In the last post I shared some of the doubts I had at the Acts 29 conference about our methods and loose structure. We weren’t doing things in the same way as more established churches. But then I remembered that was the whole point. I came back proud of our unique, DIY approach, and felt it was a special part of what God was doing through Vintage21. Also, a note on the line “your admin secretary wouldn’t work for another church - she’s not even getting paid.” K. had offered to help out with administrative work. The church couldn’t afford to pay her, but in early January the deacons approved her working for the church, contingent upon her raising support. I was framing it here as the scrappy start-up misfits we were.

We hoped this DIY ethos wouldn’t simply result in original songs and art shows. We wanted to be a part of the city, like Imago Dei was in Portland. They were loving Jesus and following his teachings, which led them to help those in need, the marginalized, and the misfits. I can’t remember if Tyler felt the same way I did about Imago Dei being the prototype of a church we aspired to become. Maybe he did at the time. But I’ve written previously that it was who I felt we were most like after hearing Rick McKinley at the Acts 29 Conference in 2003. This was clearly reinforced by his 2004 talk, so much so that I presented their church as what we should aspire to.1

With this idealistic goal in my mind at least, we moved into a new building at 209 Oberlin Road.2 The pictures below were taken when we toured the space, before the previous church moved out. They had spent a good bit of money renovating the building, but while it was church-ready, we had different needs and ideas.

Vintage21 needed to turn the building into a space that allowed for maximum seating with significant wall space for First Friday art exhibits and stations for taking communion. G and D.H., who played bass and was also a carpenter, spent weeks designing the new layout. D.H. was hired to do the work, and because I was on staff, there were many days I served as his bumbling assistant, learning a great deal about framing and sheetrock along the way. We continued to meet in the space for Sunday morning services during the renovation. This was a pain to clean up before each Sunday, but it allowed people to experience the progress, as opposed to having the congregation meet in an alternate location for several months and return for a big reveal. The congregation was invited to help with the project on demo day, clean-up days, and when it was time to paint.

On one such Sunday a young couple showed up to help with demo and cleaning after the service and shared that it was their first Sunday visiting Vintage21. Not only that, but he was an atheist and she had been away from the church for several years. This blew me away. They had gone home, changed, and came back to help? I took it as a sign that something special might be happening here. When you start something new, there are certain moments that become burned in your brain, markers that you just might make it, or that the ship is sinking. We were almost two years into the Vintage21 downtown version, but it still felt new and by no means guaranteed. We were not yet financially stable, still receiving support from Spanish River Church. We were a quirky downtown church of twenty-somethings forced outside of downtown and meeting next to NC State. Would the foundation we’d established early on work here? Would we become a college church? What would we look like in this new phase?

Christin and I were asking the same question as we approached our wedding. Oh, did I not mention it? We were about to get married! Talk about burying the lede. We got engaged on April 15th and both of us loved the idea of a Fall wedding. Because September is Fake Fall in North Carolina, and November is unpredictable with rain and temperature, we were planning a late October wedding. Six months wasn’t a lot of time, but we didn’t want to wait eighteen months so we got to work. Fortunately, we found a venue that had just opened in May, and since most people left a longer runway to plan their wedding, it was available in October. Planning a wedding was similar to renovating the Oberlin space. We were working within a budget to create something that reflected our personalities. It was an expression of who we were, and we wanted to invite people into that. While weddings are expensive, there’s also a scrappy, DIY element to it for most people. We relied on a lot of friends for help.

Our wedding party consisted of friends from growing up and college, while the musicians were almost exclusively from Vintage21. The music was important to both Christin and me. T.R. sang and played with M.B. and J.Mc. and they performed “Swept Away” by The Avett Brothers. Remember the Michigan musicians I wrote about early on? R.P., K.L. and A.P. played the music for the recessional. We asked them to learn and perform “Signed, Sealed, Delivered” by Stevie Wonder. These dear people learned this complex song and generously played and sang a version with only acoustic guitar, cello, and tambourine. I think we paid them, but am occasionally haunted by whether or not we did. Oh, and remember Deuce? He is the college friend I traveled to Australia with, who also drove to Nashville with me to pick up the Fender Rhodes. He’s a poet, and was kind enough to write and perform a poem.3 Tyler performed the ceremony, of course. Family and friends came up to us and commented on what a wonderful job he did. They were impressed by how personal it was, and said that it was clear he knew us well. He really did do a great job, and I was glad my family and friends got to hear this pastor I had joined up with to help lead this “different” church.

Christin and I honeymooned in Ireland, and when we got back I moved into her townhouse in Durham. Vintage21 had a new home as well. The DIY, scrappy start-up ethos was alive and well. The church had stepped up for so many weekends throughout the year, moving, painting, and cleaning. New chairs were on the way after a chair drive raised money outside of people’s tithes. Women from the church were planning an online magazine. We had home groups, community lunches, and folks had started a new social justice initiative. People were not only visiting, but becoming owners (we didn’t have members, we’ll get to that soon). Like I did at the end of 2003, I looked back on a year of so much change, both in my life and the life of Vintage21. I didn’t know what 2005 would hold, but once again, momentum was on our side.

This was a serious issue for us. We had a difficult time finding the loft, how would we find a new space within downtown that fit our needs? Several deacons led the charge and found a building for rent that had previously been occupied by a church. It had a larger gathering space, multiple kids’ rooms, and even a small, shared parking lot. There was just one problem. The building was on Oberlin Road, which is close to N.C. State University but outside of downtown proper.2 Look, I understood we had to move. We were a few months from hearing the whoosh of a wrecking ball. Even so, leaving downtown seemed like giving up. The church had made a significant shift by moving out of the Cary suburbs into downtown Raleigh. We were in an edgy part of the city and had begun to establish ourselves as part of the First Friday art walk, albeit on the outer edge. Not to mention the timing! The Raleigh News and Observer was writing an article on Vintage 21, and we were leaving? We just got here! Would we lose our connection to the people and culture of downtown? We had no other viable option, but I was concerned about the impact this move would have.

In the midst of all this I had to fly down to Boca Raton, Florida. It was one year since Tyler had been accepted as a member of Acts 29, a church planting network, and Vintage 21 had received funding from Spanish River Church. There was an upcoming Acts 29 Conference and we were expected to not only attend, but host a table at a Spanish River event where the congregation could hear from ministries who were being funded by their tithes. Kimberly’s due date was less than a month out, so Tyler obviously couldn’t go. I wasn’t about to go it alone, so I convinced G. to come along.3 We didn’t get the memo that by “host a table” they actually meant “Expo Booth” and “at a Spanish River event” they meant “at an International Ministry Fair.” The room was full of overseas missionaries with extravagant booths. They were playing videos of church services in jungle settings. Some showed baptisms in rivers with crocodiles on the far bank. We had a banner with “Vintage21” on it, business cards, and a few copies of our Psalms cds. People stopped at each booth until they saw G and me standing there like Bill and Ted. Their smile said “Bless your heart” but their eyes read “What is a Vintage21? And why does North Carolina need it?” as they kept moving on to the next table to eat, pray, love with the missionaries visiting from far-off villages.

Interest in Acts 29 had grown significantly, as evidenced by the number of pastors present at the conference. I couldn’t tell you how many were members vs. those just checking it out, but there had been around 30 pastors the first year, and around 100 this year. The pastors who were presenters told stories of their experiences and lessons they’d learned. Most of them were further along, but only by 3-5 years.4 Still, they were talking a lot about elder and deacon processes, leadership pipelines, and the importance of mission and vision. The year before, I remember feeling like those things could work at Vintage 21, but I wasn’t sure it was us. We’d doubled in size since then and now those things were dire all of a sudden. Especially with a new building and increasing responsibilities. My notes in certain parts were mainly questions.

Apparently greeting was framed as a way members could check the box on serving, and we were encouraged to help people discover and use their gifts to serve. I understand the point, but reading this now, I thank God that people were even willing to show up and welcome others. Also, “do we read books?” cracks me up. The speaker was asking whether or not the elder process involved reading books, but my note comes across as a hysterical Holly Hunter in Raising Arizona. If you want a visual portrayal of what that 2004 Acts 29 conference was like, watch this clip. Again, I’m Holly Hunter, Frances McDormand is whatever Acts 29 pastor was presenting, and the baby in question was Vintage 21. Most importantly, watch Nicolas Cage. That’s G, who I dragged along to this thing.

Hearing these pastors didn’t encourage me as much as give me a complicated to-do list when we got back to Raleigh. For the past sixteen months I had trusted my God, my pastor, my gut, my friends, and the people of Vintage21. But things were becoming more complex and the stakes seemed higher. Being there made me question whether or not what we were doing was okay, legit, working even. Here’s a journal entry from day 2.

03.22.04
last night was the first night of the Acts 29 conference. rick mckinley spoke, and i took notes in the big black book. what was amazing was geoff’s prayer. there was a time of worship when we took communion, and everyone was encouraged to do so in numbers. geoff and i were the last to go up. i have been struggling, since i arrived, to put into words properly what is happening at Vintage21. at times, hearing others speak about their churches, i have doubted our methods. and my heart. i wonder about people coming to know Jesus, and about the community we’re trying to have, and the worship. geoff’s prayer was thanking God for where and how he has brought us to Vintage21, and for the unique church He is building there.
God, that was what i needed. i can see many people who are coming who don’t know You. i see a history of your hand working, moving, providing. may i hear You - not myself, not those who criticize or those who praise.
Father, i will move in the path You’ve laid, and i pray for confidence, humility, love.

G and I returned from the Acts 29 Conference and counted it a success that we hadn’t gotten Vintage 21 kicked out. Holy Week was two weeks later, and then we were all focused on the big move. The TTA gave us two options: they would move all of our stuff themselves, or pay us $20k to cover our costs. For a church bringing in a few hundred dollars in offering every week, $20k was a windfall. Seeing as how all we had to move was a hundred chairs, a few tables, instruments, basic A/V equipment, and some kids ministry stuff, our costs would be renting a moving van and a dozen pizzas for people who stuck around to help.
We moved in late April after the service, and from my recollection it didn’t even take us an hour to load out. We didn’t have many earthly possessions in the moving van, but that had not been what made us a church. The intangibles we carried with us - the community among doubters, seekers, and followers, the messages from Tyler’s sermons, the prayers we prayed together, the new songs we wrote and sang, the cries of our hearts throughout the Psalms series, the awe over what God had done - that was what made us Vintage21. I just hope we didn’t forget anything.

Earlier that year I was talking to Seth,1 and he suggested a series on Hosea. I had heard of it, but counted it in the weird section of the Old Testament. You know, the part with all of the short books. You could make a strong argument the Old Testament as a whole is pretty weird, but this section was also unfamiliar, since I’d never heard a sermon preached from Zephaniah, Obadiah, or Malachi, names I only would have overheard as a kid by someone taking attendance for a home school.2 Seth referenced the song “Of Minor Prophets and Their Prostitute Wives” by Pedro The Lion and told me it was about God telling Hosea to marry Gomer, a prostitute, to serve as a metaphor for his relationship with Israel. God knew Gomer would go after other lovers and told Hosea to find her, pay off her debts, bring her home, and remain faithful. This was to show how God had been like a faithful husband to Israel. I loved the song and with this new backstory, brought it into the rotation of songs we sang to worship God. It’s not the easiest to sing as a congregation, but it captured God’s love in a way few songs could, being sung from the perspective of God/Hosea.

Hearing David Bazan, the driving force behind Pedro the Lion, sing the tale of Hosea in a modern song inspired us: what if we filmed a present-day telling of the story to open up the sermon each week? Seeing it play out may help bring the flannel board to life.3 G. would direct, film, and edit. D.H. was (and still is) a gifted, trained actor who attended Vintage 21 and agreed to play Hosea. He knew someone willing to play Gomer. It took a lot of work to create, but at the same time it was so easy. G., S., and I didn’t sit around every night and watch t.v. (no cable, intentionally) or play video games; if there was an idea we just went after it. There is a stage in young adulthood when you have energy and freedom, so when ideas come you create with such ease. This isn’t to say it’s your best work, that’s likely to come with more experience and opportunities. But there’s so little friction. Your job doesn’t yet weigh you down, you haven’t experienced enough failure to make you second guess yourself, and there isn’t a mixtape of criticism playing in your head. You’re beautifully naive, and believe in the possibility that you and your friends can do something original, even if only to yourselves. There’s no overthinking, you just grab whatever gear you have and get to work. The Beatles famously recorded Rubber Soul, Revolver, and even Sgt. Pepper on a 4-track, one of the best examples of doing so much with so little.4 Videos are everywhere now, but not then. Decent editing software was just making it to consumers, and the DV camcorders were only a few years old. So G. grabbed a small dv camcorder, some lights, and edited with iMovie.

