Rocky Soil

A couple of years ago our church had a booth at the activities fair for students at the University of Vermont.  This is a day where groups as diverse as Domino's Pizza and the campus hiking clubs have information and sometimes swag for students.  Domino's swag is always popular if not always delicious.  We had little packets of post-it notes with "St. Timothy Anglican Mission" on the back.  We gave quite a few away.

Yet one young man wandered by our table and picked up a packet.  When he had read the name of our organization he put it down hurriedly with what can only be described as disgust.  Hang on to this story.  I'll come back to it.

I live and minister in New England. There is a story, perhaps apocryphal, that some mission agencies who send people to Muslim countries send them to New England first.  To quote the apostle Frank, "if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere" (and I realize that New York is not a part of New England).  It is, as we all say, rocky soil.  Like that's never happened before.  I think we should stop saying it.  It is not novel.

Faith in Jesus spreads in contexts like this.  Or at least it used to.  The conditions of New England and, I would argue, most of North America are startlingly like that of the first century.  Here are some examples:

1.  New England is highly urbanized.  Vermont, northern New Hampshire and northern Maine are exceptions to the rule.  The rest of it is all city pretty much.  (My apologies to those who live in the beautiful rural towns of the other states for insensitively failing to understand your context.)    The New Testament church was mostly an urban movement.  Rome, Corinth, Thessalonica, Ephesus, Colossae, Jerusalem. None of these were remote villages.  The advantage to gospel ministry in urban centers is that there are lots of people there.  People whom Jesus loves and whom he wants to know.

2.  There is a diversity of belief in New England.  The Mediterranean culture of the first century was NOT religiously or philosophically monolithic.  As if.  Read about Paul in Athens (Acts 17).  He noted the great variety of altars and shrines to every god imaginable.  To be fair he was distressed by it, but he didn't berate the Athenians when he spoke but noted, quite rightly, that they were "very religious".  Every worldview is essentially a faith in something - science, money, a green earth, Jesus, Buddha or Dagon.  The people of New England are very diversely religious.  They are, I can assure you, passionate about what they trust in.  What I don't see in the New Testament is the complaint that "it's not like it used to be when we were a Christian culture" because it never had been.  But I was working on similarities here wasn't I?

3.  Much of New England is antagonistic to Christianity.  In the first century there was plenty of antagonism toward faith in Jesus Christ.  Paul's pre-apostolic career is just one example.  Paul's post-conversion experiences are another - just read Acts, or 2 Corinthians 11.  We might be tempted to think that modernly we have it harder (which we SO do not) because now people have baggage around Christianity - witness my opening story and the revulsion of the young man at the mention of "church".  In the first century Christianity was new, ergo, no baggage.  Well perhaps no baggage due to history but certainly some due to our practice.  In the first century people were disgusted by Christians because at their services they were cannibals, eating flesh and drinking blood.  Wait, that doesn't count.  They misunderstood what the Christians meant.  I am arguing that the current antagonism we experience and the disgust that the aforementioned young man felt are precisely for the same reason.  People do not understand what we mean - what the faith is all about.  And we've had time to explain - Peter and James and John were starting from scratch.

So what's different?  The automobile, mobile phones and soft-serve ice cream aside, I'd like to consider two things.

First.  There were missionaries to take the Gospel to those pluralistic and antagonistic urban centers.  Please don't take umbrage in thinking that I am condemning us for not being evangelists and failing to ask our co-workers if they have been saved by the blood of the Lamb.  There is much effort in many congregations in New England to grow the church.  And that's the problem.  We're trying to grow the church - not make disciples.  And here is the mea culpa moment.  As a pastor, like many pastors, I love the trappings of success - lots of people on a Sunday, programs for every imaginable group by age, interest and applicable dysfunction.  Much, not all, of our effort is is to get more people in the door.  It makes us feel worthwhile and significant. Forgetting that we are worthwhile and significant because God has loved us in Christ Jesus.  It is, of course, good for the Church to grow.  But that is a by-product of making disciples by taking the Gospel to those who do not know it.

This is blessedly absent in the work of St. Paul.  You will note that he never says in his letters, "I give thanks to God that your Sunday numbers are over 300".  He gives thanks for their faith, for their love.  If you read the book of Acts you will notice that Paul often doesn't stay around long enough to work on "church growth".  He is not growing the church.  He is preaching Christ crucified - a scandal to the successful and foolishness to the prosperous.

Second. Paul proclaims the truth of the Gospel in love.  Wait, why is that different?  Don't we do that too?  Yes.  Sometimes.  But not always.  It is easy to be sentimental, glossing over the inconvenient truth (apologies to Al Gore) so we can continue to feel warm - what we call love - towards someone or something.  That's love without truth.

But I am (and we are) also easily tempted to rant about how bad "society" is - as if we weren't a part of it.  Or we loudly condemn in word and deed things we find appalling or distressing.  I heard a story last week of a Christian responding to a blog post by a transgendered person.  The response was, "Disgusting!"  The response was disgusting.  I remind you of Paul in Athens. Paul was "greatly distressed to see that the city was full of idols".  (Acts 17:16)  But the Athenians were blithely unaware.  of said distress.  Our distress is entirely beside the point "for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God." (James 1:20 ESV)

Make no mistake Paul proclaims the Gospel clearly:


Being then God's offspring, we ought not to think that the divine being is like gold or silver or stone, an image formed by the art and imagination of man. The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.
(Acts 17:29-31 ESV)


Here is a clear call to repentance combined with real love.  And for whom?  The idolaters.  He was just following the lead of the One who loved tax collectors and sinners.

