The New York Times, no less, has a feature on Seattle megachurch pastor Mark Driscoll. He cusses, he preaches about sex, he is alternative, he uses hard rock music in worship; and yet he lambastes seeker-sensitive services and has been described as “seeker insensitive.” For all his modern pop culture styling, he waters down nothing. He is, in fact, a thorough-going Calvinist who has made Calvinism cool.
Mark Driscoll is American evangelicalism’s bête noire. In little more than a decade, his ministry has grown from a living-room Bible study to a megachurch that draws about 7,600 visitors to seven campuses around Seattle each Sunday, and his books, blogs and podcasts have made him one of the most admired — and reviled — figures among evangelicals nationwide. Conservatives call Driscoll “the cussing pastor” and wish that he’d trade in his fashionably distressed jeans and taste for indie rock for a suit and tie and placid choral arrangements. Liberals wince at his hellfire theology and insistence that women submit to their husbands. But what is new about Driscoll is that he has resurrected a particular strain of fire and brimstone, one that most Americans assume died out with the Puritans: Calvinism, a theology that makes Pat Robertson seem warm and fuzzy.
At a time when the once-vaunted unity of the religious right has eroded and the mainstream media is proclaiming an “evangelical crackup,” Driscoll represents a movement to revamp the style and substance of evangelicalism. With his taste for vintage baseball caps and omnipresence on Facebook and iTunes, Driscoll, who is 38, is on the cutting edge of American pop culture. Yet his message seems radically unfashionable, even un-American: you are not captain of your soul or master of your fate but a depraved worm whose hard work and good deeds will get you nowhere, because God marked you for heaven or condemned you to hell before the beginning of time. Yet a significant number of young people in Seattle — and nationwide — say this is exactly what they want to hear. Calvinism has somehow become cool, and just as startling, this generally bookish creed has fused with a macho ethos. At Mars Hill, members say their favorite movie isn’t “Amazing Grace” or “The Chronicles of Narnia” — it’s “Fight Club.”
So what do you think about this? Isn’t this still just church growth methodology under another name? Macho and harsh rather than touchy-feely, but isn’t it still culturally-conforming?
On the other hand, maybe you can do this with Calvinism. We Lutherans have a theology of worship that should theoretically keep us from such innovations (though that doesn’t stop some of us). And we have a theology that mitigates the fire and brimstone with, as has been said, the Theology of the Cross. But does Rev. Driscoll’s show that a confessional theology can, in fact, be cool? And should a confessional theology aspire to coolness?
I’m curious too, so let me ask you Reformed readers whether Rev. Driscoll’s tone, approach, and worship style are acceptable or controversial in PCA and other confessionally Reformed circles. If any of you are familiar with Rev. Driscoll’s ministry, please report.
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