VillagePastor

Making Church Uncomfortable

I’m on a 24 hr personal retreat to clear my head—and heart. I usually take way too many books, perhaps a defense against idle time. But then, I realize when I arrive that retreats are about unoccupied time. Nonetheless, I soon became captivated with a recent book, “Jim and Casper Go to Church”. Jim is 59, a believer who is an executive director. Casper is younger, a marketing copywriter, with a world view vastly different than Jim’s. Casper is an atheist. Together they embarked on journey to visit twelve churches, from fundamental to Pentecostal, from Saddleback to Willow to Mosaic, to coming to Portland and attending Imago Dei and The Bridge. The book is a collection of their impressions, with an emphasis on how an atheist sees the contemporary church.

I read this because, as a pastor, I am really interested in how those outside the faith view the church and its culture. I realize that those on the outside can be critical of the church (not to mention those on the inside!). But those on the outside, like Casper, can often see with a clarity that those of us on the inside, immersed in church culture, gradually lose.

What Casper observed was not too surprising. In most of the services they attended (and these are the churches that often get the press), worship came off as “slick”, “contrived”, and “professional”. To Casper, Christians seem to put most of their energies in putting on a killer show. Of one encounter with a well known pastor, Casper commented, “It seemed as if he was not listening, so much as trying to control the conversation.” (Ouch!) Casper also wondered why the 11:00 hour seems to be the most segregated moment of the week. Churches do not do too well at integrating ethnically, let alone generationally, though they preach unity, and this atheist was quick to observe the discrepancy. He also could not understand why, for all the posturing, all the declarations about the nature of God’s word, that it played such a minimal role in most of the preaching he heard. Sadly, the famine in all too many places continues.

But here is what struck me. Casper found himself often asking—where is the call for action?  If Christians believe everything Scripture declares, they would want to do something significant on earth. Pastors would be these clarion voices calling for people to rise and change things. The only real call to action Casper observed, and it ranged from fearless to relentless, was—“Give us money—and lots of it!”

I began asking myself, “So am I calling people to action?” And if it is too often missing, is it because I am afraid to put off people? Am I not taking the Word seriously, that the text always calls for some response, almost always calls for radical change? What if I preached Ephesians 3, declaring that one of our most compelling witnesses to the truth of the gospel is that, in Christ, Jew and Gentile, Anglo and Hispanic, 20 somethings and those of an older generation can, must love and embrace each other? And then I asked—so what are we going to do in light of this truth? What will be your first step? What if I gave a call to action—“Open up your home this week and show hospitality to someone of another ethnicity”?  And if you are unwilling—I am not preaching Ephesians 4 till we get it right! What if I preached the story of Matthew inviting Jesus to his pagan party and challenged all of us to show grace like Jesus, such that we get invited to the world’s parties? What if I made it a call to action? Recently, I preached out of I Cor 5, where Paul calls for the handing over of a sinner to Satan. What if I called the people to action—to take those who are unwilling to repent and give them over?

Maybe people would get upset. Or maybe people would enter worship with crash helmets, realizing that are about to enter into high risk territory, where the word is going to call for some action that will lead to becoming more like Jesus. And maybe those on the outside, like Casper, would say—perhaps there is something here in the church that has the ring of truth and authenticity. They really believe what they are hearing from God.

Living the Cruciformed Life Among the Elite

I have not been prepared for the course Paul’s letter to Corinth is taking me. His letter to this elitist church is filled with both passion and sarcasm. And it has caused me to do some hard thinking about present culture, about my own life choices. So much of what Paul faced in Corinth—celebrity worship, factionalism, and elitism—are the very things that make up much of present culture, both within and without the church.

If you question this, than pick up Michael Lindsay’s Faith in the Halls of Power: How Evangelicals Joined the American Elite. In it, he traces a movement that once was on the periphery, but now wields power—from Washington to Hollywood to Wall Street. Lindsay, who is a sociologist from Rice University, interviewed a number of leaders, and has come to the conclusion that while evangelicals have not grown substantially, their influence has. And while we evangelicals might rejoice in this, I wonder, “At what cost?”

In his chapter, “From Protest to Patronage,” Lindsay writes these disturbing words: “As I found, evangelicals in Hollywood differ little from others in the entertainment industry. They drive luxury cars, live in exclusive communities, and worry that their fame and talent will evaporate overnight. And the evangelical movement does look more like mainstream society. Ministry leaders resemble corporate executives, calling themselves ‘chairman and chief executive officer’ rather than ‘pastor’ or ‘chaplain.’”