The first week’s video was the beginning of Hosea and Gomer’s marriage.

The second week showed Gomer’s departure, and the anguish of Hosea. He looked for her all over the city, but returned home alone.

On the third week, we sang “Of Minor Prophets and Their Prostitute Wives” right before the sermon. But instead of a video after the song, D.H. walked up the stairs of the loft and up to the front, as Hosea. I had given him a bloated script but like the pro he is, he took what was essential and ran with it. It was framed as a month since Gomer had left him for other men, and he openly wrestled with himself over what to do. He was angry and hurt by what she’d done, and had more than enough reasons to justify walking away. But he couldn’t shake the pain she was in and his promise to her. The room was silent and still as we listened to Hosea. This went on for several minutes, and after exhausting the argument and himself, he said something like, “I’m starting over. I’m going to get her back.”

D.H. then walked down the aisle, and we could hear every creak of every footfall on those old wooden planks. Nobody turned to watch him leave. He started down the stairs behind all of us with a heavy, slow step before pausing, and said, “I’m still your husband. I’m still the one who loves you.” The change from addressing Gomer to addressing the room reminded us all that this was representing God’s love even for us. The room stayed silent as he walked out of sight down the stairs. D.H. was barely gone when R.P. came up on stage. You remember R.P., he was the musician who wrote and recorded the song for Psalms 42-43 in one take. R.P. sang “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper, no amplification, true to the melody but in his lovely, unique style of singing and fingerpicking. Scoff if you like at the thought of a Cyndi Lauper song in such a moment, but it worked. “If you’re lost, you can look and you will find me, time after time.”

Many preachers would come up after these performances and break the tension with a joke, insecure themselves or feeling like the congregation couldn’t handle the moment. Tyler came onstage and held the tension as he transitioned us right into the sermon. He let the words from Scripture be the closing of this powerful three week series. Maybe I’m hyping this service up in my memory, but even if it’s a third of what I recall, this was one of the most beautiful portrayals of God’s love for us.

Shortly into the new year, we began a ten-week series on the book of Hebrews. The author of Hebrews addresses those who were trying to make additions to the gospel being preached: angels, Jewish tradition, the Prophets, and more. Those of us who grew up in youth groups and college ministry groups had seen this same pattern, only with things like small group Bible studies, “quiet times”, and Christian paraphernalia. We thought it would be funny to create a sitcom featuring characters who were the type of people that insisted you couldn’t be a Christian without adhering to their specific additions. G’s brother M.W.5 was living in New York and is a prolific writer. He was working on screenplays, so I emailed a pitch for the show and asked if he wanted to help brainstorm or even write some. No response. Three days later, three fully finished scripts showed up in my inbox. Within a week he had written the whole season.

The sitcom was titled “The Believer Way”, and the characters Jim, Marcy, and Billy were the type of people M.W. had encountered growing up in a youth group and attending a Christian college. Kelly was their friend who was outside of the Christian bubble and either pointed out the fallacies in their practices or shocked them by doing something wild like drinking a beer. D.H. played Jim, the leader of their little group, but he was the only trained actor we had in the church. We asked a few people to fill in the other roles, and they agreed to join in. They all ended up doing an incredible job in these roles, especially E.L. as Marcy. Everyone’s reactions and delivery were perfectly in line with these ridiculous caricatures. I won’t post an episode, because these folks are no longer members of Vintage and may not want a video they were in 22 years ago to be online, but here’s part of a script. Imagine this in the style of a 90s sitcom, complete with a cheesy opening song and laugh track:

Similar to The Jesus Videos, the goal was not to make fun of God or Christianity. Jim, Marcy, and Billy sincerely desired to worship and follow God, but often ended up focusing on tradition and religion instead. And M.W. nailed it in writing the character Kelly, never implying she was or wasn’t a Christian. Like those of us at Vintage 21, she wasn’t interested in all of the add-ons, at least not to the level of priority insisted on by her friends. We showed an episode each Sunday before the sermon as a lighthearted way to set the stage for considering what it truly meant to follow Jesus.

I can hear many of you now, “Why are you bragging about the videos y’all made? What does that have to do with the church overall? When 👏🏼 are 👏🏼 you 👏🏼 going 👏🏼 to 👏🏼 get 👏🏼 us 👏🏼 out 👏🏼 of 👏🏼 this 👏🏼 loft 👏🏼 ?”

To answer the driving question behind this Substack, “How did Vintage 21 Church get here?” it’s essential to lay a foundation. In order to understand what changed, we have to know what things changed from. This post ultimately isn’t about the videos. It’s about how creativity became a part of the church’s DNA. These Hosea and Hebrews series are early examples of how we approached the service and scripture. You can find many churches where creativity is celebrated, but geared only towards attracting newcomers, or making things look nice. Those aren’t bad, but creativity can and should do so much more. It should be used to tell stories, to bring about change, to solve problems. For us in those early days, it was about helping doubters, seekers, and followers understand the good news of the gospel and God’s radical kingdom of love. This burgeoning congregation built a culture of creativity in that loft, and I hoped we were just getting started.

Our house served as the de facto office for Vintage21 since there was no space in the loft. Production and assembly came down to the wire and we stayed up all night before the Sunday service when they would be handed out. B.H. and C.H. came over around midnight to help and stayed well into the early morning hours. That was cool because we had not hung out with them much. It was an example of how community is often built around work and mission.

The Psalms were written by imperfect people, worshiping and seeking God. I thought, wait, that’s us! Why don’t we write songs based on these Psalms? We committed to writing and introducing a new song based on each week’s psalm. At this point we had gained a few more musicians, but still only had enough to create one full band, with extra vocalists. There were a few singer-songwriters in the mix, and others without experience who wanted to help write songs. Then we thought, why not record an album? I approached T.R., the guy who found Vintage21 by reading the cover story in Lather magazine. He was a touring musician and experienced engineer/producer, and was willing to take on the project. Allow me to pause and lay this out: a group of musicians who had played cover songs together for a few months were going to write ten songs based on the words of Psalms, arrange them, play them once for the congregation to worship to, then set them aside before recording a few weeks later. Oh, and I’m not a songwriter. This is unorthodox at best, disastrous at worst. It reveals our excitement and energy around this new way of doing church and approaching worship.

The series impacted the church in ways people talked about for years to come. The workbooks helped people apply the scripture to their life beyond passive listening. The new songs we sang every week felt special and unique. These were our songs! Even if they weren’t the greatest or the easiest to sing along to, we were singing a new song together in that loft. There was a buzz throughout the series that came from creativity, design, openness, ancient practices, and the Holy Spirit. It also helped that we were primarily in our twenties and had the energy and availability to engage in this manner. Also, it was an invitation to worship God in a vulnerable, raw way most of us had never experienced.

We began recording in late October. I packed up the instruments and headed to Taylor’s house. Walking in the open door, I found him standing in front of the tv, shoveling cereal and engrossed in a cooking show. I thought he was doing a bit to make me laugh. Who actually watches a cooking show?!?2

We planned to track the album, which means recording each instrument separately. The alternative is live recording and you have to be tight as a band for it to sound good. It’s also much more challenging to mic and mix. We scheduled sessions during nights and weekends to accommodate the day jobs of the musicians. The album is on Bandcamp if you’d like to hear it. I won’t go track-by-track but do want to highlight two songs. Praise Again is the most unique and interesting song on the album, if you ask me. It’s based on Psalms 42/43 and written by R.P., a talented and kind musician in town who was interested in exploring Christianity. He brought in a woman he often sang with, and they knocked it out in one take. Amazing. Be Still is my favorite song on the album, based on Psalm 46. T.L. and I wrote it, and Kimberly Jones sings on the track.3 We got stuck with this one and needed a hook. G offered to take a stab at it, so he grabbed his guitar and ebow, and knocked out the riff you hear throughout.4

There are a few songs missing from the album. The songs from Psalms 49 and 50 were too late in the recording schedule to add them in. J.C. wrote a song for Psalm 47. T.R. and I weren’t quite sure what approach to take and tried adding all sorts of different instruments before realizing we were dancing around the fact that we didn’t think the song itself was very good, so I decided to leave it off. J.C. was upset, understandably so. You have to make hard calls as a producer to create a cohesive album, and I would only have left it on to avoid hurting J.C.’s feelings. This is an issue I ran into over the course of my time at Vintage, common when you’re working with volunteers as opposed to an employee.5 Still, I wish I’d left it on there. So what if we didn’t think it was great? We weren’t The Beatles, and this wasn’t Abbey Road.

The video above is from our CD release party in early 2004, featuring the song G, S, and I wrote for Psalm 50. I really wish the recording schedule allowed for us to record it on the album. G is behind me on lead, T.L. is on keys, J.W. on drums, R.P. on backing vocals, and D.H. on bass. I don’t think this album would have come together without these generous, humble, and talented musicians. This video serves as an asterisk to all I’ve written about “volunteer musicians” - they were legit. I’m blessed to have many iterations of playing music with different people, and this video captures one of my favorite groupings. For those who came later, you may have a hard time picturing the Vintage congregation singing a song like this. But man, the church really came around this one, especially the bridge. This became somewhat of an anthem for us, until J.W. moved and we no longer had the drummer to drive it.

T.R. and I both had experience recording in a variety of studios and held high production standards. Add to that our Type A-ness6 and it was clear we were in for late nights, excessive takes, and deep dives into minutia. That’s par for the course, but this is for an album with brand new songs and recorded with volunteer musicians of varying skill levels and studio experience. There was no way we were going to reach our standards within the given constraints, but we were excited about the project and wanted to make a great album for this budding church. This awareness comes from hindsight, obviously, but my notebook shows that I was feeling the strain even before we began recording.

Oof. “Give me the strength not only to push hard but also to be still” could be a mantra for Vintage Church. I’m getting ahead of myself, but even the first year has seeds and signs of what was to grow into unhealthy patterns, blind spots, idols even.

I was clearly aware and feeling the stress of taking on these projects. I think humans tend to extend themselves beyond their limits for something they want or love. Personally, I love creating. This goes all the way back to childhood, playing pretend or making up new games, or, as I got into middle school, coming up with skits or bits to make others laugh. In high school and college it was videos, pranks, an eighties cover band, real bands, and much more. While these are collaborations, I believe many friends would agree that I’m the one who takes things too seriously and too far, often to the detriment of myself and others. I don’t think it’s wrong to find enjoyment in creating and making things, and even become passionate about such projects, but I allow myself to get caught up in it. Maybe a more accurate way to say it is, I prioritize my interests above friends and family.

I have such fond memories of the time with everyone involved and I celebrate what we made together, and how the Spirit of God worked through the people who made up Vintage 21 at that time. But looking back, there’s a shadow over it as I count the cost. My long days and late nights kept me from seeing Christin as much as we had in our early days, and as much as loving someone calls for. The demands of these projects, demands I put in place, had me postponing or cancelling plans every week in October and November. I could argue this was just a season, and did, but we hadn’t been dating that long. We didn’t have a strong foundation to our relationship, and I hadn’t discussed the project before I decided on it. I had overcommitted and stretched myself too thin, and done so for Vintage 21. I hurt Christin but couldn’t see it at the time. Or I wasn’t listening.

When recording and mixing was complete, I was in a celebratory mood because now I was freed up to spend more time with her. Whereas she was not only doubting if I actually loved her, but if we were even dating, and questioning whether she even wanted to be with me. The bliss of our first month together had been replaced by distance and strain. I’m getting ahead of myself, but even the first year has seeds and signs of what was to grow into unhealthy patterns, idols even.

The first person I saw at the reception was Tank. She4 is one of the sweetest, most sincere people I’ve ever met. Her now-husband Brennan was with her, who would have been in the Treehaüs if he wasn’t so brainy that he got into UVA. The three of us beamed smiles before crossing the room, settling in for a long catch-up.

“Tex! It’s so good to see you!5 How’s North Carolina? Oh my gosh, did you know Christin McGovern just moved down to Chapel Hill?” I exclaimed, “Really?!?” and immediately turned around and walked away like I was in a sleeper cell and Tank just said the code word. The conversation had not even begun! I was halfway across the room before remembering that while we shared many common friends, I had never actually spoken to Christin McGovern.6 She was standing with Liz and Courtney, who I knew a little bit, at least enough to awkwardly talk-shout some overly-formal salutation. Also present was some lame dude telling some lame story about something lame, clearly perturbed I came out of nowhere to steal his lame thunder.7

The rest of the night is a blur of dancing, reunions, and laughter. What is crystal clear are the moments before the bride and groom left the reception. I was dead set on being next to Christin McGovern while we waited to throw the rice. I would have shoved a Meemaw if it came down to it, because that would be my only chance to talk one-on-one with her. We shared a few laughs before sending the newlyweds off, but I was too nervous to ask for her number.

