From The Desk of David

Violin Music wafted through the air like a thick fog. The melodic notes hung around and whispered into the ears of the patrons. The room was lit by candlelight and thick, overpriced white tablecloths draped every table in the room. The patrons were dressed in the finest of tuxedos and designer dresses. Waiters balancing trays of expensive food and drinks were dressed in identical white dress shirts, black pants, and matching bowties. White gloves served as a barrier between their hands and the food in which they were serving. It was an elegant evening. The atmosphere smelled both expensive and romantic. The patrons whispered in unison, creating a chorus of inaudible words. However, what sounded like a thunderclap would interrupt the room. One of the waiters had fallen. In front of him was a mixture of broken white glass plates, spilled food, and a mixture of various liquids. The chef stormed out of the kitchen, yelling at the top of his lungs, cursing at the young man and blaming him for the mess that lay before him. He railed on about how all of the food was perfectly plated and now none of it could be used because it had dared touch the floor. He would go on to explain that it wasn’t just the food he ruined but rather it was a masterpiece that would now be lost. In a final act of anger, the chef banned him from the restaurant, dragged him out by his collar, and shoved him out the door. As the doors closed, the chef would turn around, the angered man had gone and now a pleasant, apologetic host now embodied the chef. He would offer an apology for the disruption. And everyone turned back to their meals and the violinists began to play again as if nothing had happened.

A link to an online post would appear on the screen and something would draw me to click it. After the page has loaded, I began to read the words of a hurt person. In his pain and brokenness, he would go on about how he let the whole world down and he must do better, but not for the sake of being better, but rather for the sake of others. This was just the latest example of a term social psychologists had coined, “cancel culture.” In short, this social phenomenon would occur when the wrongdoings of an individual were unearthed and they would face a chorus of critics who would demand with a thirst for justice that the individual who committed the wrongdoing would never be listened to, heard from, given an opportunity to rectify their mistake, and the list goes on. Cancel culture demands that the consequences for one’s mistakes far outweigh the wrongdoing committed. And I for one, am over it. It puts unrealistic expectations on everyone, leaders especially, to keep up appearances. It demands that all members of humanity put on a mask and portray themselves as, “perfect.” And if members of society dare not participate in this, they’ll be alive by the very mob that demanded it in the first place.

I wonder where we learned this idea of annihilating those who fall short of perfection. Perhaps, society has warped it’s longing for justice and equality into this annihilation – driven culture. I’m not sure. But I will say this, the church should be different. The church sees, “cancel culture,” all of the time. Mega church pastors and leaders falling short of the expectations, cracking under the pressure, and inevitably being run out of the house in which they built. Why, oh, why, do we do this? We are falling for the same line that Adam and Eve fell for the garden, we want to be like God. And so instead of leaving justice and rectification of wrongdoings up to Him, we’ve been into the fruit and believed that rectification is up to us. Us, as members of humanity have bought into the lie that we, as broken and flawed humans, have the potential and ability to serve out perfect and just justice for all wrongdoings. If this is true, then why do we even need the gospel? If we, have the ability to be our own gods, then why do we even do any of this church stuff? I’m over it. I’m calling its bluff. “Cancel Culture,” isn’t a part of holiness, it’s bullying with a Bible. And if we are not careful, it will all blow up in our faces.

I felt the sting and pressure of this, “cancel culture.” Leading in a small group of guys or speaking up from the stage, it always plays in the back of my mind that I must be careful what I say, what I do, how I dress, how I speak, and the list seems to go on and on. And if I am not careful, I too, will be deemed unqualified and unfit to lead ever again. We’ve given temporary mistakes lifelong power. A blank page should not be the only place that I feel comfortable to share my true feelings and heart for fear that if I dare let anyone in to close, especially those who have authority, all I’ve accomplished may come tumbling down. Now, I understand that actions have consequences. I understand that mistakes may cost something. However, one mistake shouldn’t impact the authority I have in people’s lives. One mistake shouldn’t get me, “canceled.”

This is something I’ve been working through lately. Trying to find the balance of spinning plates and letting them fall so that I may rest. Trying to let out my emotions without being judged for having them in the first place. What would it look like if a group of people decided that they would love one another so deeply that no mistake whatever fracture the friendship? I know I’ve come close to experiencing this, but I’m not quite sure I found it yet. 

The reason that all the patrons were able to turn back to their meals was because they felt justice had been served. The chef throwing the waiter out was payment for ruining their meal in the first place. But did they care about the young man who may not be able to make rent because of one mistake? Did they care felt embarrassed and hurt? What would we do in that situation? I know I’d like to think that I’d be concerned for the brokenhearted waiter, but some days, quite honestly, I wouldn’t give it a thought. I would’ve gone back to the meal, basking in the thick sound of the violin, and waited until the next time the meal was interrupted.

For His Glory,

David