What Does it Mean to be “Church”?

What does it mean to be "church"?

This morning a few people sat down together at the local coffee shop for a "Theological Coffee Hour." Our conversation was not particularly theological, if by that one means some sort of heady and intellectual discussion about God. On another level, it certainly was theological because God was at the center of our discussion.

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that our conversation was ecclesiological because we spent most of our time answering the question about what it means to be church without having ever asked it! At the table were three generational views: Silents, GenX, and, yours truly, a "cusper" (born in between the Boomers and the GenXers). We had one clergy person and three lay people. Three of us could be considered "lifers" when it comes to participation in church and one would probably be considered a "seeker" who is looking for the community that best fits his journey of faith.

The question that took us into this ecclesiological conversation was simple: What is the Emerging Church? I won't go into an explanation here because there are probably better people to answer that in a technical sense.

What strikes me as a replay the conversation in my mind is the way our conversation moved from talk of the church as institution to the church as community. We didn't talk about doctrine or core beliefs or canon law. Instead, we talked about the yearning to participate in a community of faithful people who listen to God, follow Jesus in their daily lives, and live with an almost organic structure that encourages diversity and provides a place of contemplative silence. We talked about the American society in which we live with our lack of rootedness and our desire of home. We discussed the yearning people feel to be connected and the need to bring together generations so that we can discover and create a proper balance of wisdom and action. The church, we realized, is one place that allows all of this to happen, one place that provides a spiritual home for those who yearn to be connected with others and with something (or perhaps it is better to say Someone) beyond themselves.

In a recent blog, Diana Butler Bass wrote the following:

Younger Americans feel greater ambivalence toward the word "Christian" than do older adults. In 2005, the Barna group polled 16-29 year olds asking the question, "What do you think of when you hear the word 'Christian'?" 91% of young adults outside the church replied, "anti-homosexual;" 87% responded "judgmental;" 85% said "hypocritical;" 72% reported that Christians were out of touch with reality; and 68% pegged Christians as "boring." ("Who are Christians Anyway?", June 14, 2010)

Well, that's daunting, isn't it? Especially among GenXers and Millenials, fewer and fewer Americans see the church as a place where one can be a Christian. Or, they are simply rejecting Christianity because they equate being Christian with the institution of the church. For as long as I can remember, folks in the church have said that young adults will come back to church once they have children and want them to be baptized and go to Sunday School. Well, if the Barna survey reflects accurately the attitudes about Christianity and the church, the vast majority of those young adults are not going to walk through the doors of our buildings . . . ever!

Where is our hope? Well, I find hope in my conversation this morning with one GenXer who is seeking God through the community we call the church. I'm not sure if he will "join" Christ Church or not, but that may not be the most important end result. If we can find a way to help him ask his questions and find a deeper relationship with God through Christ, then perhaps that is a great success. Joining is, after all, a very institutional sort of thing. What matters most is that we open doors that invite people to follow Jesus, that we create relationships based on divine grace, joy, love, and radical hospitality.

So, what does it mean to be "church"? My conversation today tells me that how we answer that question will make all the difference when it comes to our future vitality as a community of faithful people. Ultimately, what will matter most are not the words we use to answer the question. What will matter is how widely we open our doors—the doors of our buildings and the doors of our hearts—and how faithfully we live in the world.

Relections from the Center of Exeter

I'm sitting at Me and Ollie's in Exeter, NH (a very informal place to hang out with some coffee) and blogging on my iPhone. I'm old enough to be struck by the oddity and wonder of the fact that I don't have my computer but I can still do this. Of course, it's possible this won't work, so I should probably keep this short (and the fact that I'm using this tiny keyboard should limit any reflections at the moment; my thumbs can only take so much!).

I hang out at Me and Ollie's a couple of times a week. Most of the time someone drops by for a conversation. Sometimes I have about 90 minutes to myself to read, catch up on email, or get some work done. By far the best days include a conversation.