A week later, Tank and Brennan were passing through on their way back home and wanted to check out Vintage 21. I suggested that maybe, you know, Tank might see if Christin McGovern wanted to come too, if, you know, that was a thing she was into or whatever. I hadn’t heard whether or not she was coming, so I freaked out inside when Christin McGovern appeared at the top of the stairs with Tank and Brennan. The service had already begun and the only remaining seats were in the front row, five feet in front of me. The stage was only a foot tall so it felt like I was singing right at her. After the service, I made a pact with myself that I was going to ask Christin McGovern for her number before she left. Otherwise, she would head back to Durham and I would be right back where I started.

Christin McGovern gave me her number, and I was not about to play any games. The next day I called her and we talked for an hour, mainly about the Gen-X classic film “The Karate Kid.” At the end of the call I invited her to Theology on Tap, and she agreed to meet me there the next night. We had a good time and she was a big hit with everyone. If you know her at all, that’s no surprise. When we were all walking out, Tyler said something like, “Well, if you’re going to be hanging out with this guy, I guess I’ll see you later!” That tipped her off about my feelings, but I didn’t mind.

R’s birthday party was three days later, and I invited Christin McGovern. G, S, and I had hosted a birthday party for R the year before, a luau where Rock and Roll Summer played on an island we all built.8 We were hosting another backyard party, and it was even bigger due to all of our new Vintage 21 friends. I was still upstairs when S came bounding up and said “She’s here. She looks incredible.” I went down the stairs and found Christin McGovern in black Chucks, a sleeveless black t-shirt with a cool pattern on it, and her hair in spiral space buns. She could not have been any prettier, cooler, or more fun. I was running to-and-fro all night with hosting duties, and also because some of the Vintage 21 leadership team was trying to set me up with a woman from the church. I felt like Dick van Dyke in some 60s sitcom, where I was trying to get away from the advances of this woman who kept popping up around every corner, while also trying to make time with the woman I was actually crazy about, who didn’t know anyone and was actively being hit on by guys from the church. I was frazzled, and could tell I was blowing it. Hoping it wasn’t too late, I asked if she wanted to walk two blocks to Bickett Gallery where there was an art exhibit. She said yes, and we snuck out the front door. The walk there and back felt like a scene from La La Land. When it was just the two of us, away from the crowd and the drama, things were about as perfect as I could hope for. Neither of us had come outright and shared our feelings, but it seemed to me at least that this was something beyond special.

After that night we talked almost every day, our phone calls growing longer and longer. I drove to her townhouse in Durham, and she came to Raleigh where we would end up walking my dog Margot around Five Points until midnight. Mind you, This is only two weeks in. Around 11pm one night she texted to see if I would come over because she was leaving for a staff retreat in the morning and we wouldn’t be able to talk while she was away. I was moaning to G and R about not knowing if she even liked me, making excuses about being too tired. G said “You gotta go!” R said, “She’s asking you to come over at midnight! I’m pretty sure she likes you!” R was often the voice of reason to our house of dudes. I drove to Christin McGovern’s and we stayed up talking until the early hours of the morning. We had not yet expressed our feelings for one another, and I wondered if her being at this staff retreat would change her mind about me. Maybe she would decide to focus solely on her new job.

I wanted her to return home to something special in case she was questioning whether or not I took this budding relationship seriously. So I bought Gerber daisies, which she’d mentioned was her favorite flower, and planned to hang them in front of her townhouse using micro nails and wire. Thing was, I had only been to her house twice, arriving at night and identifying it by her car parked out front, so I wasn’t certain which porch was hers. I knew she had an end unit, and that it was generally in the middle of the development. I found the house and started laying everything out on the porch. As I prepared to start hammering the micro nails in, something told me to head around the back to make sure this was actually her house. Probably R’s voice of reason. I went to the back patio, cupped both hands around my eyes to peer into the sliding glass door, and saw a person moving about inside! Also, the decor and lighting was horrid. Christin McGovern would definitely not decorate her home in such a gauche manner. I ran to the front, grabbed my supplies off the porch, and sprinted down to the next end unit. This was definitely the one, but I went ahead and looked in the back door again to confirm. I hung the flowers, hoping to finish before the cops responded to reports of “a Peeping Tom posing as a daisy salesman.”

The next weekend I attended a wedding of two people who were part of Vintage 21. At the reception I told the table about Christin McGovern and Kimberly Jones jokingly asked if I was going to marry her. I responded yes, I think so. I can still remember Kimberly’s face when I said that. It was genuine surprise, but in the most supportive and excited way. That was the first moment I shared with someone that was my equivalent of jumping up and down and screaming with joy.

Two weeks later Christin McGovern and I drove to Duck, N.C. to meet my family. We didn’t do family vacations often, and I don’t remember the impetus for this one, but I called Mom and asked if I could bring someone. This was a first for me. She gasped and said “Oh, Matthew, you’re bringing someone? Should I be getting excited?” To which I replied, “Yeah, Mom, you should. I am.” The trip was perfect, my family was delighted by her. Who wouldn’t be? On the drive back, I decided I would one day propose to Christin McGovern.

Revisiting these events today, it strikes me how much Vintage 21 was a part of our story from the beginning. Our initial interactions were based around services and events. Even introducing her to my closest friends was wrapped up in it. There was never a question of what church we would join, because I worked for Vintage. We had no clue then that the first two decades of our marriage would be so intertwined with this church and the people there. Knowing now what those two decades hold, there’s so much I would do differently. But I wouldn’t change a thing about our origin story, I love it. Actually, there is one thing. At R’s party, the minute I saw her standing there in her Chucks, that sleeveless black t-shirt, and her hair in those space buns, I would have kissed her long, grabbed her hand, and headed out the door.

3

8

Tyler and I were there that morning to meet with a young woman and man who were dating and needed to talk right away, but they didn’t specify what about. I really liked these two. They were the type of couple that made you think maybe Jerry Maguire was right, maybe there is a soulmate out there who will complete you.4 They were nervous and didn’t order breakfast, so we followed their lead and just had coffee. They shared how they were in a situation and uncertain what to do next, or what God would want them to do. They didn’t feel they could tell their parents and didn’t feel like any friends could give them the advice they needed, so they came to us. I had no idea what to say. I was comfortable enough with the message of Jesus and Scripture to choose the songs we’d sing, write copy for the website and promotional materials, and lead liturgical elements. That was representing the Gospel from up front, like hosting a cookout and making sure there were enough hot dogs and hamburgers for all the hungry people who showed up. This was like prescribing medicine for a specific ailment. Run short on hot dogs, they’ll be alright. Botch a prescription and the results could be dire. We were face to face with two young adults looking at us for advice that would affect their entire lives.

Tyler did not hesitate, speaking words of understanding and grace. He asked questions that helped each of them give voice to their fears. He listened intently and assured them of God’s love and presence. He helped them walk through the different paths they felt lay before them, not pushing them in a direction but also candidly sharing what he felt. The young man and woman grew less anxious as they talked with Tyler. The weight of the decision was obviously still on them, but they seemed to have the peace that comes with clarity and unity on next steps. Tyler prayed and assured them he would be following up after the next few days of conversations. I was so grateful for Tyler in that moment and gained even more confidence in his leadership of Vintage 21. He was not only a gifted preacher. He pastored well.

Some time in early spring, Tyler floated the idea of me being ordained. My immediate response was to reject it; I was just a musician who loved Jesus and was all in with this church. Plus, how could I be an elder? Didn’t my age disqualify me, like with the presidency? Clearly I didn’t know much about what an elder actually was or did in the evangelical lane of Vintage 21. My main evangelical experience up to that point was through Young Life. This meant I knew that Jesus wanted a personal relationship with everyone, but you don’t learn much about church governance. Aside from the church in Chapel Hill I wrote about in a previous post, and intermittent Sundays at a PCA Church while at JMU, my church experience was in a mainline denomination. So while I was down with Vintage 21 and this evangelical church approach, I had a difficult time understanding why I should become an elder. Here’s how I saw elders at that time:

Elder (noun) el·​der

• Old. Elder means old.

• Elders had seen much in life, but not too much to have a dark past. I had never seen an elder who knew about these streets.

• They had a steady faith and a sensible haircut.

• They were each church’s version of the Supreme Court.

• They had committee meetings to make important decisions but we didn’t know what about.

• They were men and women but from my experience almost exclusively old, white men.

Tyler talked about how I was in a leadership role, and in the church that was pastoral ministry. Fair point. I was leading worship and had even preached a sermon.5 He also brought up some sort of tax break for ordained ministers/elders/pastors. I came to learn that is the housing allowance allowed by the I.R.S. Because I was barely meeting expenses and trying to raise financial support, it was an appealing perk. And again, my upbringing in the PC(USA) denomination left the impression that elders were not that powerful. So it didn’t seem like a huge deal in our small congregation and this weird model. I wouldn’t fit in as an elder in a traditional church, but it seemed fitting for Vintage 21. The only hesitation was that I didn’t feel like I could do what Tyler did at Big Ed’s. Would I be able to care for people who were going through difficult circumstances, and give them biblical truths and guidance? I trusted him that this was the right direction, and also I’m someone who tends to agree to things even if I can’t see all of the implications.6 So I was ordained on Sunday, May 25th, 2003. My parents came for the occasion, because that’s the type of parents they are; they show up.

Nothing really changed after my ordination. We didn’t talk a lot about elders and deacons that year, and nobody referred to us as “pastor.” The article in Lather Magazine had come out the week before, and in it the author wrote, “And who is this young, casually dressed guy with a goatee—named Tyler—addressing us from the lectern? Could I speak to an adult, please?” I loved that we threw expectations off a bit. He was just Tyler. I was just Matt.

Not long after, my sister Clare gave me a gift to commemorate the day. It was a wooden box to place my business cards in:

Something about seeing this nameplate with my name, the word “ordination”, and the date, made me consider that day in a new light. People commemorate days when things change, like graduations and weddings. This box with the ordination date was a reminder from my sister that a change had happened, and one so important that it was worth engraving.

I never ended up using business cards, and still that box sat on every desk in every office until my last day on staff, when I packed everything up and moved it all home. On that day, June 15, 2022, I could read the date on the box and tell you that, while it happened gradually, so much changed in and for me with being ordained at Vintage 21. I looked back on nineteen years of being an elder with feelings of gratitude, confusion, awe, regret, worship, and weariness. I would have missed out on all of it had I not been ordained. I wanted to share a picture of the box for this post, but couldn’t remember where it was. I searched all over my home office before it hit me. I never unpacked it.

Brief Announcement: A friend shared that she was able to listen to these posts through the Substack app, but that the AI voice sounded like “some weird Robo man! It sounds like he should be reading some dramatic windswept tale of romance and drama.” This reminded me of when I bought Harrison Scott Key’s second book, Congratulations, Who Are You Again?, on audiobook. I’d read it years before but enjoyed hearing him read his first book so much that I wanted to hear him read this one. I imagine some marketing genius thought it would be better to have a voice actor read it, and it just wasn’t the same. And so, while I’m no Key, if people are going to choose listening over reading, I’d rather you hear it in my voice. I have the gear and will give it one read-through per post. Namaste.

I came across footage from a 6:04 gathering from the first half of 2003. The drummer and bassist from the middle school days had returned to Crosspointe Church, so I asked the two guys from Rock and Roll Summer, the band I played drums in, to fill in. WW was the singer/songwriter and guitarist, but filled in on drums, and DH was the bassist. This clip is of a song by the band Bleach called “You.” It comes in at the start of the bridge and then drops out for the chorus, which is just the word “You.”

In addition to secular songs and hymns, we sang songs by Christian indie and rock bands such as Plankeye, Bleach, Switchfoot, and Pedro the Lion. They were often singing to God or about Jesus, but not in the contemporary worship genre that we found to be so poorly written. Until we began writing our own songs, these were staples. This is the verse from “You” by Bleach:

Verse
I don't think my heart can take it
Another empty day might break it
I need you more than ever before
I found out what it is I'm missing

Chorus
You

Vintage 21 was composed almost solely of people in their 20s, a time in life of new freedoms but also unexpected loneliness and longing. My mom once shared with me that my grandfather told her the early twenties was one of the hardest times in life.1 These songs not only allowed each of us to bring our needs and questions to Jesus, but also established a foundation of vulnerability. If you were at Vintage 21, your questions, fears, and doubt were welcome. Tyler made no assumptions about you having a shared belief or background, and his presentation of the good news about Jesus came with an invitation to belong rather than a demand to conform.

