the way and explain my presence, but I didn’t see him.  At this setting, no one pulled me aside to ask about my notes or anything like that, so even though I had seen someone who I know from class, I felt considerably more anonymous at this service than I had at the Brier Creek campus.  After nearly four hours of church, I was tired and hungry and eager to get home to warmed-over Indian food, so I brushed by the First Time Guest Tent (which is apparently a standard feature at all Summit campuses) and bolted to my car.

Closing Thoughts

ServeRDU Promotional Image

As far as local community outreach, everything that I witnessed at Summit was very evangelism-centered.  Everything in the services was about spreading the gospel, and that’s great, but I couldn’t help but feel that the homeless and hungry had been overlooked completely.  In nearly four hours of worship, the only reference to homelessness was Pastor J.D.’s offhanded joke about Matt Papa’s appearance.  Only after perusing their website did I find information about Summit’s local outreach efforts with Durham Rescue Mission and Agape Corner School.  In July, Summit will hold an event called ServeRDU, a week of service at a variety of local ministries.  Given the transient nature of college life, I wondered if the large student populations at Summit would be able to participate in this event or if the summer would preclude them from it.  This got me thinking: What would it look like to mobilize Summit’s entire student population for a massive local mission effort?  How much could this one church accomplish in just a single Saturday of service?  For that matter, I wonder how many students are already doing these things on their own or through college ministries.  Someone a little more familiar with the scientific method should really come up with a way to measure this.  (I’m looking at you, Barna Group.)

I am still uncertain about the multi-site model, and I think that the best metaphor for it is a symbol that I encountered on the screens and bulletins at Summit: a crown of thorns viewed from above-- a perfect circle of interwoven bramble and brush.  For some reason, seeing the crown of thorns with no visible head in the middle really resonated with me.  Summit is a ring of campuses that are indeed interconnected, but they are also very different.  The church must operate with the faith that, at the center of that diverse circle, is the head of Christ, and, based on the friendly reception I received and the passion of the people there, I believe that.  Without Pastor J.D. present at the West Club site, I really did get the feeling that these Christians are each others’ pastors, and that is a very Baptist idea, so props to you, Summit.  At the same time, I couldn’t help but feel like Pastor J.D. had celebrity status with the congregation, and I’m not completely comfortable with that (especially given his clear anti-intellectual bias).  I understand that he’s projecting this whole Mark Driscoll angry, rebellious everyman image, but, as the proclamation was made to Peter --Parker that is, not Simon--, “With great power comes great responsibility.”  Pastor J.D. might want to exercise more restraint since his style of rhetoric has the potential to burn more bridges than it builds, and that’s the last thing God’s Kingdom needs right now.  That being said, I thought his points about having a childlike heart were spot-on, so in spite of the divisive rhetoric, he’s still got quite a bit to contribute.

Oh, and the jury’s still out for me about the whole simulcast sermon thing.  I like the principle behind it, but the execution could still use a little fine-tuning.  If nothing else, they should zoom out a bit so that Pastor J.D. is spared the embarrassment of having three other campuses see him sweating in high-def.  I’m still figuring out the exact ramifications of the simulcast and why it felt so unexpectedly informal, but I imagine I’ll get plenty more chances to investigate this over the next several months.

One down.  Like twenty more to go.  I’m looking forward to it.

(And now I know to eat breakfast first.)

Peace and Blessings,

Tom