a mild response

I'm disappointed in some of the comments I heard at this past Sunday's Congregational Meeting.

Is it true that church is just a place to show up on Sunday for 90 minutes; sing your hymns, drink your coffee? Then you drive home and heed not the gospels for the next six days?

I've heard it said that this is so; that we in the church should not trouble ourselves with "service to the community" or "relevance to our neighborhood." I've heard it said that the church is a building only, in which we praise and pray together. Of course, I've also heard it said that the church is anything but a building; that we ourselves are the hands and feet of Christ, and must always be consciously thus, regardless of the building we meet in.

I've been asked why I spend so much time managing our ever-expanding food shelf program when I should be "in my office" taking care of real church business. And I've heard the criticism of my elders, who ask why we give so much away to the community, when they give seemingly so little to the church in return.

I've never been a Sunday Christian, it's a luxury I simply never had the chance to take for granted. I for one have spent most of my life speaking against the church, against organized religion, and have associated all Christians with the most ignorant, self-serving and richly deceptive televangelist types. It was easy, because I never set foot in a church or gave anyone the chance to prove my bias even a little bit wrong. But then God shook me awake one night, and I took a job working for the church; so now I have to be a Christian all the time, because God's work leaves room for little else in a world where the need for God's mercy and strength screams to us from the streets all day, every day. Is that too strongly phrased?

Of course it's important that the church as institution should endure; that we should manage our resources wisely and take prayerful time in considering each step along the path of growth and service. But who among us at NEC has not yet felt the Spirit moving in this place?

For that matter, who among us has not yet seen the relieved smiles of those members and non-members we serve with food, clothing, and other types of personal and economic assistance? Who among us has not yet felt the need in our own lives to reach out for help, and when did the church stop serving you in your need? Who among us has not felt the need for community, for the fellowship of those who share a concern for the world we live in? Who among us has never faced uncertainty, the kind that challenges our most basic sense of self: where will I live? How will I feed my children? How can I make my life better?

If all God wanted us to be was a "Sunday church," we would never have consolidated. We could each have done things the way we'd done them in our little churches for years and years, until our ministries died the inevitable death from spiritual attrition that I think we all really wanted to avoid. Instead we and our collective resources were brought together, to love God and one another, to serve the community, and to tell the story of Jesus Christ. We were sent to find one another, and to go then into the community to find others who needed us. We were sent to bring them the church, and to be the church in all its glory. Were we sent merely to survive? I doubt it, myself.

So let's try to think again about the church God calls us to be -- look at the ministries that have taken flight without any assistance other than a willingness on our part to serve -- look at all the wonderful people who have joined the church in just the past year -- look at the seven-day-a-week church we have become, because so many individuals and groups want to think of us as their church, even if they aren't part of our Sunday worship community. And then tell me if you can that NEC is not called to be a part of the larger community, the bigger world, and the grace-filled heart of our Lord.

Thanks be to God.

a big night

I've had the most wonderful time tonight.It's odd, because in fact what I did was spend three-plus hours painting faces at the church's National Night Out event. My hips hurt, my back hurts and I suspect there's a mess I'll have to clean up at work tomorrow. But I had the most amazing time. In part because, in the background, three other churches were doing their part to make National Night Out an amazing event -- with lots of food, great local entertainment, park-run games and fun, a series of prize drawings... and of course the face-painting. There might have been even more, but I was only able to glance over my shoulder occasionally as the night unfolded. I could hear the awesome music of Leonard Knight & family, and the puppet performances from Bethel Christian Fellowship that everyone apparently loved -- and maybe there was more, again, I don't know. Kids were running and laughing and having a good time. No one seemed unduly stressed out. Hundreds of people attended. It was everything we could have hoped for. I give my thanks to God that I'm so blessed, to be so ridiculously overworked these days, in the service of love. Face-painting beats bookkeeping any day, but I'll take all that and more -- if we can keep giving out food and care for so many, with such success. I'm grateful too for all the hard work of so many volunteers from my church and others -- the Churches of Logan Park. Without every single person on hand tonight, it couldn't have gone so well. I think we can be proud of this event, and I particularly think NECL can be proud of how far we've come in just a little over a year. We are truly blessed in this work. What a joy it is to see the faces of so many little kids -- children of every hue and background -- eating and smiling, having a good time -- and to see their parents smiling too. How wonderful.