One muggy summer night, I found myself in the offices of the ad agency S worked for. You remember S, he did all the graphic design for Vintage 21 and was a roommate of me and G. He was working late, so I was killing time and searching Ebay for a Fender Rhodes, an electric piano primarily used by jazz, soul, and funk musicians. You may have heard it on songs by Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles, and it even shows up on The Beatles “Get Back” played by Billy Preston. It was set aside to make room for synthesizers in the eighties and largely forgotten until a resurgence in the late 90s and early 2000s by the likes of bands such as Radiohead, Air, and The Album Leaf. By 2003 it was on the radars of many indie rock musicians, and I was determined to have one at Vintage 21. The sound lent itself to our style and would also serve as a signal to any visiting musicians. The presence of a Rhodes would communicate what we were going for, even if we weren’t there yet.

Rhodes were selling for $600-$1000 in the early 2000s, and you had to be lucky enough to find one in your area, as they weigh about 150 lbs. So when I came across one going for $290 on Ebay, I leaned in. This was pick-up only in Nashville, which would reduce the number of bidders to those who were close enough to make the drive, or in my case willing to drive nine hours each way. Thing was, I didn’t have the money for this. Not only was I getting paid barely enough to cover expenses, I was still paying off debt for some purchases made during the past few years.2 So when I checked my account balance on Ebay to see if I might somehow have money, it felt desperate and useless, like Harry Potter reaching into the Sorting Hat while facing imminent death from the Basilisk. But like Harry, my futile act resulted in a miracle. In his case, it was the Sword of Gryffindor to save his life from the Basilisk. In mine, $350 to save the music of Vintage 21 from the sounds of CCM. But where on earth did that money come from?!?

In 2001, the week before my college friend Deuce3 and I flew to Australia to visit my sister Cary, I ordered a digital camera on Ebay. It didn’t arrive in time, so the day before leaving I canceled the purchase. We were there for three weeks and the first day after returning from that trip across the world, I had my first teacher workday for the upcoming school year. With such a whirlwind of events, I forgot about the digital camera refund and until that moment never had a reason to check my Ebay account balance. So while I was in debt, this seemed like found money, meant for such a Rhodes as this. The auction ended two days later and I got it for $345.

Speaking of Deuce, he was often visiting us in Raleigh and was up for a road trip to Nashville. The two of us headed there and arrived at a large suburban house in a cul-de-sac. In true Nashville fashion, three musicians/engineers/roadies lived there together and the back addition was a professional recording studio. The guy selling the Rhodes walked Deuce and me into a two-car garage containing dozens of amps and instruments. He presented the Rhodes. I smiled at it and said, “Nice.” He naturally expected me to test it out after driving all the way from Raleigh, but I don’t play keys. So I flubbed a few chords and said something awkward like, “Ha ha ha, I don’t play myself, but I’m sure someone can make this bird sing!”4 He stared blankly at me for a few seconds before stepping up to the Rhodes. He knew I was in on the sale; it’s as if he wanted me to hear the soul in this instrument so that if I took it home and let it sit, my soul would be haunted by the sounds I’d once heard. As Deuce and I were prepping to leave, he casually mentioned this Rhodes had been on tour with The Judds for many years. Again, so Nashville. Deuce and I carried it out to the car, and I could feel the seller’s hesitation, like he was Cameron handing the Ferrari keys over to the parking attendant in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I promised to take “extra special care” and Deuce and I were gone.

Why, you ask, did I just spend several paragraphs telling a story about a Fender Rhodes? What does this have to do with the goal of this Substack: to try and answer the question “How did Vintage Church get here?” Because it ultimately isn’t about the Rhodes. I was looking for the type of musicians who knew how to play one. A pianist does not know how to play a Rhodes any more than an acoustic guitarist knows how to play electric guitar. Sure, the notes and scales are the same. But it’s a different beast altogether. It takes a curious, dedicated musician, one who knows how to play in a band and make original music.

Walk into most white evangelical churches at that time and you would find a worship team playing contemporary worship songs that focused primarily on building a foundation of chords upon which people could sing. Those worship teams were most often seen as helpful volunteers, their job being to show up once or twice a month to learn new songs. They may only rehearse together a few hours before the service. This approach serves a congregation, and requires work and sacrifice, especially considering the people who serve on the worship team for a decade or more. But what if we took a different approach?

Bands don’t just show up to learn the chords and parts, they bring their own style into arrangements. They write new songs, laboring and arguing over pre-choruses and bridges, listening to one another’s parts, in effect building their own sound. They prepare ahead of time, bring ideas, and rehearse for long hours both together and alone. Our goal was a culture where musicians who played in local bands would find the same ethos at Vintage 21. I wanted musicians to use their creativity, their style, their musicianship, their heart. Musicians who grew up only playing on worship teams would find a challenge in this band culture, but I believed they would grow to love it. Because while a good worship team plays songs for people to worship along with, a good worship band creates an experience that belongs to a local church body. The Rhodes was just an instrument, but if it did in fact play a part in drawing even one of the amazing musicians who were to come, I would have driven all the way to California and back to get it.

On Friday, March 28th, we flew to Boca Raton, Florida and drove to Spanish River Church.1 Tyler had written two lists of pastors’ names and handed one to me. We were to track these pastors down, tell them about Vintage 21, and ask for money. Those who know me know I would rather take a leisurely barefoot stroll over some nice, broken glass.2 But we were here on a mission, so I kept my eyes on the prize: if we received funding, I could quit my other jobs.

Pastor David Nicholas founded Spanish River Church in Boca Raton, an extremely wealthy retirement community in Florida. They had been going for over thirty years at this point, and he was committed to planting churches both within and outside of the Presbyterian Church of America (PCA). This led him to start the Acts 29 Network. He brought on a church planter named Mark Driscoll, and it was clear at this gathering that while David Nicholas was the elder statesman who was funding and hosting, Driscoll commanded everyone’s attention. We met in a large room but there were fewer than a dozen round tables with around thirty people in attendance. It was not impressive, just some men who talked boldly of plans to “plant churches.” That was a new phrase to me, as no church I’d ever been a part of had discussed starting a new one. Also, it quickly became clear that we wouldn’t be asking for and receiving money from anyone. They described a strict vetting process to ensure the church planter was ready, able, and worthy. I wondered why we were here since we had already “planted,” and whether it was even worth joining this group. Then Rick McKinley spoke.

Rick was pastor of Imago Dei Church in Portland, Oregon, and his stories painted a picture of what I hoped Vintage21 would become. They were informal, spending their time focused on loving one another without adding a lot of bureaucracy. They kept things simple, giving energy and time to the message and way of Jesus without getting caught up in doctrinal nitpicking. I was completely sold after hearing how they were involved in the life of their city, serving and supporting artists, and welcoming people with no prerequisites of belief or faith. It was the first time I’d heard anyone describe a church like the one we were building, born of the same dreams my friends and I shared, dreams we had come by honestly without influence from manuals, strategies, or experts. Rick also brought a humble, pastoral presence in a room of Alpha pastors.

That night we all met at someone’s house and hung out by their pool. Driscoll sat down with Tyler and me and talked for fifty minutes straight. He was quick, funny, and clearly knew what he was doing when it came to church planting. It was like being in a bar band and talking to Brett Michaels. The scale, level of production, and goals were all way above anything we had ever considered. Tyler and I would occasionally dream of having 200 people in attendance, which seemed outlandish at the time for our loft-sized congregation. These people were playing on another level, and it was intoxicating.

The next morning we gathered back at Spanish River Church, and a few minutes after getting started, Mark Driscoll declared that he was pleased to announce the newest member of Acts 29: Tyler Jones, pastor of Vintage 21 in Raleigh, North Carolina! Everyone clapped, and Tyler and I sat there dumbfounded. What about the vetting process? There had been no application, no testing, no interview. Oh…wait. Really? Was Driscoll talking at us by the pool considered the interview?3 He then shared what I believe was the reason for the fast-track and their excitement: Tyler was the first person who had no prior connection to anyone in Acts 29. He had found it on the internet, showed up, and fit the bill. He was a sign of legitimacy for Acts 29 and proof of promise.

At some point in the day Tyler had a meeting with a few of the leaders to discuss what commitment to Acts 29 involved. It was only Tyler in that meeting because Acts 29 didn’t admit churches. They admitted the lead pastor. After the meeting he came back to the main room and told me Spanish River Church was going to fund us.4 I felt a wave of excitement and relief wash over me; I could quit my jobs and focus only on Vintage 21! This also felt like an affirmation. These guys wanted us to join their network! We celebrated in a subdued manner since we were around everybody, and he then shared the stipulation. It felt like he was trying to keep the excitement in his voice when he said that we would have to agree to only have male elders. I stopped celebrating. Tyler and I were both egalitarian, even though I didn’t know the terminology at the time. Tyler was initially going to co-plant with a woman before she decided not to and moved to another city instead. There were women and men on the leadership team, and I’ve heard those who were on that team say they were labeled as elders.5 We had both been involved in churches and ministries where women were primary leaders, so how could we deny them serving as elders? Why did Acts 29 insist on this?

I was intimidated by the pastors in the room; how could I defend my point of view using scripture? I had no formal training and had not encountered this issue before. I had only been in church ministry for five months and considered myself a creative director and worship leader, not a pastor. My memory is that Tyler made it seem like a small theological nuance, something Acts 29 based in certain verses in scripture and believed was essential. He implied the impact would be negligible in practice, and we talked about how this wouldn’t really change how we operated or what we actually believed. The concession seemed relatively low-cost, especially if didn’t change our actual view of women in leadership. And this was the only thing standing in the way of funding and being a part of this group of churches like us! If these men were seminary-trained, experienced pastors, who were ahead of us on this road to doing church in a new and awesome way, surely they knew more than I did about such things.

In addition, my upbringing in the PC(USA) denomination left the impression that elders were not that powerful. It was a fairly flat organizational structure from what I could tell. Also, I knew how we were operating at Vintage21, with both women and men using their gifts. Vintage 21 was planning a women’s retreat and the woman leading it was also going to preach on Sunday. Nothing needed to change, I thought. We can just check the box, and we’ll keep it quiet.

Look, all I’ve written is true. I thought all of those things. But at this point, I’m just stalling, because I don’t want to type what you know I’m going to type.

I said yes.

I didn’t pray about it or ask for the weekend to think it over. I didn’t consider the long-term or short-term implications. I didn’t seek counsel. I didn’t listen to my gut. No women were consulted.

Instead, I minimized the impact, rationalized my decision, and compromised my conviction so that we could receive funding, I could quit my other jobs, and we could join this hip new tribe. It was disingenuous; my yes was not a true commitment because I was only agreeing to the minimum letter of the law without honoring the spirit. I was a sellout. I made a decision based almost solely on what I would receive without truly considering the impact this would have on the church body. I abused my power and privilege. And that’s just about how the decision was made. Had we taken weeks to fast, pray, seek counsel, discuss with the members, study the scripture, consult theologians, listen, and make the decision as a church body, that’s one thing. But we didn’t. I was foolish, immature, and selfish.

My goal in writing each Substack post is to go back to that time and write from that perspective. I try to tell the story without revising history or attaching too much of what I know now. This post focuses on how the decision was made, but I want to acknowledge that as a result of our particular practice of complementarian theology there are many instances where the leadership undermined, ignored, silenced, and passed over women. Some of those stories will come up, but I’m certain there are more than I know.

From my perspective, the decision to adopt a complementarian view and join the Acts 29 Network altered the course of Vintage 21. The impact and trajectory that resulted from that decision has led me to consider this one of my greatest regrets in ministry and life. I now understand the theological arguments for what I learned was dubbed “complementarianism” in 1988 and have seen churches that operate just fine under this theology. While I disagree, I know and respect many humble and wise women and men who interpret scripture this way. I’ve also seen egalitarian churches that do not operate with true equality. And actually, while my view is that the New Testament does not prevent women from being pastors or preaching, there are passages in scripture that don’t allow me to claim egalitarianism. But for this story of Vintage21, which is from my perspective and recollection, I’ll describe how our practice of complementarianism and our involvement in Acts 29 caused tragic harm to so many women and men and marred, if not completely ruined, something beautiful.

The Acts 29 event in Boca Raton concluded, and Tyler and I were leaving with new relationships, enough funding to provide meager salaries, and a new tribe. Before we drove to the airport, I was talking to a few pastors, and there was a question I had been meaning to ask since arriving. Just before I spoke, something in my gut told me not to.6 I think it was embarrassment, because these guys would probably think I should know the answer. But I was dying to know, “What does the 29th chapter of Acts say that made you name the whole network after it?” Later I looked into it, only to discover there is no 29th chapter in Acts. The light bulb went on as I realized they named it Acts 29 because they wanted to be the next chapter in the New Testament story of church planting. I was so relieved to have listened to my gut and not ask that question out loud. If only I’d listened to it on the other decision.