The parallels with Corinth are scary. As he continues on, suddenly I am reading I Corinthians 1-4 as it looks today—“Indeed, American evangelicalism contributes to a cult of personality with movement leaders elevated to iconic status, despite biblical injunctions for modesty and humility.” Lindsay shares his own experience—“I once was backstage at a large meeting for evangelicals, where the various entourages—and their sycophantic behavior—seemed more appropriate for a rock concert or political rally than a meeting for church people. The evangelical publishing world and contemporary Christian music have fed this hero worship…indeed, the very existence of such a thing as a ‘Christian celebrity’ shows how evangelicals have adopted the practices of secular society.”

Paul intentionally chose to live out Christ, to be a cruciformed life. That is, to live a life shaped in the form of the Cross. And he ended up, as he puts it in I Corinthians 4, like those condemned to death, the scum of the earth, the dregs of society. And it raises questions—questions that cause unease, at least for me. “Can a person, who truly intends to conform to Jesus, in both His death and resurrection, end up in the halls of power?  Was Paul’s experience God’s specific calling for him, the result of being an apostle? Or is Paul telling us something—that when you choose to be like Jesus, to come to a place where you say—“I determined to know nothing among you, except Jesus Christ and Him crucified,” you will most likely not be invited into the club of the elite? And if you get there, the radical nature of your life will not allow you to remain for long.

Where are the Radically Changed Lives?

I just finished reading an advance copy of Gary Thomas’ new book, The Beautiful Fight. Here’s what I like about it. He writes with the core conviction a Christian life should be a radically transformed life. That faith in Jesus can be drastically different from and better than what we are currently experiencing. In other words, we should expect to see change—see the effects of God’s empowering presence.

This resonates with me because it’s rare to see dramatic change. We tend to see lives that reflect a superficial change of mind, lives that have not been seriously altered, lives that do not evidence miraculous change. Marriages look little different than those of the world; pornography and its addictive behavior tends to be as problematic in the church as outside the church; gracelessness can be as pervasive in a Christian culture as outside. Something is wrong. In my darker moments, I wonder if coming to Christ truly makes a significant difference.

When George Barna wrote his Revolution, I was really turned off by it. It seemed as if he had totally given up on the church, something that, as a pastor, was deeply offensive to me. And yet, I could not completely blame him. For he came to a place in his research where he began to ask the really important question, “Is the church truly interested in becoming a transformed community?” “Is it serious about transforming the world?” His research led him to the painful conclusion that it was not. Churches are not intentional in either becoming or measuring spiritual transformation.

Which brings me back to Thomas’ book. I am hearing a growing passion to see transformed lives from authors, pastors, instructors. There is this growing conviction that our union with Christ should lead to a profoundly different life, to a cross and resurrection way of living. In Jesus’ death, we too have died—died to the world and its allures—died to our self-centeredness—died to sin. And if this is so, we should see the evidence of this in changed lives. Sin should not have the authoritative role we all too often have given it. It doesn’t mean we no longer have to deal with the temptations that come in life. As the Puritan John Owen put it—“Sin has been dealt its death blow at the Cross, and we will spend the rest of our lives draining its life blood.”  But it does mean that sin no longer has a defining say in the choices we make in life.

This same union declares we have risen with Christ, and this risen life opens the way for God’s new world, for the future and present to overlap, opening a whole new way of being human (NT Wright). It should be evident for all to see. Thomas sets out to show how this ascended life of Christ should look in all of our being. In Christ, we have the ability to see as God sees, hear as God hears, think as God thinks, have hearts that feel what God feels.

So what explains the gap?  Perhaps it is a theologically anemic age that does not comprehend what the crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension mean to present existence. It may have a lot to do with the fact a transformed life requires vigilance, self discipline, rigorous thought, and repentance. Perhaps we see so little of changed lives because we refuse to pay the price. But here’s what we are missing. We have failed to realize that the grace that pardons is the same grace that is able to transform. This is grace we are not taking advantage of.

Walter Brueggemann, one of my favorite all time authors, was asked—“If you came into a room of ten of the brightest, committed, determined to change the world kind of pastors, and had one word of advice, what would it be?”  Without any hesitation, he responded—“Discover how it is people change, and build your ministry accordingly.”  I hear him saying—find what it is that more than inspires—find what transforms people, what transforms all of their being, and give your best ministry to that. This seems to be what Thomas has devoted himself to doing in his latest book—and where the church needs to get its focus.

