discipleship

Revelation Trumps Rules

By. J.C. Mitchell

I remember some professor in class explaining that for Jews keeping Kosher, or the rules for Shabbat, had different levels of interpretation, which is   why some groups define the rules differently.  I remember in college lighting the match for a Jewish roommate for Shabbat, and I was confused as to why using a lighter or match could be considered work.  This prof explained that some people added human layers of rules in order to assure they were following the Divine’s Desire.   Explained that way, I am reminded of how rules can be comforting.   We know what to expect, and within a rule you can convey great nuance as well as simple restrictions; this is found in the Ten Best Ways, the Ten Commandments.  Yet as we know, rules can be left to interpretation.

Not only are rules as subjective and as personal as the person who lights a Shabbat candle, we often desire the social other to follow the same rules. This is how we design our religion and our religious practices.  However, we balance rules with revelation.  Amos even laments our rules (5:21-24):

I hate, I despise your festivals,

   and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.

Even though you offer me your burnt-offerings and grain-offerings,

   I will not accept them;

and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals

   I will not look upon.

Take away from me the noise of your songs;

   I will not listen to the melody of your harps.

But let justice roll down like waters,

   and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

 

Jesus takes on the deeper religious rules of scapegoating and sacrifice and stands up to continue living.  Jesus is the revelation that our desire is to follow the desire of God and not the rules humans have layered upon our lives to assure our own order or comfort, often hiding the blood of those sacrificed for peace.

Nonetheless, it seems that the churches today that have more rules also have more people in the pews.  We claim to desire a relationship with Jesus over simply following rules. However, recently I had a revelation of my son using a napkin.  My seven-year-old son has autism and I can tell you simply making the rule, “use your napkin,” does not work.  Months of us reminding him positively, after every bite, has created a situation where he now wipes his hands and face as often as most boys his age, perhaps even a little better, as he has incorporated this act into his ritual of eating.  Not by a rule, but through the intense relationship. 

This is how everything is taught. For our child, including safety rules like, “you can’t go outside without permission,” would be as effective as me making burnt offerings.  So we make the ritual of asking “Go outside, please,” part of his routine of going outside, through the intense relationship of us making that a positive expectation, but is that not what we need to do as the church. 

We are commissioned to be the Church, The Resurrected Body of Christ, to be the revelation in the world; not rules.  Rules are easy--trust me for I know--as I desire to make a few rules for my son, but alas, I will need to stick to the relationship of revelation, and that helps with Church as well.

A little more exciting then napkins and door, here we are feeding birds at the zoo.

Enemies, Trust, and Dying for Congregational Transformation

By Derek Penwell

From time to time someone will come to my office, anxiety etched across the brow, looking for a listening ear. When I open the door on these occasions, I don’t know what kind of pain lies on the other side. I summon my best active listening practices from Pastoral Care 101, and I say, “What seems to be the trouble?”

“Well, Gladys and I have been having problems. You may have noticed we haven’t been around much lately.”

 

Sometimes I have, and sometimes I haven’t. I try to remain noncommittal: “I”m glad you’re here now."

“Let me cut to the chase.”

(That’s good. I’m pro cut-to-the-chase.)

“I think Gladys has been having an affair with a co-worker…”

And with that we embark on an all too familiar journey into betrayal, fear, and recrimination.

I listen to another sad story, which often ends with a question. It’s a big question, one I never feel comfortable answering. People who come to see me with problems like this ask it anyway:

“What should I do?”

I know the difference between directive and non-directive counseling, between offering a way to move forward and offering the person the opportunity to make those kinds of discoveries and decisions. I often have a hard time keeping my mouth shut about what people ought to do, but in these situations, it always seems better (easier?) to go with a non-directive approach:

“What do you want to do?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know what to do. I lover her, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust her again.”

There it is. Trust.

Trust. Relationships require it if they have any chance at being healthy. To say that “once lost, trust is difficult to recover” is, surely, to have said something everyone already knows instinctively. How long does it take to quit checking text messages and phone logs? How much time has to elapse before you believe that a trip to the store for milk and bread is really a trip to the store for milk and bread?

Unfortunately, there’s no calculus capable of offering a quantifiable answer about how much time it takes to rebuild trust. However, one thing is certain: If trust is to be rebuilt, it won’t happen just because of the elapse of time. Trust takes work, hard, often tedious, repetitive, mind-numbing work. Showing up when you say you’re going to show up. Being where you said you’d be. Doing what you said you’d do. Going out of your way to reassure the other person.

No matter how strongly a person feels about having recovered, no matter how eloquent the protestations about “turning over a new leaf,” no matter how many genuine tears are shed seeking forgiveness, there’s no short cut to the actual work of rebuilding trust.

Everyone knows that, right?

The other side of it, though, which also seems equally self-evident, but often gets overlooked in the face of the pain is that the wounded party has to want to heal, has to want to find trust again. This too requires work.

It’s possible to bang your head against a wall for someone who appears only to relish the sight of you concussing yourself. It is impossible to heal, however, when the infliction of pain becomes the glue that holds the relationship together.

Betrayal and the Congregation

It occurs to me that many churches have been wounded, whether by promiscuous pastors who took advantage, or by unprincipled lay leadership, or by denominational neglect–or just because the organizational system was set up to fail. Whatever the cause, the first casualty of betrayal is trust.

