Let It Burn

Sometimes we’re called to preserve. Sometimes we’re called to build. And sometimes we’re called to let it burn.

Photo Credit: Unsplash

“We can’t tell them. It will ruin him.”

These words haunt me, years later. I’ll spare the details of the story, but once I discovered an unwise business decision by my boss. When I mentioned it to the next in command, my colleague urged silence. Our boss was on thin ice with his behavior towards consumers, so this revelation was a turning point. We could turn him into the board, where he would surely lose his job. Or we could hold the information, believing that it was a one-time decision made in a moment of exhaustion.

We chose concealment.

I still think about that conversation. “We can’t let him lose everything,” my colleague pleaded, suggesting we align ourselves in silence. I was young and lacked any authority to do otherwise. At least, I thought I did. What I’ve learned since is that we always have choices. That day, my choice was fear and silence.

We employ the same arguments with Christian institutions, choosing silence or preservation.

“The cost is too great.”

“The gospel witness is at stake.”

“He has a family.”

“She is so influential, think of the people she could continue to reach.”

The author of Ecclesiastes doesn’t hold our concept of preservation and silence. Just consider the wisdom of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8.

There is an occasion for everything,
and a time for every activity under heaven:
a time to give birth and a time to die;
a time to plant and a time to uproot;

a time to kill and a time to heal;
a time to tear down and a time to build;
a time to weep and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn and a time to dance;
a time to throw stones and a time to gather stones;
a time to embrace and a time to avoid embracing;
a time to search and a time to count as lost;
a time to keep and a time to throw away;
a time to tear and a time to sew;
a time to be silent and a time to speak;
a time to love and a time to hate;
a time for war and a time for peace.

These are hard words to absorb. We know what it means when he says, “there is time to mourn” or “a time to weep.” We live these realities every day. But war? That is unfathomable. But it’s not far-fetched if we filter it through the Christian theology sieve. War exists because we live in a broken world. Mourning exists because we live in broken world.

Buildings and institutions fall because we live in a broken world.

The writer of Ecclesiastes says, “there is a time to tear down and a time to build” or “a time to throw stones and a time to gather stones.” This seems to imply that not all building is productive. Not all growth is of the Lord. There are some buildings that need to be torn down. The same can be applied to civilizations, and even institutions. Particularly in Christian culture, when an institution or a church is under fire our default position is to cry “spiritual warfare.” That’s some of it, for sure. But if a Christian institution is under fire for their own sinful choices, then maybe it’s not Satan attacking them—maybe it’s God bringing Ecclesiastes to pass.

In his new book, The Church in Dark Times: Understanding and Resisting the Evil that Seduced the Evangelical Movement, Mike Cosper uses the example of the church in Ephesus. If you remember them from Revelation, Jesus takes away their light—their witness. Cosper writes about the rationale for letting it burn:

The church is the hope of the world to the extend that it is responsible for bearing witness to the good news to the world. But not this church or that church; rather, the universal church, which is made up of all who are washed by the blood of the Lamb. Our individual churches are, at best, brief, visible expressions of that larger community and larger hope. The grass withers and flowers fade, and our local institutions—important as they may be—are hardly more resilient than these. But God’s Word and his church advance just fine whether your church, my church, or [any church] “reaches its potential” or not. Sometimes the church might advance when a particular local church implodes.[1]

He goes on to write that “any church can be Ephesus and betray its first love,” and as a result, we are not beholden to preserve that church any longer. In other words, sometimes a church needs to fall—it needs to be torn down. If the light is no longer burning, or worse, it’s burning for something contrary to the gospel (namely, self-protection, power, or glory) then the light must be snuffed out. There is too much at stake.

God has a timetable for every great superpower. He has a timetable for every city. He even has a timetable for every religious institution. The big “C” church will stand, his kingdom will come, but all manmade kingdoms and local expressions don’t have to last.

There is a time to build, but there is also a time to come crashing down.

The question arises when you read these verses: how do I know when it’s time to build and when a demolition is needed?

Wisdom.

The call in all the wisdom books, including Ecclesiastes, is walk in the way of wisdom. When you walk in the way of wisdom, you know what time it is. When you walk in wisdom, you know when to grab your shovel to build and when to light the match. But the wise man or woman knows that it’s never as simple as “we must preserve the institution” or “we must burn it to the ground.”

But we can’t ignore the call of Ecclesiastes. There is a time for everything. And sometimes the best thing for a place is to let it burn to the ground so hope can spring anew. Only then can God begin the work of rebuilding, letting his light shine there again.

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[1] Cosper, The Church in Dark Times, p. 60