Give It a Rest

I just returned from Ione, which is just down from Metalline Falls, which is close to Border Dam—all of which is on the edge of the Washington-Idaho-Canadian border. And here, in this small corner of the world, things are quiet. Very quiet. And here, I found rest. Setting out with a kayak, the only sounds were an occasional waterfall and the movement of birds. No cell-phone, no lap-top, no slavery to overconnectedness, no blogging.

I’m not too great about rest. Like all too many, I have a hard time stopping. Living in two ministry worlds doesn’t help, but even if it were one world, I would still be a “Sabbath-breaker”, to use Eugene Peterson’s words. It’s ingrained in me to live at a pretty rapid pace, and I don’t wear this as any badge of honor. I came back from my years in Europe so burned out that I wrote an Op-Ed piece for the Oregonian entitled “Has Rest Become a Four Letter Word?” I was trying to get some balance, but finding my re-entry into culture here like entering a perpetual hothouse. So once again, it was nice to get away from the lights and the heat.

There is a lot of truth to the statement that while we tend to trade sleep for productivity, we would actually be more productive if we rested more. Without it, the jungle out there just keeps on thickening. When Lauren Winner was asked how to be countercultural for the common good, she wrote an article for Books & Culture on, of all things, sleep. She discovered that a lack of sleep leads to “sleep debt”, leading to huge costs, personally and societally. Sleeping, as she notes, may well be one of our essential acts of discipleship. It testifies to the Person of God, who rested. It testifies to the basic Christian story of Creation, to our own finiteness, as well as to our own mortality. Getting away to rest allows us to clarify values, imitate God’s rhythms, deepen our trust.

Anna Quindlen, in a Newsweek article, “Doing Nothing is Something”, put it especially well. Downtime is where we become ourselves, looking into the middle distance, kicking at the curb, lying on the grass or staring on the stoop and staring at the tedious blue of the summer sky. I did all of these—and more. I brought more than enough books to read, but often I could not get past an occasional Sports Illustrated article. I read what it is like to pilot a B-2 bomber (Atlantic Monthly), the political confessions of Billy Graham (Time), as well as the confessions of an eco-terrorist (Outside). One day I messed around for an hour looking at all the hilarious pictures on Despair.com with family and friends. Amidst the occasional spurts of energy, a 50 mile bike ride around Sullivan Lake and floating on rivers, there was the occasional gift of “enforced boredom”, as Quindlen puts it, where we “stare into space, bored out of our gourds, exploring the inside of our heads.”  This is, of course, when it gets scary.

I did work through The Cross and ChristianMinistry, and took an occasional dip into Kouzes and Posner’s Leadership Challenge. But then I would remind myself I was on vacation and put the cerebrum back in neutral, and if necessary, go back to re-reading Buchanan’s The Rest of God to get my bearings. And I would focus on these words—

-if God works all things together for good for those who love Him and are called to His purposes, you can relax. If He doesn’t, start worrying

-if God can take any mess and choreograph beauty and meaning, you can take some time off

-either God’s always watching the city, building the house, or we need to try harder

Avoiding Worship Narcissism

Reading the latest Relevant Magazine Online, I was intrigued by the writer’s recent experience at a nationwide worship event called TheCall.  It is a 12 hour fasting and worship experience, happening in various cities this year, for people “serious about encountering God and changing the world.”

And maybe it is a life changing experience.  Maybe it is an event different from so many others, where people come for the mountain top adrenaline rush of a stadium rally.  But I wonder how much of what we call worship today, in that context, or in most Sunday services, is really worship.  Robert Webber, in one of his last books before his death, Divine Embrace, speaks to the “worship narcissism” prevalent in so many gatherings today, where the main attention is given to seeking some transcendent experience.  But under the cover of these words, and more than we realize, our focus is much closer to home--on us and our experience--on our story rather than on God and His story, His purpose for us.  And here’s how we can tell if it is located in our story: we leave this gathering asking one another—“Did you like the sound?”  “Did you sense the presence of God?”  “Did the message speak to you?”  “Did you like the worship?”

