The greatest need in the church today is for individual Christians to recover the wonder of the gospel. I don’t think I’m exaggerating or “speaking ministerially” when I write that, because without wonder, without an appropriate appreciation of the good news of Jesus Christ, we Christians are “running on empty.”

Without wonder, our worship sags into boredom, our ministries deteriorate into obligation, and our witness becomes forced and futile. Without wonder, we go through the motions—gritting our teeth and heading to the church committee meeting, filing into the worship service because it’s a lifelong custom, and mumbling our perfunctory prayers at the dinner table. But there’s no joy in any of those activities, and anyone watching us closely would not find our faith contagious. Wonder is the fuel that keeps Christians going, and without it, church is drab and faith is heavy.

Robert Capon wrote that we Christians are fighting a war between dullness and astonishment.¹ My sense is that dullness is winning. In the coming pages, I want to give astonishment a fighting chance. I hope to say a few things that make the good news good again and help us recapture the wonder of it all.

My notion that wonder is the church’s greatest need may or may not be true. I know that we could compile a laundry list of greatest needs—prayer, silence, worship, effective preaching, servant leadership, winsome evangelism, and an array of social issues—and make a compelling case for each. I can’t say authoritatively that a recovery of wonder is the church’s greatest need, though I believe it to be true.

What I can say authoritatively is that a recovery of wonder is the greatest need in my own life. As the pastor of churches for thirty-five years, I’m tired. I can’t count the number of sermons I’ve preached, meetings I’ve attended, wedding and funerals I’ve conducted, and pious poses I’ve struck. I’m on the verge of letting the ecclesiastical hairball overwhelm me.

What I need more than anything right now is a reminder of how good the good news is. I need a refresher course on grace, a tutorial on astonishment. I’m actually writing this book more for myself than for you, but if you’re a longtime Christian who is weary and heavy-laden, perhaps our experiences can intersect.

E. B. White wrote, “Why else would you be reading this fragmentary page—you with the book on your lap? You’re not out to learn anything certainly. You just want the healing action of some chance corroboration, the soporific of spirit laid against spirit.”² Chance corroboration? Spirit laid against spirit? If that happens in these pages, we will both be blessed.

Though the subject matter for this book has rattled around in my head for a long time, one recent event nudged me to sit down at the computer and start making it happen. I attended a retreat for pastors. By all measurable standards it was a good retreat. We met at a lovely retreat center nestled in the Texas Hill Country. We had stirring speakers who knew their stuff. Delightful retreaters who were enjoyable to talk to surrounded me. Even the food was good.

But I left the retreat feeling “beat down” and burdened and didn’t know why. Something was missing from the retreat (or at least my perception of the retreat), and I couldn’t quite put my finger on the problem. Why would a good retreat in a gorgeous setting with fine speakers leave me depressed?

As I drove home, I wrestled with that question and finally came up with an answer: when you’re running on empty, a map to anywhere doesn’t look inviting. That’s what the retreat had done. It had given us pastors a map to help us make our churches more responsive to our communities, more sensitive to the poor among us, more aware of ministry opportunities all around us. We were given a biblical “to do” list and challenged to make a difference in the world. Who could criticize that?

But I perceived it as simply more to do, more items to add to my already overloaded ministerial agenda, more freight to cram into my gas-starved car. The information I received at that retreat was a good map, all right, but when your gas tank is empty, a good map is useless.³ I went home depressed not because the retreat was bad, but because it failed to meet my deepest need.

More than new strategies for my church, I need new strategies for my own survival. More than creative ways to reach our community, I need a way to make the old news of Jesus alive and fresh in my personal experience. Once I get the astonishment and wonder in place, then I’ll be ready to look at ministry ideas. Until then, all attempts to put more on my plate sound like bad news.

If you happen to be in the same place, welcome aboard the good ship Dullness. We have a problem, and we might as well admit it. We desperately need astonishment. We need to splash around in grace a while and come out laughing and feeling frisky again. We need to hear the good news with new ears so that it will become good again.

Frankly, for most of us who have been Christians for a long time, it will not be easy. I once heard someone described as “a good woman, in the worst sense of the word.” Most of us, sadly, are “good Christians, in the worst sense of the word.” We’ve been trudging to church activities so long, laboring in the vineyard of the Lord so long, and stuck in a rut so long that we might not be able to dance even if we want to. We’ve also learned some bad theology along the way, which guarantees we will never learn to dance.

But for our joy’s sake, for the sake of those who know us and have to put up with us, and for the sake of the kingdom of God, we need to give it a try. We need to open up, loosen up, laugh a little, and maybe even shed a tear or two at the incredible news that is ours in Jesus Christ. I know that news is good enough to set even the bumbling, hesitant feet of “good Christians” to tapping—if only we can get rid of the religious noise in our heads and hear the sweet, undistilled melody of the gospel.

Jesus said, “Whoever has ears to hear, let that person hear.” Here’s hoping we “good Christians” do hear—and will hear.

Notes

1. Robert Capon, The Astonished Heart (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 120.

2. E. B. White, One Man’s Meat (New York: Harper & Row, 1944), 79.