the church as community

In the long years of ramp-up towards actually finding an excuse to join a church, my most conscious motivator was the desire to belong to a community: a defined community, with a tangible sense of inclusion. I wanted a church "where everybody knows your name," and where a shared set of values could be found. Having made a place for myself in such a community over the past two years, I realize that this notion of what church does for me is working just fine. Moreover, the church seems to do this for me in the way it should: it equips me to turn around and go "be the church out there," acting out my faith publicly in a variety of ways. I've learned in just the last few months how many of my fellow members also find this to be true; and it's been a pleasure to discover all the less visible and more quiet, but no less profound, ways in which they too are "the church out there." And what I wonder now is this: Should the church be a constant operating platform for each member, a continuity in their lives outside its walls, or should some people "graduate" from one church to the next?

By this I mean that maybe our church, NECL, could and should be a launching point for certain members to branch off, or just leave the nest entirely. Maybe that's what makes the most sense in the spiritual growth cycle of some members. If so, what should we graduate to? Is there already a common destination (sort of a "grad school" church) or is it determined individually? Is "graduating" part of the normal church-seeking process, as one's needs and interests change and other churches start to look like a better fit; or is the process less lateral and more intentional?

What's the goal of going to church and being a member of the church community? How is that goal tied to who we are in our public lives? That might seem like a funny question from the point of view of a life-long member, but I do wonder.

a quick update

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Checkout Line Evangelism

During Bible study this morning our little group discussed the efforts of the early church as narrated by the book of Acts. We also read Hebrews 12 verses 1 through 3: "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God." The question was asked (if I remember correctly) "what was the joy set before Jesus?", responses to which included the love of God and more to the point, the Resurrection. In thinking more about the message of the verses -- the race to run, and disregarding the shame of the cross -- my mind went to thoughts of being a Christian in the world outside the church walls.


"The shame of the cross" -- Jesus as "a model of endurance in the face of hostility" (according to the notes in my Bible) should "encourage the reader in their plight" to run the race, live life as Christians despite the hindrance of sin. And also, I expect, the other challenges of living that way -- everything from the raw negativity that the world throws up at one quite often, to the delicate nature of personal relationships with people who simply want to live their lives differently from you.

I don't get many opportunities to be the church outside of the immediately personal sphere and church itself, because church is also my job. "The shame of the cross" probably meant something else in context; but it made me think of fear of rejection, fear of disconnect between myself and people I care about, when the subject of faith comes up. I am friends with many more non-religious people than otherwise, and I used to be one of them, so finding the boundaries and the space to talk about faith in those relationships can be challenging. It was suggested during the conversation at Bible study that too much evangelizing in one's personal life can actually be abusive, and while there are undoubtedly extremes there that I haven't approached, it's still alarming to think I've abused anyone with my desire to communicate "the good news." I mean, it's not enough to be afraid of opening my mouth, I also have to watch out that I don't knock anyone down before I shut myself up. Yeah, that's important too.

Cathie expresses her own thoughts on all this with admirable clarity, and seems to have the right idea -- just do your thing, and let people respond to you as the Christian they see in you. I know that the "living out," the "walking the talk" is the most important proof of your good news for most people.

Two people have asked me, in the past week, if I had a college education. The first was a woman in the check-out line at Lunds, who at first glance looked young and stylish and quite sane; but as she went on, I found out that she doesn't like people who don't go to college, particularly older people who never went (though it wasn't clear why); and that she's "the type of woman who would date my son" (age four, standing next to me holding my hand.) I nodded politely as she left. The second person was someone I know from church, who went on to compliment me on my public speaking skills and administrative abilities. Generous compliments, but they also made me stop and think specifically about speaking out -- in fact, I didn't learn this in college. I didn't learn it anywhere. I can, and often enough I do, when I'm feeling so inspired. Lately I'm thinking I need to shut up and be less visible. Was the lady in the checkout line a missed opportunity to be a better Christian, or was it enough just to listen and nod attentively? Is speaking out on social justice issues or blogging on matters of faith sufficient unto evangelism, or is there more expected of me? I don't wear a cross all the time -- what constitutes "telling the story?" I know it's about living out the love of God -- I just don't want to be the one in the checkout line getting the polite nod from my neighbor, when I gracelessly throw in a comment about my new boyfriend Jesus.

Secret Christians - or the secret handshake?