Maybe we should be asking—did God like our worship?  But even this question, according to Webber, misses the point. It misunderstands the purpose of worship.  Authentic worship is not about approaching God as the object of worship.  It is rather about seeing God as the subject of worship.  This statement in itself brings me up short for sure.  It causes me to stop and ask myself how often I have entered worship with this perspective.  Far more than I would like to admit, I have come in as subject.  I have come to ask God to participate in my story.  I have come with no expectation God is already actively doing something, asking me to get in step with.  I have come consumed with my needs, hoping worship does something for me.  If I am moved to get the attention off myself and unto God, even here, God is simply a transcendent being to be adored.

Webber’s point is that if God is the object of worship, then worship must proceed from us.  We, then, are the subject of this gathering, and in this, the true worship of God is located in me.  But if God is the subject of worship, acting in this world, involved with creation, ruling over the heaven and earth, then we gather to do something else.  We come to engage in what He is presently doing, God acting through Word and Spirit, song and sacrament.  We come to contemplate and celebrate our present union with Him.  We enter, not waiting for something to happen, planned in advance by the worship leader.  We enter to continue God’s redemptive story, living out our death and resurrection.  We step into His present purposes in community, proclaiming and living out the good news, offering our bodies as living sacrifices, which is our “spiritual act of worship” (Rom. 12:1-2).

It was one of my hopes to meet Webber, who was scheduled to teach a doctoral class for our program, until his illness forced him to cancel.  There are a lot of things about worship I would have liked to ask.  So I am guessing a bit, but in this final writing, where Webber seems to be gathering the fruit of a lifetime of teaching, he is underscoring--that while there is a “bowing down to adore Him” side of worship (proskuneo), it really isn’t worship if it is not first rooted in His story.  It is not worship if it does not generate--at the same time--a participation in community—praying, healing, ministering spiritual gifts, mutually releasing the indwelling Spirit to one another, moving out in a corporate way to advance God’s kingdom and continue the work of Jesus.  The early church called this leitergeo, (lit. the “work of the people”), a public works term borrowed from the culture of its day, and it too became a term for worship. This is why worship in its earliest form was called “service”.  But “service” today means little more than a time of gathering.  And if in that gathering, it is reduced to mere verbal response or singing, treating God as merely one who sits in heaven rather than the God who acts in this world, inviting us to get in step with Him and His story as we enter, then no matter the emotion it generated, something besides worship happened. 

iChurch

The other night I had one of those painful conversations pastors engage in from time to time. It began with the words, “I want you to know I am leaving Village.”  It’s almost inevitable these conversations occur. Things change. People change. And sometimes, there are very good reasons people transition to another church community. Their career may take them to another city. The church may have drifted off into heresy, or intentionally stopped preaching the Word of God. Or there is a leader in the church, and he is engaged in immoral behavior, and the church has intentionally determined to not confront him. Perhaps the church has decided to leave its essential mission to reach lost people, love one another, worship God, or disciple the saints to become radical followers of Jesus.

But I fear that in recent years, the tendency to move is for other reasons—reasons that are less substantive, reasons explained by the age we live in. What I find is that people tend to leave because their needs are not being met; the other church has a better youth ministry; I’m not sure I want to invest in the cost that will be required to stay here; the music there is closer to our tastes; I find more people my age; this church, like every existing church, is going to one day die anyway.

Some time ago, I read an article that has parked itself in the back of my mind—one of those you say to yourself—“I will come back to this again.”  Skye Jethani wrote it in Leadership, entitled iChurch:All We Like Sheep. In it, he recounted a similar conversation and the things he processed. In effect, he asked, “Have we become so co-opted by our consumer oriented age, that we treat our church like a place we shop?”  Have we come to a place where we want church to be like our iPods—a place of personalized choices. Do we come and consume until we find something better down the street to meet our needs?

Sometimes I feel like our church is just one more brand out there. And I wonder if we have moved from a Christianity that was about relinquishing our desires, submitting to a community, learning to accept the blemishes and love those God has called us to love—to a Christianity that is all about meeting my needs, providing choices, and leaving if change does not happen on my timeline.

Before some of you line up to take issue with me, let me underscore that all of us bear some blame. It begins with pastors who all too often leave their churches for something more attractive. As Eugene Peterson once put it, too many pastors have a tendency to commit ecclesiastical pornography, lusting over the airbrushed congregational brochures, and using “the Lord called me” language to get there. It certainly hasn’t helped that pastors are also very quick to receive those who have gotten disgruntled down the street, without ever asking—could it be God wants you to remain, and work this through for the sake of the body?  If this is merely about preference, should you really be here?  Have you considered the hours and resources a body has invested in your lives?  At one point will you leave us?