5

To be fair, I do have a note in my notebook from one of our first few meetings that shows Tyler had a different view of the elder situation.

There was genuine sincerity behind our invitation to this community of God doubters, God seekers, and God followers. We wanted a place where people who would place themselves in the category of “God doubter” would find a home. This included those who didn’t believe in God at all, or theists who doubted that God was good or powerful, let alone loving. We also welcomed the people who were generally curious about spirituality, who would identify most with the category of “God seeker,” wanting to know what Jesus and his followers claimed.Even for the “God followers,” we wanted to communicate that a natural and understandable part of any faith journey involved doubting and seeking. No one could honestly say they were absolutely certain about all of this, and Jesus never asked that of us, so why not embrace uncertainty as a part of faith? But no matter our intent, whether or not this would “work” depended on the answer to these two questions: would people invite their friends? And if their friends showed up, would they be welcomed by the people who made up Vintage21?

Let’s start with the first question, and I can only speak for myself: would I invite my friends? I don’t mean those who were Christians, already members of a church. What about those who would identify as doubters or seekers? G, S, and I had moved in together less than a year earlier, renting a house in the Five Points neighborhood. These were originally middle-class bungalows adjacent to the wealthier Hayes Barton neighborhood. Sixty years later the character and charm, combined with the proximity to downtown, had these selling for close to a million dollars. It was rare to find a rental here, so we were stoked to find a house that worked. But we were even more stoked to find that our neighbors across the street were renters as well; three women around our age who were super-cool and kind transplants from Michigan. There had been an exodus of certain indie rockers moving from Michigan to Raleigh in the early 2000s, and one of our neighbors was a cellist who played in multiple bands, while another was dating one of the best drummers.4 We loved hanging out and through them got to know some of their friends. These people were not only incredible musicians, they were kind and chill in a way we had not previously encountered. Before North Carolina, G, W, and I had lived in Richmond (W had since moved to New York, as mentioned in an earlier post) where the musicians were closed-off and territorial. These Michigan transplants seemed genuinely interested when we told them about our bands, and said they would come see us play. And they did. These were some of the people I had in mind when thinking about what type of church Vintage21 could be. They were thoughtful and genuine people who I respected and cared about, with little to no interest in Jesus. I also thought of my co-workers at the bead store. One was from a post-Christian nation in Europe and had never set wooden shoe in a church. Another was from the South but to my knowledge had never seriously entertained Christianity. Could I invite these new friends to Vintage21? And by that I mean would our claims of being a community of God doubters, God seekers, and God followers hold up in practice? Also, if it checked all the boxes in my mind, would I invite them?

In many ways that depended on the second question: would those doubters and seeker find a welcoming group of people if they showed up? I think those of us building Vintage21 were asking that question of ourselves. We believed Tyler’s message would be something different than what they expected and genuinely wanted them to hear it. I think people also felt like the worship music and service, while different, would not immediately turn them away. But would newcomers be kindly approached by other people here? Would those of us who were Christians follow the teachings and footsteps of Jesus and welcome everyone who entered? Or would our Michigan neighbors prove to be more hospitable and gracious than the Body of Christ?

The answer could never come from Tyler, me, or anyone else up front. It ultimately wouldn’t come from the leadership team. It would come from the people of Vintage21, whether they considered themselves doubter, seeker, follower, or all three. Sure, Tyler’s encouragement and the leadership team’s example mattered, but how many times have you been greeted by someone at an event only to find out that person had a responsibility which required or encouraged them to welcome you? In a previous post, I shared my experience of visiting multiple churches only to be ignored. G, R, S, and I experienced a lot of cliques in the middle school days of Vintage21, and I’m sure others could say the same about us.

So I’ll never forget the moment I knew this was different. It was in the first few weeks after a 604. I looked across the loft space and saw G and R5 introducing themselves to new people. They are two of the most thoughtful and generous people I know but not the type to sign up to volunteer as greeters or give announcements from up front. What this showed me was that a welcoming environment isn’t about recruiting, training, and staging greeters. It was about creating a culture where people wanted to invite their friends. If G and R were stepping outside their comfort zones to greet strangers, we were on our way.6

And it was a good thing all of us had created this culture, because we were about to be on the cover of a local magazine.

Lather was a fairly new downtown Raleigh magazine that I imagined was how the Independent Weekly in Durham started out: groundbreaking, fresh, and relevant. They reviewed local bands and featured artists, writers, and small businesses. They ran fun features such as “Lather Cribs” where three sisters did write-ups on people’s houses or apartments.7 And we were in it! This was awesome!

The article was a big win in regard to the crowd we were trying to reach. Lather was a free magazine all over downtown, and I often had to go to a few places to find one because everyone was picking up a copy when a new issue dropped. While the article made us sound a bit silly, it was generally positive, even if at times the author missed our intent or messed up a few details. Over the next few Sundays, a decent number of people showed up after reading the Lather article. Tyler and I were approached after one service by TR, a friendly extrovert who shared his excitement about what we were doing. He had picked up a copy of Lather the week prior while on a date with his girlfriend C, who now stood a step back, obviously used to him talking at length to strangers. He wasn’t afraid to express his emotions and admitted he was feeling drawn to this. That could have felt off, especially to this introvert, but it didn’t. My gut told me he was sincere. Talk about a major understatement! Our lives have been intertwined since, and I can’t imagine life without this true friend and brother. You’ll be hearing more about TR and C, even if I write all the way up to today.8

We were building the plane in the air, so while there was some dreaming, most of our time was spent strategizing. Looking back now at my notes, it’s clear that from early on we were approaching this from different mindsets:

We’re sharing ideas here, and it goes Tyler, me, Tyler, me, Tyler, me.2 Tyler is coming at this with experience in an established church and vocational ministry, whereas I was coming at this with an indie rock mindset. Both are needed. If it were only me, we may be hosting an artists forum for the community and spray painting our logo all over the city, but we’re not thinking about discipleship programs or kids’ ministry. But Tyler needed people like S, G, and me. Without those people, this wouldn’t fit in with the downtown Raleigh scene. I think I mentioned this in a previous post, but from day one Tyler let us do our thing. We had a good working relationship and he didn’t stifle creativity. This must have been challenging at times because it didn’t always look or sound like church, but he had vision of a larger picture. I’ll always be grateful for the creative freedom and trust, even when things got weird. And things were about to get weird.

It was early February when Tyler pitched a series about the life of Christ to be preached on the four Sundays leading up to Easter. The majority of the congregation was made up of people in their twenties who either didn’t have a church background or who were moving away from a traditional church setting. It seemed that most weren’t sure who Jesus really was or what he was all about. They had heard stories about him, but had also seen him misrepresented by Christians presently and throughout history.

What if we shined a light on those preconceived notions? What if we portrayed Jesus as people thought he was, before sharing what scripture really said about him? I remembered a Christmas present given to me by my sister Clare several years earlier: a set of videos about the life of Jesus. By that point I was at JMU and was no doubt insufferable, coming home on break after living in the Christian bubble of Young Life leadership on a college campus. Our family had grown up going to church for the most part, but I had leveled up. Many of you reading this know what I’m talking about. So Clare gave me this VHS set of Jesus’s life, which was more thoughtful and specific than any gift I had ever given to her. Those videos traveled with me through college and several cities after, lying dormant as cicadas, until it was time to make some noise.

G, S, and I had already made five or six videos in the two and a half months since we launched (I’ll write about those in a later post) but they were all fun concepts related to advertising church events or small groups. I pitched an idea to Tyler which consisted of four videos of cheesy, stiff footage from an old film series about Jesus where I would write and voice a script that made Jesus out to be aloof, judgmental, and legalistic. These would play immediately before he gave his sermon. To his credit, he gave the green light. Not only that, but he let me record these in his tiny home office using his PC, which had a program that allowed me to record audio on top of a video while it was playing. It’s amazing these videos actually saw the light of day. This tiny office had no ventilation, I was using this tiny, tinny microphone, and the computer not only crashed repeatedly, but would erase recordings I had already saved. You may be thinking, “What? Computers don’t do that!” Well, next time you gain access to a time machine, when you’re on your way back to kill Hitler, make a stop in 2003 to a tiny attic office in Cary, NC, where an ex-middle school teacher is trying to record voices of Jesus and his disciples carrying a false idea to its logical, and hopefully funny, conclusion. You’ll see me experience recording, saving, crashing, and losing progress, over and over again. And that was just the first week.

We put the video right after announcements but before the sermon. I did not give clear instructions to the emcee on how to introduce the first Jesus video, so the intro was something like, “Next, we have a video for you about Jesus.” The video played, and no one laughed. Actually, that’s not true. I turned around to see G and S laughing in the back. They had seen the video and thought it was funny, but they were laughing at me for having played this video for the church to see.

It was immediately apparent to me why no one laughed. Think about who was there. First, people without a background in church. Do you think they feel comfortable laughing at Jesus in a church setting? Second, people who had grown up in church but no longer felt comfortable in that setting. They too weren’t about to laugh at Jesus on screen. The second week went a little better after the introduction to the videos framed it to reflect what we were going for. Creating the third video was the roughest experience yet. EK, a woman who was part of Vintage21, was there babysitting and I was trying to talk softly because I was embarrassed to have anyone hear me doing these dumb voices. Add to that their barking dog.3 The video was crashing and erasing more than the previous two weeks combined, so much so that I almost gave up. Plus, these videos weren’t really landing! Maybe this was just weird humor best kept among me and my friends. I stuck with it and felt like this one was the best representation of what I was going for. Before the third week, Tyler himself got up and said something like, “This is satire, everyone, you can laugh at it! We know Jesus isn’t like this, that’s the point we’re trying to make.” Generally if you have to tell people to laugh at something, it’s not funny on its own merit, but hearing it framed this way and being given permission turned out to be the key. The third and fourth video got great responses and, more importantly, helped set Tyler up by making people consider that maybe they were carrying preconceived notions about Jesus that weren’t accurate.

I share this story about The Jesus Videos because it became a pretty big thing online, and is relevant to the story of Vintage21 in the years to come. But more importantly, it represents the foundation of all we did: We genuinely did everything so that people would hopefully know the real Jesus. These are funny because there’s truth behind them.4 If we had shown this cheesy footage of Jesus and just did silly voices over it, that might be a little funny, but only because of how it sounded. George Saunders said, “Humor is what happens when we’re told the truth quicker and more directly than we’re used to.” Too many churches settle for gimmicks and copying what works in culture, and people outside the church see right through it.5 If Vintage21 were truly trying to engage with doubters, seekers, and followers, we needed substance and purpose behind everything we did. Even if it was spoken in weird voices.

I realize the subtitle isn’t a song lyric, so I’m already breaking protocol, but I ran into KM at a coffee shop while trying to find a song lyric that fit, and he suggested just using a line from The Jesus Videos, and offered up this one. Moving forward I may just go with any quote, song lyric or not

This was right in line with years of conversations my friends and I had held. Jesus was a badass revolutionary who changed the world with his love! Why is the church so lame? We want our friends to know Jesus, receive the love and grace he freely pours out, and be changed forever! But their experience with Christians had been judgment, cheesy culture, boring sermons, and lame music. In addition, churches became so obsessed with various doctrines that they even split over them. What if we kept Jesus and lost the lame additions? While we’re dreaming, since our generation questions everything, could we allow for that?

I had no idea that thousands of other Gen-Xers were having the same conversations and that a few dozen were starting churches with the same ethos.2 S, G, and I were just following our hearts and creating something that made sense to us. This is important because there’s a difference between joining a movement and starting something with people who have come to the same conclusions. If you’re joining a movement you’ll tend to adopt the accepted sages and sayings. Everyone operates out of the same manual. It’s the opposite if you believe you’re creating something new. You won’t feel compelled to adopt someone else’s manual; you insist on writing your own. I remember Tyler bringing up the “emerging church” and someone named Leonard Sweet. We had no idea what he was talking about.3 We referenced Pedro The Lion and International Noise Conspiracy.

But look, Tyler had vision, and he was onto something. I’ve written in previous posts that Tyler’s preaching was the draw, and his message not only drew people to Jesus but welcomed them to this approach that seemed to address all of our frustrations.4 He had a vision for what the church could be, and had the humility to allow S, G, and me to use our gifts, experience, and insight to help build it. With the move downtown, we worked to make all aspects reflect the message of his preaching. The loft was set and I was working on the service each week. Next we needed a new logo and website, stat. Tyler never claimed to be an artist or very creative and was happy to have S and G design a new one. He actually wasn’t a fan and expressed regret for paying someone to create it.