With no one dropping by today I can watch people. Most are gathers in pairs having a conversation. A few are alone, reading or working on computers. Some stand in line waiting for their order to be taken. Some sit outside, some inside. A name is called when an order is ready. As the afternoon continues the crowd thins and the music played continuously in the background can be heard.

All of this strikes me as a 21sf century experience of community. In a sense, Me and Ollie's stands in the place of the old village greens, town commons, and town squares, those places that today are public parks but were in the past places where anyone and everyone gathered. Everyone is welcomed here and everyone is invited to find a place, with others or alone, connected by wireless or in conversation with another person.

I'm not sure what any of this says about building community in the church, but I suspect we need to create some new spaces to allow community to be formed more organically and less programmatically. This isn't my idea, by the way. I read about this in an article, the title of which escapes me at the moment. I believe this is one of the challenges and opportunities facing the church in 2010. We need to create common places that invite the creation of community. And we shouldn't concede that task to a coffee shop (no matter how much I like the
coffee shop!).

My thumbs are tired. Time to stop blogging, at least for now. If you read this and you live on the Seacoast of New Hampshire, drop by Me and Ollie's on Tuesdays at 3:30 or Thursdays at 7:30. I'll be ready for a conversation.

When the Church is No Longer in the Center of the Community

"In the 1940s and '50s, the church was vibrant and bustling . . . Those were the days of the blue laws, when few businesses were open on Sunday, which meant there were few excuses to skip service. Many homes did not have television. The church was the absolute center of the community, . . . a place where friends came in packs and families and neighbors mingled, a time when families' status, to a degree, could be judged by how 'churched' they were."

I read this paragraph this morning in the New York Times ("Some Harlem Churches in Fight to Survive and Stay Relevant" by Trymaine Lee, May 24, 2010). The article focuses primarily on All Soul's Episcopal Church in Harlem, a once large and vital parish that averages about 50 people for Sunday worship and has a rotation of supply clergy who lead services (meaning no regular ordained leadership for the congregation). While the paragraph above describes in particular the history of All Soul's and, more widely, the story of other congregations in Harlem, it also tells the story of countless congregations in the United States, whether they be in the middle of our largest cities, surrounded by farms, in the center of small towns, or in busy suburban areas. The society of the 1940s and 1950s in which the "church was the absolute center of the community" no longer exists. Even strong and vibrant churches, certainly in the northeast where I live and minister, experience the reality of a rapidly changing culture and the impact of this on congregational participation.

The existential feelings that arise from this crisis in congregational life are expressed well by one man who is a member of All Soul's: "It's an uphill battle. It puts a lot of pressure on the congregation because you have to dig deep into your pockets to keep the church open. Our congregation is older, many are sick, and I really don't know what the future holds."

There is something very sad about this, of course, as older generations (the Builders, the Silents, and the Boomers) who grew up in church watch the institutions they love weaken, and, in some cases, die. I just heard of an Episcopal congregation in western Massachusetts that will have its final liturgy on May 30 and then shut its doors, ending a long and treasured history.

So, what does the future hold? Don't I wish I had an answer to that question! Not knowing the future can paralyze us in the present, tempt us to look backward for answers and hope to resurrect the glory days of the past. Really, isn't this simply an opportunity for us to place our trust in Jesus? When Jesus invited people to follow, he didn't tell them where they were going. He simply invited them to walk, to live life in a new way.

In Karen Armstrong's book The Case for God, she writes that the "type of wisdom that Socrates offered was not gained by acquiring items of knowledge but by learning to be in a different way," so that "the important thing was not the solution to a problem but the path that people traveled in search of it." (Armstrong, page 62)

Institutional Christians today have a problem . . . well, we really have more than one. We also have opportunities, new possibilities to grow faithfully and to be the people God created us to be.

Perhaps instead of wringing our hands or jumping to solutions, we should start walking. As Christians seeking to follow Jesus, what is the path that we are being invited to follow toward new life and vitality?

