“For many people, being a pastor means you’re also running an organization,” Bell says. “That’s why so many pastors are so burned out and barely hanging on: They signed up for [preaching and pastoring], but actually, day in and day out, the preservation of the institution becomes paramount.” Now, he says, instead of dealing with the responsibilities of running a megachurch, the expectations from fellow evangelicals or the weight that comes from the pressure, there are fewer distractions. Maybe this is what being a pastor is supposed to feel like, he says. “When you don’t have that on your shoulders, then it’s just you and the person,” Bell says. “It’s just you and them and the space between you and whatever it is they want to talk about. So it’s been very interesting to me, because I get endless moments when I am doing the thing people would say would be pastor-y, but there’s nothing in the way.” Bell doesn’t link what happened with Loves Wins to any kind of traumatic experience. He doesn’t speak ill of anyone from his past and doesn’t seem overly concerned with defending himself to critics. But he still seems to have learned something from suffering—whether a head injury or a wave of criticism. He’s figuring out what it means to allow pain to bring clarity. “Often, it takes suffering to heighten our senses and raise our awareness of this moment and the life we get to live,” he says. “Often, it takes some sort of trauma or soul-crushing loss to wake us up.”
WOKEN UP Even his most ardent critics will concede at least one thing: Rob Bell is an incredible communicator. In this new phase, with a new sense of focus, he’s figuring out what that can look like, free from the noise of his previous life. Ironically, that means taking it back to the beginning. It means revisiting the sermon itself, and reimagining how it can change the world. “The sermon is an art form that needs to be reclaimed,” he says. “It’s the original guerrilla theater, somewhere between a recovery movement, a TED Talk and a revival. This art form has been hijacked in our culture. For many people, the sermon is how you build bigger buildings.
But the sermon is about the sacred disruption.” Bell now tours, writes and even takes his sacred disruptions into LA’s comedy scene. He has a residency at Largo, an LA comedy venue that also hosts the likes of Zach Galifianakis, John Mulaney and Sarah Silverman. It turns out, there are still a lot of people eager to hear the reinvention of the sermon. “[Comedian Pete Holmes and I] have a two-man show we do,” he says. “So I will be with Oprah and then a couple days later I might be at Largo, and then a couple days later I might meet with a bunch of activists and entrepreneurs. And then I might go out and talk at a conference on
Rob and Kristen Bell
Sunday morning or a Sunday evening,” he says. “I think it should compete with all other art forms, so that’s what I’ve tried to do. Leaving the local church in some senses was, ‘I have to keep going’ and ‘I have to keep announcing good news and the death and the resurrection mystery built into the fabric of creation.' I have to see how far you can take it." Hitting his head showed Bell what a fully present life could be like. But starting
"IT FEELS LIKE I’M DOING WHAT I’VE ALWAYS BEEN DOING: TRYING TO GIVE LANGUAGE TO THE DEEP STREAM. EVERYTHING IS SPIRITUAL." science and spirituality. And then I might go surfing.” Bell still has his critics. And he’s on a non-traditional path for the man Time magazine once called “The Next Billy Graham.” But he says his passion is the same. “I find the Jesus story and message more compelling than ever,” he says. Instead of churches and pulpits, he’s in nightclubs and stadium tours. Life has changed dramatically for the guy who started a church, broke new creative ground with videos and books, and became one of the most polarizing figures in modern Christianity. But for him, that’s OK. He didn’t leave the Church. He’s just trying take what he does best and move beyond church walls. “I don’t believe this art form should be confined to a particular building on a
over showed him how to enjoy it. “Everything that could go wrong for me already has,” he says. “Lots of places I’d go to speak, there would be protesters out front. So at some point, you might as well be doing something you love.” Choosing to live that way can be risky, but, for Bell, the risk has been worth it. “Many people are stuck. They’re catatonic in some life they know isn’t their true path,” he says. “It’s like, ‘Well, if I did that, people might not understand.’ That’s correct. ‘Well, if I did that, I might have to live in a smaller house.' Yep. ‘Well, we might lose a bunch of money.’ Yep. ‘Well, I might be misunderstood.’ Yep. But you would be alive, and what is better than that?” ISA AC EDWARDS is a culture and religion writer based in Brooklyn, New York.
RELEVANTMAGAZINE.COM
73