Certainly leaders have also aggravated the situation by acting as “religious baristas” (Jethani’s words), supplying spiritual goods for people to choose from based upon their preferences. When I and my worship leader attended a church some years ago, to view its video ministry, we could not help thinking—this is consumer Christianity at its worst. Prefer an organ?  Come to this setting—we’ll even supply the pews. Want something that appeals to boomers—we’ve got bagels in the other building. Want rock?  Try out this venue, where we have created a nightclub atmosphere sure to attract those your age.

So we, pastors, leaders, have our failings as well. And maybe it started with holding to a rather lame ecclesiology, forgetting what God called the church to be in the first place. We may have failed to say the obvious, that much of consumerism is incongruent with a Christian community, unrelated to life devoted to following in the steps of Jesus. Maybe we failed to make it clear that churches don’t have to die. That an existing church, with some of its wrinkles and brown spots can be the emerging church of tomorrow if we are willing to invest our energies and passions to get it there, taking advantage of its structures and history. Maybe we failed to say that we both value and need the next generation, and missed underscoring that the next generation needs those of us who have been down the road a bit. We have been through the dark night of the soul and experienced God on the other side. We have faced certain losses, including lost dreams. We have seen what pride can do to ruin success, been shaped by both helpful and abusive voices, and gained a certain wisdom in the process.

The irony is that I find a younger generation sick of a consumerism that has reduced everything down to our narcissistic desires. But I find they are no less prone than any other generation to move when their needs are not met. Unless my experience is different, I find that a younger generation is no more inclined to join a church than a boomer generation, when in reality, the point of joining is to enter a covenant. A covenant that says, for better or worse, this is the body God has placed me in, and I will love the people and submit myself to those God has called to lead, and I will unleash my gifts, and I will sit at the table with everyone else and lead the church forward. And if things are not where they should be, I will stay at it until they are, or until God shows me differently.

REFLECTIONS LEAVING BEIRUT

It’s my fourth time here. I’ll never forget my first time flying over the city. From the plane, Beirut looked like one vast open wound. Sadly, despite efforts to close the injury and see it heal, the wound keeps opening. Fighting broke out just up north while we were here, and it still continues in Nahr el-Bared. There is an unease, a sense of yet another Lebanese tragedy. It’s heart breaking because this is such a beautiful place, and the people radiate a Mediterranean charm.

I keep coming here because I am convinced that Lebanon is critical to the sharing of God’s great news of healing through Jesus. Few other places in the Middle East are as open to the gospel. The location and diversity make this a place of strategic and spiritual importance.

Being here, I am both really encouraged, and yet somewhat discouraged, by what is happening within the body of Christ.

First, the encouragement. I am staying at a seminary that is reaching students within the Arabic world—students from Sudan, Morocco, Egypt, Lebanon (like those pictured). The guys are serious about what they are doing, and the organization they serve under has made real headway in living Christ. Last summer, they were on the front lines of being Jesus to a people rocked by bombings. I come here because I want to play a part.

But I must admit I am somewhat troubled by the church. I am meeting some pretty solid pastors, like Tony. He, his wife Wafa, with a Ph.D., have left the corporate world in Bahrain to live in downtown Beirut and lead a church. And they face as many obstacles inside the church as outside the church. Outside, there is a crowded neighborhood, and surrounding organizations like Hamas and Hezbollah and Sunni Fatah al-Islam, and a culture in despair and resignation.

Inside the church, there are its own challenges. I preached there last night. Nice people for sure, but I could not help but wonder if they understand that hanging on to their traditions and rituals may be making them irrelevant to a world that is desperate to see an incarnational Christianity, to see Jesus—see a church with the radical empowerment of the Spirit, a place of welcome and laughter, of healing and hope—people coming to faith—people coming with their small faith and leaving empowered to turn the world upside down. People who come to find that the only one to fear in this crazy place is God—for as McManus puts it—what we fear is what we’re subject to—and the only one we’re subject to is Jesus!

The stakes are just too high to settle for anything less. The work on the Cross accomplished too much to live otherwise. He disarmed the powers—we’ve been raised from the grave. Now if we would only live it in all places.