 

Discovering Community at the Boston Marathon

I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the community,

and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can.

George Bernard Shaw

Yesterday, I participated in one of those quintessentially Boston events: the Boston Marathon. No, I most certainly did NOT run in the marathon. I was there to support a friend, Jim, from Texas. He ran while his fiance (Elizabeth, a dear friend for many years), my wife, and I did our best to support him. This included one "shout out" of support near Kenmore Square as he ran by (his fiance managed an early shout out in the Boston suburbs as well as the one in the city with us). Later he told us what a difference it made to have us encouraging him when he'd reached the point of just pushing through to the end.

Not running in the marathon (and I hereby proclaim that I have no intention of ever doing so!), gave me an opportunity to observe and participate in the entire experience. We walked along part of the route and saw an enormous number of people participating in some way or another. Some were there because they come every year. Some were there because it was a good excuse to start drinking early. Others were there because it was a state holiday in Massachusetts (Patriots Day). Some were there to see the Red Sox game (ANOTHER loss to the Rays! Ugh!).

Many were there to support a specific runner or group of runners. I saw all sorts of people in matching t-shirts, with signs, with "stuff" to give the runners in case they needed a boost. People stood along the route yearning to catch a glimpse of a friend or family member running toward them. When they saw that particular person, they began to yell out the person's name and a huge smile would appear on the face of a weary runner who was just gutting it out.

I've often thought of running as a solo athletic endeavor. In many ways it is, of course. Even when someone has another to run with, in the midst of a marathon each person is eventually on his or her own to make it to the finish.

But in so many ways, the Boston Marathon exemplifies the need we have for community even in something that is so highly individualized. After the race, Jim spoke of the noise from the crowds that kept up his energy, of the other runners along the way with whom he interacted, and of our support at a critical time in the race for him. Jim wasn't alone and didn't run alone. He ran with a community.

The non-runners are certainly feeling better today than the runners. We don't need to recover from yesterday. But each of us, in a different way, made the Boston Marathon experience possible.

I won't stretch the metaphor too much here. You know where I'm going with this, I'm sure. Life is a marathon, not a sprint. Jesus calls us to live faithfully for the long term, not the short term. Etc., etc.

Perhaps it is best to remember, as I was reminded yesterday, that we are in this together, that each of us has a part to play to make it to the end of the race. Life is meant to be lived interdependently, in community, with each of us sharing our gifts, talents, and skills for the good of the whole. It's only a question, really, of whether we are each willing to do our part so that the community can keep on running.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

Today is Monday in Easter Week, according to the church calendar. For many Christians it is a day to relax and take a breath after the intensity of the Holy Week journey. In many cases, today is a day to "get back to normal," to get back to school, work, and the normal routines of life after several days focused on Jesus' passion and resurrection.

I hope, however, that those of us who participated in Holy Week and Easter -- who truly experienced the depth of the Good Friday darkness and the brightness of the Easter light -- will return to "normal" a bit transformed, changed in a small way. Perhaps "normal" can be renewed, if we choose to carry Easter with us into our lives. Perhaps we can live more fully into the reality of the resurrection and what it means for us today.

That's enough reflection for today. The church office is closed and I'm enjoying a sabbath day. Time to rest (or perhaps I should be using the time to finish my taxes!!).

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Thoughts on Good Friday

It is almost 2:15 PM on Good Friday, April 2, 2010. We are almost through the traditional three hours marked as the time Jesus was on the cross. I thought I'd share some reflections that I sent to parishioners yesterday. Good Friday is the critical day on our journey toward Easter. In our culture today it is often easy to move through Good Friday without reflection, to focus on Jesus' resurrection (the nice part of the story) and not on his suffering and death (the painful part of the story).