Jesus make us missionaries not just church growers.  For the harvest is plentiful but the workers are few.  Help us, O Lord to speak the truth in love, because you love sinners and invite them to your table.

So here we are in New England.  Or Milwaukee or Toronto.  In very similar circumstances as the first century.  So that means we only have about 300 years before the future counterpart of Constantine makes it easier for us again.  Hope you weren't in a rush.

Ecclesiastical Narcissists

The church which I attend (and pastor) is a modestly-sized newish Anglican congregation.  We have been meeting weekly for five years now.  We are ecclesiastical bedouins. Having originally met in homes we moved to rent space from a Greek Orthodox Church and are now renting from a community center on Sunday mornings.  The homes were warm and hospitable, the Greek Church beautiful, and the community center clean and bright.  In different ways each has met our changing needs.  I am thankful - but troubled.

When I was a kid I remember that the church was always referred to as "God's house".  To be more accurate, even in the small village in which I grew up, one would have to say "God's houses" as there were several.  God appears to be well-heeled - the cattle on a thousand hills and any number of pied-a-terres scattered across the globe.  The original temple built by Solomon but envisaged by his father, David, was clearly understood to be the dwelling place of God.  David's distress was that he had a beautiful home in which to live but the ark of God - the mercy seat where his presence was understood to dwell - was housed in a tent. (2 Samuel 7:1-2)  It seemed to David, well, unseemly that God should be so poorly housed.

I was reading Ezra this morning on the rebuilding of the temple and was struck by this passage:
Then rose up the heads of the fathers' houses of Judah and Benjamin, and the priests and the Levites, everyone whose spirit God had stirred to go up to rebuild the house of the LORD that is in Jerusalem. (Ezra 1:5, ESV)

The people and priests, and Cyrus king of Persia to boot, were interested in constructing a house for the Lord.  For his Name, for his honor.  Stirred up. And here is where I began to be troubled.  I stated above that all the places in which we have worshipped as a community have, in their turn, met our needs.  But as I read Ezra, I realize that our needs are really not the first thing.  Our congregation has not had the luxury (or burden) of building a church structure.  But I have seen the result of many such projects.  I compare the great cathedrals of Europe or even the small community churches of years gone by to the common modern expressions.  And I am troubled.

Help me understand: Why does the Lord needs a gas fireplace, comfy chairs and a coffee bar in the foyer?  All such things exist in some, admittedly beautiful, new churches.  We are concerned that there be ample and easy parking.  God forbid that we might have to hoof it a block or two to come to worship the Living God.  Our focus is on whether the buildings meet our needs and preferences - not that they are a fitting place for his dwelling.  I said we were ecclesiastical bedouins.  I fear that we are ecclesiastical narcissists.

The soaring vaults of the great cathedrals, while both beautiful and awe-inspiring for us, were not designed for us and our appreciation, but for the glory of God and the honor of his Name.  The builders of Solomon's temple and the second temple were concerned that the place be fit for the dwelling of the LORD.  We want to make sure it is comfortable for us.

I do not begrudge beauty and elegance in church architecture.  But I am troubled by its pandering to our tastes (because we are no longer talking about needs) and cultural expectations.  A church is God's house, a place for his dwelling.  This is perhaps a simplistic Sunday-school understanding.  But at least it reminds us that the temple is for God not for us.

Just

One of my daughters, when overcome with admittedly trivial, first-world crises, will often say, "I want to die in a hole" as an expression of protest.  It has been three months since I last posted so I want to say that I have not died in a hole.  Just a summer hiatus.

My children are now grown or nearly grown but I remember clearly one of the great cries of childhood, "It's not fair!"  This cry of protest can be easily evoked in any group of children - even two will do - by giving one of the crowd a larger piece of cake.  The magic of this is that the piece of cake need not actually be larger as long as at least one of the crowd perceives that it is.  Or has more interesting frosting.  Or is more desirable in a way that you have not even imagined. The cry goes up - "It's not fair"- railing against gross injustice.

Continuing with the idea of trivial, first-world crises, the cake scenario is a perfect example.  However it does serve to illustrate an almost innate desire for justice we have even at a young age.  Even recognizing that "it's not fair!" is, when translated, only "I don't like it", nonetheless the appeal is for justice or fairness.  At an early age we have a sense that things should be "fair."

And for most that continues into adulthood.  Many fight for societal justice in the face of many great injustices.  There are heroes of this fight - famous, like Rosa Parks, and unsung like folks I know who intentionally move to the poorest part of town to get involved in those communities.  The fight for justice is often quiet and gracious like this.  But it is also often strident and loud.  The Arab Spring is an example of the latter.

But I always come back to the cry, "It's not fair!"  The protest is to address the problem we see in the world or in our social structure.  The problem outside of ourselves.  I was arrested when I read this in the psalms last week:

For the Lord is righteous; he delights in righteous deeds, and the just shall see his face. 
(Psalm 11:8 1979 American BCP translation)

It is not those who fight for or care about justice who shall see his face, but those who are just themselves.  This is not a critique of the brave and loving souls who strive for justice in the world.  It is  a part of our Christian lives.  In my Anglican tradition one of our baptismal promises is to strive for justice and respect the dignity of every human being.   But while I am striving for justice, am I just myself?  It is always easier to see the problem that "they" have.

Before we give vent to our anger at injustice around us, perhaps we should begin with the injustice within us.  Jesus tells us to take the log out of our own eye before we take the speck of dust out of our brother's.

What Psalm 11 did for me this past week is to make me ask not, "Is it fair?" but rather, "Am I fair?"  A good question to ask.