How Not to Be Yourself

Or, at least, not too much

Whenever someone asks me how long I’ve been at my church, Seacoast, my answer (31 years) usually surprises them. That’s a long time to belong anywhere, I suppose, but people are surprised, in part, because I work there. Or, rather, they are surprised that I still work there, even though I’ve been around for three decades. As more than one person has remarked, “Wow, so you really know how the sausage gets made.”

More than the longevity alone, what makes it especially unusual is that if I were to start my own church, I would do pretty much everything differently. I don’t mean that Seacoast isn’t run well, or that there are secrets behind the curtain. Quite the opposite in both cases. Rather, I simply mean that as a person, I’m not the best fit for a church like Seacoast, and vice versa.

Worship services at our Mount Pleasant campus are big and loud with a full band (honestly it’s like two full bands), lights, and a giant LED wall for lyrics and video. When I started attending, the edgiest thing about our worship then was that we had a saxophonist. Personally, I miss the days when you could actually hear the voice of the person singing next to you. I like slower and softer music, I prefer lyrics that make you think rather than feel. When it comes to teaching, I’d much rather spend several months slowly going through a book of the Bible instead of a topical series with catchy art.

In short, I could probably find another church where I would be happier worshipping and perhaps where I would “get more” out of it. So, why am I in year 32 of my time at Seacoast, with no plans to leave?

About 24 years ago I was at Liberty University and struggling with being a Christian who didn’t much care for the Church. Everything (and everyone) seemed so inauthentic and unserious. I was angry, I was Reformed, and I was ready to fix everything if someone would just let me. During those years, I had two really important realizations.

The first took place in class. Specifically, Inductive Bible Study with Dr. Donald Fowler. That class had a reputation, justly earned, of being a ton of work. I loved it. I took every class with Dr. Fowler I could. Anyway, one day I was sitting in class listening to him teach and it occurred to me: The teaching I was receiving in those Bible classes was probably better than anything I would ever receive in any church, as long as I lived.

That isn’t to say there aren’t fantastic preachers who I love listening to - there are. I simply realized in that moment that the sort of Bible teaching I loved best took place inside of a classroom, not a church service. I knew I was going to have to make my peace with that, or I would float from church to church later in life.

The second moment happened at Seacoast, during a break from school. I was in service, feeling all angry (and Reformed. Don’t forget that part). But as I listened to our founding pastor, Greg Surratt, I thought to myself, “Well, I do like him I guess.” I thought about the other people who led the church, all of whom I knew personally. I liked them too. More importantly, I trusted them, because I knew their hearts. Then I thought to myself, “Maybe I’m the problem.” And I felt God sort of say, “Now THAT'S an interesting thought.”

I had extremely strong points of view about things that mattered to me but not the experience or maturity to know what to do with them. Meanwhile, there were these people who were doing it wrong (or so I felt at the time) but who I trusted nonetheless. As I considered the impact Seacoast had on the people who attended and on the surrounding community, it was obvious to me that God was using them.

Seacoast Church’s Mount Pleasant worship center

So I stayed, with a slightly softer heart. Over the next few years, I understood something: Seacoast was a really, really good place for me to be. I loved it, even though it was almost completely different from what I wanted. My church keeps me from being too much myself. The problem with college Jack (and some other versions, too) is that he had become too much himself. He was pure, undiluted Jack. And that was not a good thing.

Our culture prizes self-realization as the highest possible good and our churches tend to agree, though we say it differently. We call it “becoming who God created you to be” and that isn’t wrong, in itself. But what Christians sometimes forget is that, because we are fallen and sinful, becoming who we were created to be isn’t so easy. There are parts of ourselves that we really like, but that aren’t necessarily good. Or, put another way, there are parts of who we are that need to be disciplined and not allowed to run wild. Being a part of a church like Seacoast is very helpful for me, because it helps me see those parts of myself that need restraint.

In the same way, though, when I exercise those parts of myself in a healthy way, I can actually be a helpful corrective for Seacoast, too. I leapt at the chance to help put together our quiet, somber, contemplative Good Friday service a few years ago, and I’ve been enormously pleased at how many people say it’s one of their favorite things we do. It is about as different from a normal Seacoast service as can be but for precisely that reason it is incredibly impactful.

We’ve all had friends that we realized were a bad influence on us, who encouraged us to become too much ourselves. If we’re wise, we remove them from our lives and instead find friends who make us better. When it comes to choosing a church, however, we far too often look for something we like, where we can feel comfortable. But our churches should also help us learn to discipline those parts of ourselves that need it, and help us grow in the areas where we are weak, even if they are things we really like about ourselves.

What about you? How does your church challenge you? Where does it help you grow? Where does it help trim away the parts of you that are “too much you?”