And yet, the day is called Good Friday, not Tragic Friday. The word "Good" in the title for the day comes from an older use of the word in English as an equivalent of "Holy." Good Friday, then, is Holy Friday. It is also, for all the focus on Jesus' death, a good day. It is good because it is the day that reminds us that Jesus died so that we might live, live free from the burden of our mistakes, weaknesses, and shortcomings (our sins, to use the traditional word) that become barriers to a full and loving relationship with God.

The day is good because the outstretched arms of Jesus on the cross are a divine embrace, an open gesture that reminds us that if we are lost, we can be found; if we are in darkness, we can find light; if we are in despair, we can find hope; if we are isolated and alone, we can find love.

The day is good because it reminds us that we are not alone in the pain and struggles that impact our lives. When we suffer, we remember that God through Jesus suffered for us and suffers with us.

The day is good because it reveals our human capacity to love one another in the midst of evil. While there are people in the passion story who mock, hurt, and kill Jesus, there are also those who stand with him and by him, who care for him as he suffers and in his death. Divine goodness made incarnate in Jesus and in us, we learn on Good Friday, overcomes evil.

The day is good because it is redeemed by Easter Day, the day of resurrection. We know that Friday is not the end of the story, that our sufferings and struggles in life are not the last word or the last action. God will bring good out of everything. No matter what, as Dame Julian of Norwich told us centuries ago, "all will be well, and all will be well, and all matter of things will be well."

On the Look Out for Flares

I just finished reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy (I have not seen the movie based on the novel). Set in a post-apocalyptic America, it is about as hopeless a story as I've ever read. The novel tells the story of a father and son trying desperately to survive, walking the road toward wherever it takes them, looking for the "good guys" who may be able to help them. At its heart, it is a story about people who are lost who seek a place to be safe and be known (I won't write anymore about the plot to avoid giving anything away).

While it is a dark story, I believe it is worth reading. Looking beyond the plot and the post-apocalyptic setting, McCarthy tells a story that resonates with the yearning of the early 21st century -- the yearning for relationship, for community, for belonging, for home. Perhaps, like the prodigal son in Jesus' parable (see the gospel of Luke, chapter 15), it is accurate to say that people today -- living a life often uprooted from family and close friends -- simply want to be found.

McCarthy articulates this desire -- this yearning -- in his story (The Road, page 245):

He loaded the flarepistol and as soon as it was dark they walked out down the beach away from the fire and he asked the boy if he wanted to shoot it.

You shoot it, Papa. You know how to do it.

Okay.

He cocked the gun and aimed it out over the bay and pulled the trigger. The flare arced up into the murk with a long whoosh and broke somewhere out over the water in a clouded light and hung there. The hot tendrils of magnesium drifted slowly down the dark and the pale foreshore tide started in the glare and slowly faded. He looked down at the boy's upturned face.

They couldn't see it very far, could they, Papa?

Who?

Anybody.

No. Not far.

If you wanted to show where you were.

You mean like to the good guys?

Yes. Or anybody that you wanted them to know where you were.

Like who?

I don't know.

Like God?

Yeah. Maybe somebody like that.

Reading that scene makes me wonder . . . How many people around us -- people we see every day at work, at school, in the neighborhood, at the store, and in our homes -- are sending up "flares" hoping that God or the good guys or "somebody like that" will see the flare and find them?

Isn't that a core job of the church? To notice? To see the "flares" that people send out?

Makes me think . . . I wonder if we've been so intent on getting our message out that we have not listened well enough to the yearning of the people who live right around us.

What might happen if we made it a task of the church to be on the look out for "flares"? How might we and the community we call the church be transformed, if we opened our eyes to the signals of those around us, the signals of those who yearn to be found?

Oh yes, once we've seen the "flares" it would be a good idea to reach out and invite the person who sent up the flare to come to church, to discover a faithful, Christian community in which all parts of the "Body of Christ" are cherished and respected. Even better, it would be a great idea to invite them into a relationship with Jesus.

Hmmmm . . . That may be the hardest part of all.

What do you think?