Some Final Thoughts Regarding My Journey

A few days ago, I stood across from the Harod Valley, near Jezreel.  It was here, some 3000 years ago, a man named Gideon stood with 300 men at Harod Spring, looking at an enemy whose numbers were impossible to count (Judges 6).  The odds were overwhelming—but not to God.  All that He required was faith—and once Gideon came to grips with God’s intention to keep placing uncertainty before him, calling him to step out irregardless—he and his small band pushed this force all the way back across the Jordan.

 

I stood for a time, because I wanted this Valley to etch itself in my heart.  I’ve had several such moments over here, and their relevance for today are reinforced by Paul’s words in Romans 15:4: “For everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through endurance and the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.”

 

In other words, as I have journeyed in the Middle East, God shows me more than history and culture and stories.  He whispers—“I’m the same God, and I can take your obstacles, no matter how overwhelming, and send them running.  But in the midst of your uncertainties, I am still requiring the same thing I required of Gideon—faith. Will you step out and trust Me?”

 

My take is that for most of us, that is a hard thing.  And I am wondering if the question in these days is not so much—“God, where are You?” but—“Church, where are you?  When will you start believing?”

   

NT Wright says it well at the end of his wonderful book, Simply Christian: “It is time, in the power of the Spirit, to take up our proper role, our fully human role, as agents, heralds, stewards of the new day that is dawning.  That, quite simply, is what it means to be Christian: to follow Jesus Christ into the new world, God’s new world, which He has thrown open before us.”  And that requires bold faith.

MUSINGS FROM ISRAEL

I am on my way back by bus from Ashquelon to Jerusalem—a good moment to write a blog. It’s my third trip to Israel, but ten years since the last one. Some things are the same—the traffic, the starlings making music every morning, shop keepers haggling for your shekels. But lots of things have changed. Here are my ten immediate impressions:

1.   Things seem relatively calm, and yet the evidence that there is an underlying tension is everywhere. In two separate conversations, one with a Jewish shop keeper and one with an Arab cab driver, they both are convinced a significant war is looming and could come by summer. Young people everywhere are in uniform—a rite of passage almost. It’s common place to see rifles and handguns. People seem pretty casual, but there is a vigilant spirit for sure. An act of violence is anticipated—it’s just a matter of when. One scene sort of captured it all. I mentioned to my guide that an Israeli police car had its lights flashing, and yet it was waiting at the stop light like all the other cars. But she was unfazed for, as she put it, their lights are always on.

2.   Looking from a mount over the area south of Bethlehem, where any semblance of green is quickly passing away under a scorching sun, or walking through a Judean wilderness, as our group did yesterday, one comes away with a distinct impression that God brought Israel into this land to say—the only way you will survive is to trust in Me. A land flowing with milk and honey is simply saying it is a land of goat’s milk and dates, and all can dry up in a moment. It is a harsh, rugged place—and I realize this is as God intended for all of us. Desperate for Him, who wonderfully provides—but close to the edge, so that we dare not depend on ourselves. The sad side of Israel’s history is that it has often depended—and continues to depend—on itself.

3.   The wall being built to divide Palestinians and Israelis has decreased the incidence of terrorism. But it has also imposed a deep ugliness on the land. To me, it symbolizes everything that is wrong here. Rather than build a bridge, it is a way of saying—stay on your side and we will stay on ours. But what is yours and what is ours is determined by who has the power, and those with the power seem to impose injustice all too often.

4.   I have met Palestinians and Israelis who both want peace, want a future. Who simply want a family, a home, a life, but are often overshadowed by extremists who want neither peace nor a future. And neither government has served the people well, whether it is the radical Hamas or an Israeli government that seems all too corrupt.

5.   I wonder if a day is coming it will no longer be so attractive to visit the holy land. That where there once was a vast wilderness, or a hill country, or a shephelah, where one could imagine the parable of the good Samaritan, Jonathan in battle, or David meeting Goliath, one will have to look past the new developments, the malls, and even the McDonalds. It is much harder to get the picture I want, that does not include the modern with the ancient. And the rush to build, to secure rights to a land, is surely going to soon face the tension—at what cost to people on a pilgrimage to go back to their spiritual roots?

6.   I wish religious institutions had not got hold of the holy sights. Though they may feel they have protected something as sacred, their ornaments and rituals have defaced so much of it. I could do without visiting the sight of Jesus’ birth, or entering the Holy Sepulcher. The layers of gaudiness detract from what should have been—a simple trough and dirt, a simple cross and rock.