Before we could discuss a logo we needed to hone in on exactly what Vintage21 was. The postcard that was sent out a year earlier described it as “a group of people in their 20s and 30s that want God without the religion.” This is confusing for someone who is not a Christian or who doesn’t understand Tyler’s definition of religion as humanity’s attempts to reach God by their words and deeds, as opposed to Christianity being about God reaching us by his words and deeds, specifically Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection. We thought using words like “church” or “Christian” carried too much baggage for people outside of the church. We worked on this for a day or two, and one night I thought I had it - God doubters, God seekers, and God followers. Instead of categorizing people as in or out, this allowed a place for everyone. I emailed it to Tyler and he loved it. We built off of that to come up with our new tagline: “Vintage21 is a community of God seekers, God followers, and God doubters who explore the deep message of Christ.” It went through some edits over the years but that was the start.

S and G now had what they needed to create a logo. The tension with TS had lessened so she joined in. The four of us met at Rí Rá Irish Pub one Sunday night after 604 but it was closing soon, so we walked over to Jillians,5 a bar with games and a huge dance floor. Not exactly the pub atmosphere that inspired ideation. Thankfully it was pretty dead on a Sunday night at 8:30, and we found some couches in the back corner room. This was for sure where drunk people came to make out when the club was full. We were a bit grossed out but this church logo wasn’t going to design itself, so we got to work. At some point G shared a pet peeve we often discussed, about how corporate America was always telling people to “think outside the box.” We were so sick of that phrase. In true Gen X fashion, we said maybe we would instead think inside the box. We were speaking metaphorically, but it led to actually considering using boxes to represent the doubter, seeker, and follower. A few days later, S shared the final version:

[takes deep breath] Okay. So, each box represents a path, starting at the bottom. The first box represents the path of a seeker, starting from the bottom where their perspective is wide, and they are seeking for their road to lead towards truth, represented by the narrow path at the top. The middle box represents the path of a follower. They are on the narrow path of truth. The third box represents the doubter. It really should be wide at the bottom and wide at the top, because they doubt there is a narrow path of truth. But for the sake of design, this is what S came up with. A logo that requires this much explanation has issues, but we dug it and were excited. I thank God that I didn’t get a tattoo of those boxes. I was all in on this thing and definitely considered it.6

Jillians closed a few years later and we ended up renting and renovating that warehouse. By then we were filling this large room multiple times each Sunday, with a ton of staff, and it was hard to imagine how young and new we once were. Sometimes it would hit me, though. Usually if I was alone in the building, closing up shop after everyone had left. I’d walk through the back hall and remember sitting on that gross make-out couch in Jillians that night, feeling the importance of the moment. The moment we had a new tagline, a new logo, and were just getting started.

Why are you writing this?
The first post, Four Years, will explain in detail. I’m writing this to answer two questions. The first is, “How did we get here?” How did a church that started out with such good intentions and simple goals become so complicated, convoluted, and unhealthy? And because I wrapped so much of my own life in with this church, I’m also asking how I got here personally.
The second question I’m trying to answer is, “Was it all a waste of time?” The news of Tyler being caught and the third-party investigation sent to all current and former members has caused me to question this whole endeavor, weighing the bad with the good, the beauty with the sacrifice, the payoff with the pain.

Who is this for?
It’s for me. Twenty years in this organization left a lot to sift through and the processing I’ve done since leaving has been slow. The news that came out in late February first caused me to spiral, and the subsequent months put the processing into overdrive. As an internal processor, I work through things so much better by writing. I’m deeply saddened, hurt, and angry, as are many of you, which is why I’m making this public for anyone who was or is a part of Vintage/Vintage21.

When you left Vintage, did you leave the Church altogether? Do you still consider yourself a Christian?
I resigned from Vintage staff on June 15, 2022. We also left that church for several reasons, the main one being I put this church, this job, and my loyalty to Tyler above my family for far too long. And I didn’t know how to just attend a church service after twenty years of leading, building, and assessing the Sunday gathering. We tried several churches in the Raleigh area and are now members of Christ The King Presbyterian. It’s extremely complicated. The people of Vintage were our church family. Our kids grew up with these people, and when you leave a church that goes away. I’ll get into the reasons for that as we go through this story. But no, I have not stopped following Jesus. His teachings and actions didn’t screw Vintage up, we managed to do that on our own.

Is this a tell-all?
No. I’m telling the story of my experience. I will share what people said and did, but cannot know what motivated them. And I’m only sharing what adds to answering the question “How did we get here?” So if there’s a story of someone pooping their pants during the Easter Sunrise service, even though I would be dying to share that, I will only do so if it’s relevant to the story. This may or may not have happened.

How can we trust this is accurate, since it was so long ago?
Memories can certainly change over time. There is a lot I remember about certain events, conversations, and my personal feelings. There are other periods of time where I have very few memories. But I also have work notebooks and journals throughout the years. I also have files saved from those years. I’m revisiting the time period of each post and may quote them from time to time. When helpful or needed, I’ll post a screen shot.

Will you be commenting on the ongoing events, communication, or third-party investigation?
I don’t plan to at this point. My view is this: Tyler being caught is the kindness of the Lord. God is about bringing light into darkness, and I think the confession of the woman that led to Tyler being confronted is the work of the Holy Spirit. I believe Vintage Church leadership needs to follow the work God is doing, which is bringing light to darkness. That means truth, transparency, and humility. I hope the truth sees the light and that he will repent. I love Tyler, Kimberly, and their children, and do not see how healing, forgiveness, and redemption can happen if the full truth is not confessed. I’m praying Tyler will do that.

Where should I begin?
Start with the first post, Four Years, then follow in the order they’re written. I’m sharing the foundation that was built to help process how and why things and people went the direction they did.

Why are you using initials for people’s names?
While I’m telling my experience with Vintage, some may not wish to have their names. The exceptions are Tyler because he’s achieved a modicum of fame, and his wife Kimberly because she has as well through her marriage to Tyler. Also, my wife Christin because, well, just go to my Instagram and you’ll see her. It’s not difficult to figure out. Some of you who were close to the action will immediately recognize the initials. It’s not important, really, it’s more about the actions and events that helped shape the leadership and culture than the specific people who said or did them.
Update: I just wrote the post “The Story of Us” and used the names of college roommates and friends. They’re not involved in Vintage 21, that was just a story of our lives, so I used their names. Seth, come at me if you have beef.

Is there meaning behind the titles?
I played around with a few different titles, but moving forward I’m going to use song titles for the titles, and the subtitle will be a song lyric. There will be meaning behind these, and if I do it well, they’ll make sense once you read the post. If you know me, you know I’m obsessed with music. I had a music podcast for five years and also regularly make playlists. This is a difficult task at times and I want to add some creative and enjoyable elements to it.
Update: After 15 or so posts, I dropped the subtitles being song lyrics. Maybe they’ll come back, but the feeling of finishing writing and recording a post only to see I haven’t chosen a title or subtitle was a real downer, so I started making comments for the subtitles. What’s the over/under on the number of posts it takes me to stop searching up song titles?

Why all the footnotes?
The story I’m telling is my experience in an effort to answer the question “How did Vintage Church get here?” The footnotes allow me to share anecdotes, dad jokes, and weird thoughts while keeping the post focused on telling the story. I’m not trying to produce footnotes, I just make one when a thought pops into my brain to put it somewhere so I can get back to the story. I create many more than make the final draft. So if you think these are weird, you should read the ones I delete.

Again, I’ll add to this reader’s guide as relevant questions are posed or come to mind. Feel free to reach out - mattstevensnc@gmail.com

RESOURCES

These have helped me process Vintage Church, my journey, and where the Evangelical Church is today. I’ll add more as I come across them.

Mike Cosper
His works are by far the most helpful for understanding the path of Vintage Church and others like it.
The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill Church Apple Podcasts | Spotify
Land of My Sojourn
The Church in Dark Times

Books
How God Became King - N.T. Wright
Midlife and the Great Unknown - David Whyte
Consolations II - David Whyte
How To Stay Married - Harrison Scott Key. This is one of my favorite books and authors. While it’s about his marriage, his journey with the church is insightful and super helpful. Make sure to listen to the audiobook, he reads it himself. Trust me.
Shoutin’ In The Fire: An American Epistle - Dante Stewart
The Making of Biblical Womanhood - Beth Allison Barr
The Pastor: A Memoir - Eugene Peterson

Music
Andy Squyres
Jess Ray
Playlist of songs that are helping give voice to this difficult time

Substack Accounts
Chuck Degroat
Andy Squyres

I was hired to lead worship but also the creative efforts, and there’s no way to do either job alone. From day one, the creative expression, which became one of the things Vintage21 was known for, was born of collaboration, and in the first few years no one had a larger impact on design than S and G. These two have a ton of creative talent and gave so much time and heart to Vintage21. Graphic designers and artists by trade, they had ideas for the space that would fit in with art galleries, restaurants, and studios in and around downtown. We shared the same convictions and perspective on what Vintage21 could be to the people of Downtown Raleigh and were stoked about the new loft.

We were the new guys brought in by Tyler, and felt an immediate tension with the leadership team. This is understandable considering they had been calling the shots on aesthetics and environment at the middle school. TS and JB, two people from the team, were also making plans for the loft. I wish now that we had all sat down and addressed feelings and expectations while we were still in the idea phase. I’m not sure it would have gone well, but it’s hard to think how it could have gone much worse.

Tyler tasked G and S with designing the space and they began taking measurements, sketching ideas, and creating a budget. He talked to TS and JB to try and ease the tension1 and reported back that they were going to go ahead and paint the room. He also assured us that he told them it would be temporary and we would soon be painting over it. Maybe G and S were moving too slowly in Tyler’s mind, that’s certainly possible because designing a space take time. I don’t envy his position, and can imagine how it must have felt to be caught between a rock and a hard place, but it seemed a waste of time and money for them to paint this entire space if we would be painting over it a week or two later. Also, were they really okay with this plan?

G, S, and I drove to the space the week leading up to the first service. There was a small lobby, probably 18 x 10 feet, with a door on the right to a photographer’s studio and a door on the left with stairs to the Vintage21 loft. Large black curtains hung over the entrance on the left. When you walked through the curtains there was a small table with burning candles and a gothic cross. “Is this Dracula’s castle?” one of us said. TS greeted us when we got up the stairs, excited to show us their work. My heart was in my stomach. They had definitely designed this space and worked hard with the belief that it was permanent. Maybe Tyler wasn’t clear enough in telling them we were going to repaint, or perhaps they thought once we saw it we would love it. I knew this would not end well.

The walls were painted a rust orange2 and held several sconces with candles. It felt to us like a cross between a goth apartment and Central Perk, the coffee shop from “Friends.”3 I found out later this was a popular look for the Emerging Church Movement, of which I was unaware at the time. But like so many things in the Christian sphere, when it comes to art and culture the evangelical church is 5-10 years behind. There wasn’t time to repaint before the first service but we did insist the curtains and candles were removed from the entrance. I couldn’t imagine how it would feel for newcomers to walk through those curtains. We were already asking people to drive into this near-dead downtown at night and head into some unmarked warehouse for a new spiritual gathering called “Vintage21” without making them feel they were walking into the back room of an antique shop to receive a Mogwai.

We changed the space a week or two later with full support from Tyler. TS and JB were understandably upset, and I would be too. You may feel we were being snobs or overreactive. “It looks fine, why spend the money to change it, especially since TS and JB worked so hard on it.” I’m certain we were a bit snobby, but this was ultimately a matter of conviction, not preference. We hoped to invite our friends, including those who didn’t follow Jesus or were fleeing from religion altogether. The curtains and the candles communicated a liturgical leaning associated with formal, institutional churches. Which to many of our friends, were akin to Dracula’s castle.

A bit of backstory: While shopping at a thrift store in '99 I noticed a shelf of records. There on the end was a pristine copy of R.E.M.’s “Life’s Rich Pageant,” my favorite record of theirs.4 With that, a hobby was born. I also found old gospel albums with outrageous covers, and my hobby birthed another hobby. I borrowed my parents’ old turntable and for the next few years I sought albums from bands I loved and old gospel albums with hilarious covers. This was years before the vinyl revival so I ended up with way more gospel albums. I had no plan for them, but when we moved into this space I remembered a restaurant years back that had album covers on the wall. So I removed the albums and put the covers up in the bathrooms. My hope was that when people were in the one-person bathrooms, the only moment by themselves, they would smile at the album covers and think, “They don’t take themselves too seriously.”

The place ended up looking great, but the experience is an example of a leadership issue found way too often in churches. TS and JB were only in the wrong if Tyler had clearly communicated, “G, S, and Matt own the design of the space”, but they went ahead and painted anyway. Looking back it’s hard to accept that they believed their work would be replaced in less than a month. Why would they have gone to all that trouble? Or maybe the plan had been communicated clearly and they refused to accept it, in which case their disappointment is on them. It’s possible, but seems unlikely. It seems most likely they were given permission to paint but told the space would be changed at some point, and allowed to interpret that as a year or two down the road. If so, this is a case of a leader trying to please everyone all at once to keep the peace. It doesn’t work, and is the reason someone coined the phrase “clarity is kindness” in the first place.

