Have any two words ever done more to undo the true Christian ethos than “Church authority”?

And now that thought, which completely appeared in my head out of nowhere, has made me want to rave a little. This won’t be pretty–literally, even, insofar as right now I’m seriously late on a deadline I have for tomorrow, and I’m at my wife’s job, on a computer and network I don’t know. So … (cue Soup Nazi’s voice) No picture for you! (Except I just found one I have to use, so never mind.)

I’m not generally keen on authority. I couldn’t even join the Cub Scouts when I was a kid: One time, when I was just considering joining, the Den Daddy, or whatever that authority figure was called, said, “Okay, boys! Line up! Let’s go! Single file!” I didn’t much care for his tone–but I’d lined up before. I got it. And I did like the Boy Scout uniform: I thought those thick blue shirts were pretty cool. So, okay. I lined up.

But apparently our line-up wasn’t tight enough for our DD. “Come on, guys! You can do better than that! Everybody! Stare at the back of the neck of the boy in front of you.”

So I quit. Screw that. I didn’t want to stare at the hairy mole on the back of the neck of the kid standing in front of me—and I didn’t want to have to suddenly be self-conscious about what the back of my neck looked like. I knew I never washed back there. For all I knew, I had mold growing back there.

“What happened?” said my mom. “Why’d you quit?”

“Because I’m too young to join the military,” I said. “They’re Nazis.” My mom laughed. “Fair enough,” she said.

I sure did love my mom sometimes.

Anyway, I’m not so good with following. And by “not so good,” I mean spectacularly bad. I’m … congenitally predisposed toward independence. I’m actually sort of feral about remaining independent.

Which does not mean I don’t like people. I do. A lot! I love people! I stalk seven or eight of them, on a regular basis.

Anyway, about church authority.

I have zero interest in it. None. Zero. Zilich. I do. Not. Care. What. Anybody. Else. Thinks. About. What. I. Should. Think. About. God.

I’m interested in what other people think about God. I know I can be deeply enriched by learning about what other people think about God. I’m … well, I was going to say I’m very interested in what, historically, others have thought about God, except the more I learn about that (and I’ve been studying the history of religion for very long time now), the more the history of the Christian church seems to me like a history of stupid. But I’m good for all of that. I’m in for, hand in hand with others, exploring religion, spirituality, philosophy, and Christianity.

Good times!

But tell me what I should think? Tell me what God really meant? Tell me how I’m supposed to interpret the Bible? Tell me what church authority has always said about this thing, or the other?

Then you might as well tell me to stare at the neck of the guy in front of me.

What is the Holy Spirit for, if not to let us know all that we need to of God? What was the whole point of the Protestant Reformation, if not to definitively assert that everyone can quit listening to church authority, and just start being with God? Why in the world am I supposed to think that someone who has a seminary degree, or someone who graduated from Yale Divinity, or someone who (of all things) wrote a bestselling Christian book, knows more about, or has more direct access to, God, than I do? Who cares about that stuff? Getting a seminary degree is a career choice, not a special ordination from God. Going to Yale Divinity means that you could afford to go to Yale Divinity (and are unlikely to ever have a real job.)  Having a bestselling Christian book means that pastors bought your book in bulk to use in their church’s adult education classes—which means the book was really, really safe, and encouraged people to give. Is there any way that book is not supposed to be excruciatingly boring?

Some guy with great hair and a magnetic personality heads a mega-church, and I’m supposed to think he’s got some kind of direct Bat-line to God?

Homey don’ think so.

Okay. Back to work for me. Thanks for letting me rave at you, friends.

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No worries, but it’s encouraging to me when anyone joins my Facebook fan page.

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