7.   I always have to prepare myself spiritually for this experience. I am drawn to a certain  intimacy with God that comes from walking in the footsteps of Jesus. And yet, because this is a place where major religions converge, it can be perplexing. I meet Muslim and Jew who speak of the same love for God I do, who are every bit as devoted as I am—and more so—and just as convinced that what they believe is true. Not that it causes me to doubt John 14:6—but it is something I experience and wrestle through each time I come here.

8.   There is a romanticism about the land—a Mideast charm. But maybe we in the west romanticize it too much. Today I watched a shepherd tend his sheep. He was maybe in his early twenties, with a boombox in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and a baseball cap rather than a head scarf. The sheep were their usual dumb self, smelly, foraging off a rather barren landscape. Not the Scottish highlands I imagine, not the rugged, fierce shepherd that has often been portrayed. Could it be God chose a metaphor of great low regard and earthiness to underscore His humility, as well as our desperate condition?

9.   Walking through Hezekiah’s tunnel was a profound experience—how they built this to bring water into the city was an amazing achievement. And then I read the words of Isaiah, what God had to say when they were finished-“You built a reservoir between the two walls…but you did not look to the One who made the water, or have regard for the One who planned it” (22:11). Our best achievements are meaningless if God is not in it.

10.  There is only one hope for this place—and every place—Jesus.

A Letter From a Twentysomething

I’m just finishing Sarah Cunningham’s “Dear Church”, subtitled “Letters from a Disillusioned Generation”. These fourteen rather raw letters do not make for easy reading for someone who has committed nearly thirty years to serving the church in a pastoral role. It would be easy to become immediately defensive (which happens when your identity becomes more and more aligned with the church you have poured yourself into). It would also be simple to dismiss it as just another disaffected person who expects the church to be perfect. Just another self absorbed twentysomething that needs to quit complaining and join hands with the rest of us. But actually, I really liked a lot of her thoughts, and my guess is Sarah is verbalizing what a number of people in a younger generation in my church are hesitant to say to me in person.

Maybe I am also not too put off, for I once was an idealistic twentysomething wanting to change the world. I was on a university campus in the sixties and seventies, having my arguments with campus radicals like the SDS and joining with other Christians in a quest to change the world. I’d still like to think I am still about this, only I have embraced the church as the place to do it. I am still convinced the church is the hope of the world, just as I am convinced that training tomorrow’s leaders in a seminary setting is the hope of the church.

Helpful in the book is the description of disillusioned twentysomethings. Here are some: Twentysomethings want to feel connected, value family, community—and see individualism as deepening human poverty. They want things now, and are impatient with things that cannot be resolved right away. They like technology, but do not want it to replace real live people with stories that speak to the human condition. They are idealistic, and hunger for a church to give them meaningful responsibility. They are transparent, respecting leaders courageous enough to share their true struggles. They have hypersensitive internal sensors when it comes to authenticity. They are slow to formally commit, but will be loyal investors in the end. They value diversity and inclusion, and are disillusioned with the fact only 5% of Protestant congregations are multiracial. In sum, they are frustrated that the church falls short of the radical community God intended it to be.

What I hear is something like this. Whatever we do as a church, make sure we never sacrifice community for size. Leaders, be careful in making decisions, but don’t let the church languish in endless discussions, analysis paralysis. Get on with it. Take the risk!  Let people share their stories. We need to hear from each other in worship—not just from a pulpit voice. Be yourself—don’t try to be trendy, cutting edge for the sake of being cool. Be patient and less critical, even if a younger generation isn’t on board yet. Read the gospel over and over, measuring the church by what Jesus did.

Cunningham is not afraid to admit her own disillusionment with disillusionment, and the tendency to idolize, let it monopolize her head. She understands a lot of imperfect things are going to happen in a church. Going to another church will eventually mean trading one set of flaws for a different set of flaws. How I wish people understood this, especially those who leave after you have poured so much into them.

If I have one disappointment, it would be that the book did not make a more compelling argument for committing to one another, despite the inevitable disappointments. I am this thirtysomething in a fiftysomething body with this undying hope that the diversity twentysomethings love can include age, and that together we will listen to one another and grow and press the church to be this fermenting wine of Jesus, in structures that continue to change—structures that are always the servant, not the master. Trite as this may sound, we need each other if the church will have a significant future.