TS and JB were hurt because the plan wasn’t made clear and all of our relationships were strained. I wish I could say this attempted appeasing of two sides by a leader never happened again at Vintage, but I can’t. Or that I haven’t been guilty of it myself.

We had so much work to do: paint and upfit the space, including demolishing an office, find chairs, acquire A/V equipment. By “we” I don’t mean Tyler and me. There was a leadership team of folks who had been on this journey for several years, starting with a small group at Crosspointe. Andi described this faithful group in the comments of the last post this way: “We did it with love, tenacity, and high hopes, but it had been an excruciating start— splitting the original two-year small group from Crosspointe and transitioning to a church plant was a soul-rending and Herculean effort.” I imagine after all the work put into building something brand new for the middle school that it was difficult to do all over again. And this time without any support from Crosspointe. But added to the existing team were others who rolled up their sleeves and helped. G, R, and S gave a great deal of time and shared their talents, as we’ll see in future posts.

We were starting from scratch in so many ways. We borrowed a small sound system and built a tiny platform for the band. Someone built a large screen and we bought a projector. I borrowed G’s guitar and held a band rehearsal and the musicians who had been playing for 6:04 showed up. They were incredibly gracious. I was the sound guy, now replacing the leader and friend they had played with for over a year. Not only that, but from the start I took a different approach. This is from a document I wrote a year or two later titled “A Vision of Worship for Vintage21”

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. for my yoke is easy and my burden is light” matthew 11:28-30

God wants our hearts, and He does not require that our hearts have all the answers, He just wants us to come to Him. If that means we come to Him with questions, then that is what He wants. Jesus said “…true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth.” Sometimes you are unsure about life and about God. Taking your questions to God may not seem like worship, but the alternative is singing something you don’t really believe, and that is not worship. Turning your heart towards God, that is worship.

I wanted people to see that God was not contained to a service or space. And to see that any beauty they experienced found its roots in our creator, and that any longing they felt pointed to a deeper longing we have to be in communion with him. We would not limit ourselves to the sanctioned worship songs of the day or only sing hymns with their antiquated language, we would explore songs that helped us express our longing and point that to God.

You may be thinking, “We get it, just get on with it.” Am I over-explaining? I’m over-explaining. But did you ever consider that I may be stalling? Hmmmm? Maybe I am not looking forward to sharing just what it was I was asking these musicians to learn and people to sing in worship to God? Alright, fine.

Here is the first song I led the congregation to sing.

I know, I know. But hear me out! Yes, we opened this new iteration of Vintage21 with a Foo Fighters song. But I framed it and explained that what we were singing was a song of searching, rooted in the longing ingrained within every one of us by our Creator, and we were reaching out to him with this anthem of hope. You don’t believe me? Just look at the lyrics:

Run and tell all of the angels
This could take all night
Think I need a devil to help me get things right

Augh! WHAT?!? Surely we didn’t sing the first verse, did we? Okay, forget that part, just keep reading!

Hook me up a new revolution
‘Cause this one is a lie
We sat around laughin’ and watched the last one die

Now, I’m looking to the sky to save me
Looking for a sign of life
Looking for something to help me burn out bright
And I’m looking for a complication
Looking ‘cause I’m tired of lyin’
Make my way back home when I learn to fly high

Twenty-four years later, I still stand by some of these lyrics. There are sentiments and statements in here that resound with truth and vulnerability, which could be reverently sung to God, and in a language that we actually speak.

I don’t recall the second, third, or fourth song we sang for that first downtown service. But I know for a fact that we closed with the hymn, “Be Thou My Vision.”2 You may chalk that up to this being covered by Pedro the Lion, the Gen X indie rock-loving evangelical’s Bob Dylan, but it also captured the searching, rooted in the longing ingrained within every one of us by our Creator, and we were reaching out to him with this anthem of hope.

Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me save that thou art.
Thou my best thought by day and by night;
Waking or sleeping, thy presence my light.

Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise;
Thou mine inheritance now and always.
Thou and thou only, first in my heart,
High King of Heaven, my treasure thou art.

I still love this hymn, but no longer sing it with quite as much confidence as I did back then. Not after all I’ve experienced in regard to life and faith and Vintage Church. Can I honestly claim the words “thou and thou only, first in my heart?” Do my words and actions back up the line “Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise?” But I guess that’s the point. It’s asking God for help, resting on his words and his actions and not my own. If that’s the case, then maybe I do sing it with more confidence today.

One last thing. When the music began, the manager of Five Star Restaurant came running up the stairs. She was incensed; the band was right above one of their dining areas. Tyler shared that we were having a church service, and she said she was going to call her dad. We were worried about the relationship with our neighbors but also laughed about her saying that for years to come. She was going to call her dad?3

The first service went well. People hung out afterwards and were genuinely excited about the new space. Many people put in a ton of work, and while there was much more to do, we were no longer an evening service of Crosspointe. We were Vintage21, Downtown Raleigh’s newest church.

I’d met with Tyler two times before the cross-country trip. The first was at the now-defunct Irish pub Rí Rá where we got to know each other and discussed the potential of Vintage21. We dreamed of a coffee shop that had room to hold a church service on Sunday evenings. Tyler encouraged me to open one and said I could take out a business loan. I even spent a weekend writing and sketching plans, but they were all about aesthetics and speaker placement instead of the actual business side. Plus, the only thing I knew about coffee was that I liked when it tasted like dessert.1 I’m pretty sure the banker would have given me a lollipop and patted me on the head.

Tyler invited G, S, and I to go wakeboarding on Jordan Lake in early September. G later shared that he had been apprehensive about this boat outing. He graduated from a Southern Baptist university and was all too familiar with a religious leader arranging a fun hang only to turn his chair around and sit backwards to show he was “one of the gang” before proselytizing.2 3 But after two hours of wakeboarding, Tyler cut the engine, opened up a cooler, and handed each of us a Newcastle. We hung out with our pastor on his boat, as friends. This was cool.

Tyler called me out of the blue on Thursday, October 16th, 2002. He asked if I could come over to his house that night. I said I had band practice, and he asked about the following nights. I told him I was headed out of town, so he asked if I could come over after band practice that night. I told him my other band was practicing after the first one, and he asked if I could come over after that. I said I could probably be there around 10:30, thinking this would be too late. He agreed and we hung up. It was vague and odd. I had never been to his house before, and at this point had only hung out with him three times outside of Vintage21 events, so there was clearly something specific he wanted to discuss. I drove to Cary after both band practices and as I was driving, something happened that I’d never experienced. I believe God spoke to me.

It was as if a thought was placed in my head. That’s the best way I can describe it. This wasn’t a random thought my brain came up with, it was a voice speaking this thought in my head:

What if he asks you to lead worship?

As soon as it happened I looked around and laughed nervously. I may have said aloud, “What the heck?” not only to the voice but to the idea. Why on earth would he ask me to lead worship? There was a full-time worship leader on staff! Tyler had never mentioned any issues with the worship leader or any desire for me to lead worship. I wasn’t even in the band! Most importantly, I was a drummer. Yes, I played guitar in bands in high school and college, and had led songs at Young Life gatherings, but Tyler didn’t know that. I can’t overstate how wild this question was. My mind raced through all of these thoughts for the remainder of the drive. 4

I arrived at the house. As soon as Tyler let me in, he told me that Crosspointe pulled funding due to the effect 9/11 had on giving, and that they had one more service before it was all finished. Which meant his salary, the associate pastor’s salary, and the worship leader’s salary would cease and they would no longer be allowed to meet at the middle school or use their equipment. He had reached out to every member and asked whether or not we should keep going. I was the last, and he told me all 36 of the members he spoke with had said Vintage21 should keep going.5 Also, the worship leader was here on a religious work visa and since funding was pulled he would have to return to Canada, and so would I lead worship? They would pay me $150 a week. I immediately felt a sense of calm, that God placing that thought in my head on the drive over was a calling. I told Tyler that he didn’t need to pay me, that I had my bead store job and was all in on this thing and there clearly wasn’t enough money. But I wanted to take the weekend to pray about it. I was going away that weekend with G and college buddies S and MB to a hunting cabin6 in Virginia. I had read Wild At Heart by John Eldredge earlier that year and it hit hard for this life stage, and we were heading to a cabin to go through the book together. Tyler agreed that taking time to pray was a good call.

I asked why he thought I could lead worship since I was a drummer, and he admitted that some of the other leaders weren’t so keen on this idea but that he felt from our conversations that I could lead. I told him it may seem like everything is falling apart but that one day he would look back on this as the best thing that could have happened. His preaching was geared towards the downtown Raleigh crowd, not the suburban Cary/Crosspointe crowd. We discussed moving Vintage21 to a space in downtown Raleigh. It was almost midnight when I headed home. I was exhausted from a long day of beads and band practice, but was buzzing with an awe and excitement I had not felt in a long time, if ever.

Theology on Tap, as they called it, piqued my interest because I had not encountered a church who embraced the pub as a third place. It’s not that I grew up in a church that railed against the evils of alcohol. My family’s denomination was the Presbyterian Church (USA) which was pretty much ambivalent towards booze. I attended a PCA church while at JMU with the occasional Sunday at a non-denominational church where the preaching wasn’t great but that had “good music.”1 By the time I was in college, my mom had switched to a somewhat charismatic church, and I have no recollection of any stance for or against drinking. Nevertheless, this deliberate gathering at a pub was intriguing.

My close friends and I gathered in a pub on Saturday afternoons or random weeknights. To be clear, this was a pub, not a bar. Bars were for spring break in Florida. Invite us to a bar at that time and we would gag at the thought of frosted tips and people doing the Macarena. But a pub? All of a sudden we’re tucked cozily into a corner booth with a bread bowl of Irish stew and a Guinness while some old feller plays a bodhrán over our conversation about the parallels between Radiohead’s first three albums and Wes Anderson’s first three films.2 But these deep dives also delved into the realms of faith and existence. When there are few distractions and you have time with friends, the talk can move beyond the news of the week. So we wondered: would a church that embraced such a setting welcome those of us who weren’t there to nod our heads at each verse, but welcome questions about our whole existence? Would this church be a place we could invite our friends to without feeling the need to lay down a blanket of caveats that essentially added up to “Jesus is the real deal, despite what you see and experience here”?

I attended Theology on Tap after our first Vintage21 service. Sorry, “6:04.” Tyler and this guy SB welcomed me to a hightop table where we talked for the next ninety minutes. They were interested in my story but we also dove into deeper theological questions. Tyler didn’t come across as a know-it-all or judgmental, but as a good dude. I’d never hung out with my pastor in a social setting that wasn’t an awkward interaction in a fellowship hall, let alone having a beer with one that was my age. Tyler wasn’t just relatable from the stage, but in person too. Maybe even someone worth following.

Not long after there was a meeting after 6:04 about becoming a member of Vintage21, held in someone’s apartment not too far from the middle school.3 It felt a bit premature to ask people to commit to membership. To be honest, I wasn’t in on the entire Vintage21 thing. The music and games were kind of lame.4 Also, we hadn’t gotten to know anyone. Admittedly, G,R,S, and I stuck together each week, but the whole room was full of small cliques so it was hard to imagine approaching any of them. We were there for Tyler’s preaching. It was unlike anything we’d heard before. The Jesus he preached about was personal and brought a radical message of love for everyone. This Jesus wasn’t concerned about our behavior as much as he cared desperately about our hearts. And the vision Tyler cast for Vintage21 was exciting and relevant to people my age who were tired of the seeker-sensitive churches that kept everything at the surface level. I mean, 9/11 had just happened. Are we really going to keep things at surface level?!? The world had changed and existential questions could no longer be ignored. I imagine the seeker-sensitive model began with good intentions and was in many ways a necessary pivot from the common cultural church practice that had lost its way, but it felt irrelevant and shallow in the present.5 I wanted friends who did not follow Jesus to hear these sermons. I wanted to be a part of building this sincere community. I believed in the vision and potential, so despite their shortcomings, I became a member of Vintage21. There were a decent number of people who decided to stick with Crosspointe, the launching church. Which meant that those of us who stayed, members or not, were in this together.

It was time to get involved. I offered to play drums but the worship leader said he would stick with the current drummer, so I signed up to run sound. Back at the board I met a guy named Jon B who was on slides. He was the epitome of a good hang: super chill, great taste in music and film, and kind to everyone.6 Throughout the spring and summer I made friends and ran sound as I finished up my second and final year of teaching. G, S, and I relocated from Durham to Raleigh. W moved to New York, which meant that Encyclopedia Rocktannica, the band pictured in a previous post and the reason I had moved to North Carolina in the first place, broke up.