Going to church (voluntarily) is pretty new to me - or, newer than most stuff in my life. Newer than my job. Newer than my newest dog. Newer than my car. I went to church as a teenager until I was confirmed only because my mother made me. This is the woman who would drop off my older brother and I, and pick us up after church and Sunday School. Hurmph.

I have lots of doubts and questions about God and Jesus and being Lutheran, and I have a plain old stubborn streak that makes me wrinkle my nose and roll my eyes about all things "church."

Nevertheless, this church-going, cross wearing thing has been just a little bit like learning a secret handshake. I know we say, "Love. Serve. Tell." at NECL. I'm all about the lovin' and the servin'. I could love and serve until the cows come home, (and then leave again). The "Tell" part makes me feel like those awful dreams where you've ended up somewhere absolutely naked, or (my personal favorite), it's the end of the Semester, and I have to take a final for a class that I never attended.

Consequently, the only place I'm likely to do much Tellin' is in another arena of my life - which is dog rescue. One of my most common refrains is that the love of a dog is the closest thing to the love of God that any of us is likely to experience on this side of Heaven. (I can evangelize about DOGS a LOT.) This tiny little statement, and the itty bitty cross I wear around my neck, have suddenly opened up a whole lot of hearts that I probably wouldn't have known before. People ask me to pray for them, or their dogs. People tell me about how they have prayed about adopting a dog. People send me their blessings, and call me an "angel" and a "saint." (I'm not letting it go to my head.... I don't think.)

I'm pretty sure that I haven't been sucked into an alternative reality inspired by televangelism - it's just that now people feel comfortable sharing this with me. They feel closer to me. They can identify something that they relate to besides just the dog. And it makes me wonder about the years between high school and when I started going to St. Paul's, and about how I missed out on this side of people. This very sweet, and well-meaning, and hardly-ever sanctimonious part of people. I'm pretty sure that it's not that I'm just suddenly meeting more Christians - I think it's just that now people tell me about it.

So - what does that mean? And isn't it interesting and hopeful that one little sentence and one tiny cross make people feel comfortable enough to share this part of their hearts with me?

It's very late - but I hope to hear what some of you might have to say about this.

Evangelism: Testifying or Terrifying?

Our Evangelism team at NECL is starting small. We all agreed on paper to a vision and mission encapsulated by the "Love. Serve. Tell." tagline, and many of us are Serving like crazy. We're open to dialogue about Love too, and I think we all have some level of comfort discussing the place of Love in our lives and in our faith. But the "Tell" is a tough task, difficult for me at any rate. Ask me about Love and I'll talk until you tell me to shut up. Ask me how God is at work in my life, and I'm apt to crawl under the table.

Mind, that's if we're in the same room. I can write it easily enough, in a blog or an email; because I don't have to experience the immediacy of your reaction that way. It's not that I don't want to tell; it's that I'm fearful of the response, or a lack of response, to something so deeply personal. It doesn't yet feel to me like a gift I have to give, this Telling. I have all the predictive traits for evangelism avoidance: German, Lutheran, private, easily shamed. I'm curious to hear from someone who came to it reluctantly and now finds joy in it -- I'd like to know how that journey was made.

So - What's church FOR?

What's the purpose of going to church? Why do you go to church?


I've been thinking about this lately - mostly due to my own curiosity, and definitely because it clearly has a different meaning and purpose in my life than in the life of other people who attend my church.


There are a bunch of people who seem to follow the vitamin/exercise philosophy of church: i.e. "Church is Good For Me, But I Don't Really Like It." They show up most Sundays because they think it's good for them, but they don't particularly enjoy it, and they're out the door as fast as possible after services. These are not the kind of people who drop by between Sundays, or volunteer for church events. Like running on a treadmill, they just want the service to be over so they can go home and watch football, or go to the mall, or whatever. (Lots of men in this category)

I suspect that there's a big spectrum for church-goers, so I'm really curious about what it means, and why people go - or don't go - to church.

I started going to St. Paul's, and now NECL, because I wanted a bigger community and a place with some infrastructure where I could try to focus some energy on helping other people. I started with helping at Community Dinners and with Children's Sabbath. It's also a focus (and locus?) of many of the things that Jennifer and I do together.

NECL is part of who I am and how I spend my time. I hope that my participation is a manifestation of my values. NECL helps me examine my values and think about what it means to live on this earth at this time in history.

This is part of why I go to church.

Why do you go? Or, why don't you go?