As I continue to read Change of Conversion I have increasingly become aware of the personal nature of this quest of mine. It pertains to me. It is not some vague, abstract notion that lieth somewhere yonder, but indeed, it first lay within me. If the early Christians were indeed sacrificial in nature, and if this was one of the chief marks of their conversion, holding that model up next to my life is a bit challenging. Sure, like many of my contemporaries and peers, I have sacrificed some, but in retrospect those choices I have held up like trophies are all superficial now. I have not even come close to the sacrifices they've made. Sure, I've quoted the trite sayings, "All for Jesus, God thank you that I live in a Land of Freedom, thank you for a lack of persecution," - all the while confused at the reports of prayers coming from the other side of the world, "God, let the Westerners see their lostness, their decedant dependancy upon wealth."
Lately, the deep poverty that my wife and I have found ourselves in has had an interesting effect on me. I admit that like others, I have been confused by the statistic that says 90% of the money given to the church and its work comes from the poorest people. Now I get it. I am near the bottom. I can't get the toys. I can't go to the latest shows. Finding work is all that lay between me and starvation, and finding work isn't automatic - there is risk there. Now I live a life of risk - one step closer to a life of sacrifice. It is only a little farther to go.
Tonight, in this snow-stormed city of Vancouver, cuddled in the apartment while it is deep-frozen outside, one more flicker of a light shone within me. I was reading the news, about the homeless, about all the Christian organizations out there, handing out sleeping bags, buying hot coffeas, and letting wanderers sleep in their buildings. For once I felt like I could be one of them. It only meant getting out of this apartment, onto the street, and meeting people. I didn't have to go very far to find them. When your eyes begin to open to the poor, you find that to not see them requires more concentration than to merely notice. What I saw tonight, let me tell you - perhaps I'm not that far away from crossing over into real Christianity after all . . . . .
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Church Shopping
You learn a lot when you are out looking for a church. The Bean and I went to yet another one today. This one, unlike many of the others, we were very excited about. It had tagged itself as a "missional" church, and its lingo was straight out of Michael Frost's Shaping of things to Come.
It was a place for broken people, those tired of the mask they feel is needed in many arenas of their lives, in many sectors of society. It was a place that was welcome to those on the outside - whatever all that was supposed to mean. I don't care what anyone else says, it was still church in the modern era. The entire communities' justification for existing was still centered around the preacher's art and the music-dependant "worship." It was still entertainment-driven. The music is playing, the emotions are stirring, and to an outsider (of which for today, I was one), it was still exactly the sort of ritual a football coach takes his team through in the locker-room pep-talk. Got to rally them. Got to hook their emotions - it is the only way to make this successful. Got to play better, sing better, choose the songs better. And then we will arrive at nirvana, the confirmation of which is people walking out afterwards, nodding their heads and saying "that was really great."
Church isn't an event. It isn't something with a time and date that can be put on a bulletin, and predicatmized (sounds like victimized) onto a tight schedule. It is so void of life, of the natural rhythms and movements of the real world, to sit and "behave" for an hour, in a service that roughly still follows the outlines of Roman Senate meetings of the first three centuries: Sit now, stand now, lift praise to the diety now, go through the decisions of the body-politic, bow in reverence to the diety, and the republic it represents. Who are we worshipping anyway? God, or Caesar? We thought we threw him off at the Reformation, but it turns out we've retained more than we like to admit. Perhaps we need a new reformation . . . .
It was a place for broken people, those tired of the mask they feel is needed in many arenas of their lives, in many sectors of society. It was a place that was welcome to those on the outside - whatever all that was supposed to mean. I don't care what anyone else says, it was still church in the modern era. The entire communities' justification for existing was still centered around the preacher's art and the music-dependant "worship." It was still entertainment-driven. The music is playing, the emotions are stirring, and to an outsider (of which for today, I was one), it was still exactly the sort of ritual a football coach takes his team through in the locker-room pep-talk. Got to rally them. Got to hook their emotions - it is the only way to make this successful. Got to play better, sing better, choose the songs better. And then we will arrive at nirvana, the confirmation of which is people walking out afterwards, nodding their heads and saying "that was really great."
Church isn't an event. It isn't something with a time and date that can be put on a bulletin, and predicatmized (sounds like victimized) onto a tight schedule. It is so void of life, of the natural rhythms and movements of the real world, to sit and "behave" for an hour, in a service that roughly still follows the outlines of Roman Senate meetings of the first three centuries: Sit now, stand now, lift praise to the diety now, go through the decisions of the body-politic, bow in reverence to the diety, and the republic it represents. Who are we worshipping anyway? God, or Caesar? We thought we threw him off at the Reformation, but it turns out we've retained more than we like to admit. Perhaps we need a new reformation . . . .
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
reconstructing the building
Many of us are not sure how to measure our lives because we are taught to measure it by our accomplishments, when in reality it is only our relationships that are eternal. On our jouney to identity, passion and purpose, the otherness of our lives will often require faithfulness of us with no assurance of success. Without recognizing this reality, community often becomes a means to an end, and we trample over relationships in the process to discover who we are, what we are about and what we should give our lives for, when in reality those relatonships were the end.
Todd Michael Rutkowski, Coming to Life.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Oh Grandpa
http://www.canadianchristianity.com/cgi-bin/na.cgi?nationalupdates/061101postal
well, it seems that my grandfather has drawn a line in the sand for all of us Christians. I knew we were going to have to face this debate some time or another. my grandfather wishes it to be now. some churches will be silent on the matter, until they come to take our scripture away as the ultimate hate mail. we cannot forget what it says . . . . and we cannot break our covenant to it. but, more importantly, we cannot break our covenant to love . . . .
well, it seems that my grandfather has drawn a line in the sand for all of us Christians. I knew we were going to have to face this debate some time or another. my grandfather wishes it to be now. some churches will be silent on the matter, until they come to take our scripture away as the ultimate hate mail. we cannot forget what it says . . . . and we cannot break our covenant to it. but, more importantly, we cannot break our covenant to love . . . .
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