Twenty-six years old, freshly unemployed from a degreed job, still torn up over an ex-girlfriend, and the band was done. I was unmoored, but excited to be in Raleigh with G and S in a great rental in the Five Points neighborhood. Because I had opted for the twelve month pay schedule, I was “employed” through July and August, which meant I’m getting paid to do whatever I want! I chose to drive cross-country with MB.

MB picked me up in Kentucky after a week there with my parents and we took a route through Tennessee, Arkansas, Texas, New Mexico, and Nevada. After brief stops at the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas, as well as the alien museum in Roswell,7 we headed to Orange County to see our college roomie, T, who had moved out there to work for Saddleback Church. G took time off work to fly out so he could make the drive back with MB and me. The thing is, G and I fell hard for California. We weren’t three days in before we began turning hypotheticals into real plans, ready to sell everything back home, buy a motorcycle, and rent a place in Cardiff by the Sea. What was stopping us?

For me, it was two things. First was a band I had joined called Rock and Roll Summer. Yes, Encyclopedia Rocktannica was done, but I believed in this new band. WW was a talented and unique songwriter who had a Jonathan Richman vibe, and DH was a monster backing vocalist and bassist. They’d had success in Athens around the same time the Elephant 6 collective, and I thought this iteration of the band just might make it, at least in the indie rock sense of “make it.” The second and stronger pull towards home was Vintage21. I told our college roommates and friends about it while in California, and the more we discussed it the more special it seemed. T shared his experience working at Saddleback Church, and the contrast highlighted what this little indie church could be like. There was something unique happening with Vintage21, and I believed God might do some really cool stuff in Raleigh as a result. California was unreal and would most likely lead to amazing experiences and opportunities, but I couldn’t shake the vision of this church and its leader. I chose Vintage21, again, and we headed home.

We left that night with mixed reviews of this 6:04, but I immediately felt that guy with the goatee had a message that mattered. I think G, R, or S felt the same that night, but only they can say. I was definitely coming back to hear more.

My previous post ended with me leaving the church altogether. And I haven’t gotten into it, but the girl I had dated broke up with me some months prior and I was nowhere near being over it, so the combination of all this made for a particularly low holiday season. Go ahead and drop the needle on “If We Make It Through December”, will ya?2

Then again, what if we make it through December? Will January bring solace and hope? January was a month to endure. This seems to be a fairly universal experience, at least in the U.S. I have many thoughts on this annual cycle relative to the westernization of Christmas, which we’ll address in one of these posts on Advent, but for this particular year I was already feeling pretty down and wasn’t looking forward to another cold, bleak January. And so, early into the new year I made the decision: not this year, Janus.3 I resolved to make this January different.

While I had left the church, I had not given up on Jesus. I still tried to read scripture daily and had fascinating discussions with friends about God and faith. I tried to talk and listen to God throughout each day. And despite January doing it’s best, I began to see God’s beauty, love, truth, and grace almost everywhere I looked. Theologians would likely attribute what I’m describing to the concept of common grace, but I would say it like this: God shattered my idea of him. He took it from the religious box I had attempted to place him in and showed me that he is immeasurably bigger than all things, even the Bible. Before you heat up the tar and round up the chickens4, hear me out. I’m not saying God was adding to or detracting from the accepted canon of scripture, only that he cannot be defined or contained by what was in the pages of any book, even one he inspired. In light of this, the established division between sacred and secular began to crumble, in particular with art. The powers-that-be who draw the lines were revealed to be little men pulling levers behind a curtain.

Which meant he was not contained within the walls and times of a church service, but could also be found in the beauty of the wild nature all around us. He was not constrained to sanctioned worship songs, but was in the music of John Coltrane and Sunny Day Real Estate and Johnny Cash. It meant the truth, beauty, and grace originating in the Trinity was echoed in R.E.M. and A Tribe Called Quest5 and Neutral Milk Hotel and Built to Spill and Catherine Wheel and The Sundays.6

Jesus also let me know that I belonged to him. My life was his. This was not for anything I’d figured out, believed, contributed, abstained from, promised, or accomplished. It had nothing to do with me in particular, but only because he is the most radical, revolutionary Love imaginable. I believe this is his desire for everyone. This changed my life, and I never wanted to forget that truth, that call, or that love. In this moment, I believe he said “You’re beloved. And nothing you’ll encounter will be greater than the adventure I have laid out for you.” I’d experienced enough to know life would try to normalize my faith, distract me, and beat me down. My fear was that I would slowly grow numb and become a 48-year old dad who has settled, given up, and turned this love into a bland, formulaic religion. So that month I branded myself, for myself. I got my first and only tattoo, a basic black cross on my arm. This was so that if I ever became that guy, I always had this reminder of that Jesus, that time, and that truth. That’s how powerful that January was, and since then I’ve never looked down at that tattoo and thought, “Bro, what did you do?!?”7

A few weeks into that month, our friend WW told us about an invitation he received in the mail. He and his wife E had visited Crosspointe Church in Cary, NC and were brave/bold/brazen/befuddled enough to fill out a connect card. They received a postcard promoting a new thing this church was launching. It was called Vintage21. He asked if we were interested in checking it out, to which I replied that I had recently given up on all things church-related. I explained that after visiting a bunch of churches before committing to one and running into multiple brick walls, I was done. Never mind that I loved me some Jesus and had a new cross tattoo, it was a hard pass from this guy.

WW: “They have this thing where they meet in a pub to talk theology.”
This Guy: “Maybe ‘done’ is a bit strong.”

I moved to North Carolina in August of 2000, primarily to play music with two of my closest friends. We’ll call them G and W to protect their anonymity.2 We rented a house in Durham, the midpoint between my middle school teaching job in Carrboro and G’s job in Raleigh. The house was built on a slope and had a basement, an uncommon amenity in the Piedmont of North Carolina but essential for band rehearsals.

I wanted to find a church, so every Sunday I opened the phone book and picked one out to visit.3 This wasn’t done alphabetically, I just chose names that didn’t seem too weird. We traveled most weekends, but that fall I visited around seven churches. Most times a greeter would say hello and hand me a bulletin, and that was the only person who spoke to me before or after the service. This was surprising, because the narrative back then was that churches were dying for young people to attend. I didn’t exactly feel unwanted, it was more that they didn’t know what to do with me. After all the visits I just needed to commit somewhere and make efforts to get involved, so I settled on a church who met in Chapel Hill. The worship leader was an ex-session guitarist who had played with some true legends, and he was entertaining if not a bit much in that role. The sermons were fine, but honestly, my favorite part was that they closed out every service with a benediction and prayer while we all held hands.4 It’s lonely in a new city at that age, and that brief human connection was nice.

Over the next year I made several attempts to get involved but was told they had enough sound techs and turned away from even auditioning for the worship band. I decided a singles small group would be the place to find community. Okay, why don’t we revisit that experience together, not only because it’s insane but also it’s pertinent to where we’re headed with this whole Vintage Church story. As I drew close to the house where the small group met there was a woman on a scooter going maybe 12 miles an hour. I was late and said something like, “Come on! Go, speed racer” before realizing my window was down and her visor was up. She pulled up to the same house and after dismounting said with such kindness, “I’m sorry, the scooter isn’t very fast.” I apologized and awkwardly said something about the environment and her being a good person and we walked inside with the acknowledgement that this night didn’t start off so well.

The singles small group was led by a woman and man who came at us with the bright eyes and energy of a Christian Traeger.5 After group introductions, during which I learned that the woman on the scooter and I were the only new people in attendance, Chipper and Chi Chi6 informed us that every week someone gives their testimony. They were going in order by last names and excitedly informed the scooter woman that it would be her turn.7 This woman, let’s call her Diana because she was Wonder Woman for even doing this, was visibly nervous but started off by sharing that she had recently moved to Durham to attend graduate school at Duke. She was earning a masters degree in city planning in order to make a difference by working to create cities that were equitable and just for all people instead of favoring those with privilege or wealth. Diana spoke of the words and ministry of Jesus and how she desired to see cities reflect his kingdom.8 She grew passionate as she spoke of her work and said, “I just get so tired of all the shit people experiencing poverty have to deal with.”

Chipper’s eyes grew wide and said, “Whoa, okay!” Diana looked over with confusion. She had been talking with her hands and they were frozen in mid-air. Chi Chi then looked around the room and said, “Well, I’m gonna need a beer with that one!”9 Chipper then laughed so loud and long, he could have been an extra in a Jordan Peele film. Diana’s hands dropped to her lap as she waited for the Ding Dong Twins to stop laughing like the freaks they appeared to be. I stared intently at Diana, trying to get her attention to silently communicate, “Don’t listen to them! These Pharisees got hung up on a ‘bad word’ and are missing that you’re on an amazing path forged by Jesus himself!” but she didn’t look my way. Dejected, she carried on in a slightly smaller voice while Chipper and Chi Chi stared intently with plastered smiles, waiting to pounce on another vile swear word before it soiled their singles small group. To counter their intensity, I nodded with approval at Diana’s every word, which in hindsight probably made me look as crazy as Chipper and Chi Chi, but I so desperately wanted her to hear that she is the most Christlike one in this room, leveraging her life to care for the poor, which is one of the most repeated commands in all of scripture.10 The gathering closed and Chipper cornered me to, I don’t know, trade smiles or something while I watched Diana slip out the door. I excused myself and rushed outside only to see the taillights of Diana’s scooter round the corner.11 I considered chasing her down but decided to let her be. Wonder Woman had endured enough for one night. I would seek her out the following Sunday to commiserate about the worst small group experience, recognize her beautiful faith and career path, and maybe even platonically hold her hand at the end of the service. Sadly, I never saw her again. I continued to attend this church but never got involved, although I made several more attempts.

In December of 2001, one year after I began attending that church, my band was playing the legendary Cat’s Cradle venue. Before you raise those eyebrows in amazement, know that this was as a part of their Sunday Showcase which was the Sunday afternoon slots where local bands were given a chance to play a short set to show what kind of crowd they would draw12 and whether or not they would be a good fit as an opening act.13 As we were about to set up, I saw the worship leader from my church! The studio dawg who knew what it was like to lay down riffs and truth in the secular world! I had talked to him once or twice over the past year, so I went up and struck up a conversation. He said his son’s band was playing and that he was coming out to support him, and I shared that I was a part of the church and with a band who was also playing. Y’all, this man did that thing where as he’s talking to you, he’s looking over your shoulder for someone, anyone else to talk to. I wasn’t seeking his approval or asking him to watch us play, I was just talking to this leader in the church, seeking to make a connection over a shared love and experience of music. His dismissal was so disheartening that before we even went onstage, I knew I was done with that church. I had tried multiple times to get involved, and was met with rejection, crazy, and now, indifference. I knew that I had and would be in situations like he was in and would be inclined to look past people, but swore to do my best not to because I didn’t want anyone to feel the way I felt in that moment.

A few days later, I decided that I wasn’t only done with that church, I was done with church, period.

1

I didn’t realize until late this afternoon that it was the four year anniversary of my last day, and was struck by the irony3 of this realization occurring as I continued to fill out the survey that was sent to all current and former members and staff to contribute to the “independent, trauma-informed assessment of the culture and practices at the Downtown Raleigh Campus.” If you’re just tuning in, click on over to the Roys Report and read up on the latest.

Now that you know what’s happened4 we can continue. I’m grateful for this survey, this third-party investigation, the desire by current leadership to want to find out where this all went wrong and, I hope, repent and rebuild. Even before the news came out5 about Tyler, an independent investigation was needed to identify the problematic systems of leadership and unhealthy culture, but that never would have happened without Big Man Off Campus. And listen, I’m culpable. While I can share many instances of a “nay” to his “aye” or standing up for what I believe was healthy and right, over those twenty years I also supported and propped up this system and this leader. Ideology is a helluva drug.

This is my first post. I didn’t wake up thinking, “It’s 2002 and we’re all blogging! Except it’s called Substack, but whatever, sign me up!” I actually set out to write this to say, “lol, isn’t it wild that on the four year anniversary since I left that I’m working on a freaking survey about the dysfunction and toxicity of this church I gave way too much of myself and my family to, and also if you haven’t yet, consider filling out the survey because this is a way to be heard, or if you experienced any beauty or realness in that place then this is a way to maybe, just maybe, see something beautiful and real again.”6 I have a lot to share7, but don’t know how much or when I’ll write on all of this. This might be it, who knows? I’m working through a lot, but the bottom line is this: I’m not interested in propping anything up anymore that can’t stand on its own. In fact, I’m here to push on the things I helped prop up, in hopes that what was false will fall. And to what remains standing and true? I’ll give a nod of appreciation and an old guy thumbs-up.