Last night I started reading Mark Driscoll's book Confessions of a Reformission Rev. It's the story of Mars Hill Church in Seattle. (By the way, how many more churches are going to be called Mars Hill? -- You can always spot a non-conformist, they all look alike).
He did admit that the name is stupid (kinda): In retrospect, the name of our church is kind of dumb and sounds more like a cult than a church, which, sad to say, actually benefits us in a city where words like Jesus and Christian are far more offensive than four-letter cusswords.
A couple of other gems:
What my college students needed was to mentor high school students and hang out with singles who had phased from college into the work world and married couples who had learned what kind of person to be and to marry to make a family work. What they did not need was to hang out with the same immature yahoos they spent all of their time playing "pull my finger" with anyway and going to a free event that was like day care for twenty-one-year-old hormonally enraged porn addicts and video game aficionados trying to stretch junior high into the retirement years.
Our rotating cast of worship leader tryouts ranged from screaming punk rockers -- to this day I have no idea why they were so dramatically depressed -- to the kind of happy-clappy Christian praise musicians that youwould expect to find playing on a karaoke machine at a Christian home school co-op reunion for kids whose moms made their clothes.