Unfortunately, the lack of trust in wounded congregations is a self-destructive feedback loop of bitterness and distrust that inhibits healthy growth and creativity. Distrust in a congregational system treats all change as equally menacing, treats everything new (people, programs, ideas) as presumably hostile–until proven otherwise.

A trip to the store for bread and milk is always assumed to be a pretext for something else, something surely more nefarious.

A new Sunday School class can never be just a new Sunday School class; it’s an indictment of the other Sunday School classes or a new avenue for some hostile party to consolidate power.

A change to the worship service or to the worship space is either an attack on tradition or a play to increase the power base of some suspicious constituency–or both.

What gets communicated in a wounded system where trust has been lost is: “We’re not quite sure yet how you’re trying to screw us over, but we’re pretty sure you are. Therefore, we’re withholding approval and/or permission.”

Has your church lost trust? Here’s an informal checklist:

  • Do you regularly have meetings that last longer than 2 hours?
  • Do people bring dog-eared copies of Robert’s Rules of Order to board meetings?
  • Do you hear at least one reference to the Constitution and By-laws at every meeting?
  • Do people bring their own calculators and red pens to the meeting where the budget is being proposed?
  • Do you have meetings where there are arguments about whether everybody on staff “really needs their own stapler?”
  • Does rearranging the furniture in the narthex or switching brands of air freshener require board approval? (Bonus: If really bad, does it require congregational approval?).
  • Do you have a lot of congregational meetings?
  • Does the announcement of a meeting elicit a particular kind of feeling in your stomach?
  • Do you keep an extra bottle of Rolaids in your car for use before meetings?
  • Does recruiting for congregational officers evoke anxiety not for a fear of who will say “no,” but for fear of who will say “yes?”
  • Do you require a doctor’s note from staff who call in sick?
  • Do you have people who regularly drive by the church to see if the pastor’s car is there?

How Can We Trust Again?

I wish it were easy. It’s not.

I wish I could point you toward “7 easy steps to recovering your trust.” I can’t.

It all comes down to this: a wounded congregation must make a decision to begin trying to trust again. You may get burned. But relationship is always a crap shoot.

How about this?

  • Be mindful that each positive step in which you don’t get hurt is a step in the right direction.
  • Call attention to and celebrate positive steps.
  • Give people the benefit of the doubt. Don’t enter every new situation convinced you’re going to get burned.
  • Assume people (even those who feel like the “enemy”) are telling the truth until you find out otherwise.
  • Don’t get into the habit of thinking of people with whom you share the body of Christ as the “enemy.” It’s too difficult to pull back from the precipice.

Even if trust hasn’t been restored, you’re going to have to live like it has. Until you can live together with a commitment to restoring trust, ministry, if possible at all, can only be tenuous and fragile.

And if all else fails, remember, it’s God’s church–not your’s (or your “enemy’s”).

Besides, trusting your enemy is just about impossible--although dying for your enemy has been done before.

The Creatively Maladjusted

Given the fact that it is Martin Luther King, Jr. day and injustice toward vulnerable people persists, I thought I might offer a few thoughts about what it means to remain silent in the face of that injustice—and about what it means not to, what it means to be creatively maladjusted.  Disclaimer: My analogy with the Civil Rights movement is only meant to be suggestive, not to establish easy equivalences

The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.  In the temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables.  Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, both the sheep and the cattle.  He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables.  He told those whowere selling the doves, “Take these things out of here!  Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!”  His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for your house will consume me.”  The Jews then said to him, “What sign can you show us for doing this?”  Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up” (John 2:1319).

Following the first miracle at the wedding in Cana, Jesus and his new disciples take a few days off, then head into Jerusalem.

Where do they go?  Straight to the temple.

What happens?  Jesus makes a whip of cords and starts turning over the tables of the money changers.  He’s ranting and raving about how they’re turning God’s house into a marketplace.  The folks in charge don’t much care for his attitude and say, “Who are you?  What sign can you show us for doing this?”  Then, Jesus commits the ultimate Jewish faux pas by saying, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.”

What Jesus has done, in effect, after making such a grand splash at the wedding at Cana, is to guarantee that the very people who might have helped promote his ministry are the ones whom he has alienated by his little foray into temple finances.  He’s made some pretty influential enemies in his first trip to Jerusalem.

So what?  What’s the significance?

Well, think about it.  When Jesus cleanses the temple in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, it occurs at the very end of Jesus’ ministry—after entering Jerusalem on Palm Sunday and just before being snatched up and crucified on Good Friday—which, if you think about it, makes more sense.  You can see why Jesus would be upset with the religious establishment in Matthew, Mark, and Luke.  They’ve hounded him for three years, and are plotting to kill him.  A little righteous indignation seems appropriate.

But in John, the cleansing of the temple comes right at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry.  He’s had nothing but smooth sailing up to this point.  Why upset the temple bigwigs right off the bat?  It makes much less sense, from a narrative standpoint, to have Jesus challenge the money changers in the temple just as his ministry is taking off.  Why does John set up the story this way?

John puts the story of the cleansing of the temple right next to the wedding at Cana on purpose.  He’s making some rhetorical hay about the shape and trajectory of Jesus ministry.

What do I mean?

Well, how must the disciples be feeling after seeing Jesus pull a Bobby Knight in the temple? They have to be terribly confused.  They thought they were getting a pretty engaging guru, fun to have around at parties, somebody to keep the open bar open—but what they got instead was a loose cannon, an unpredictable guy who knows his way around the business end of a whip.  Jesus' impatience with the way things are calls to mind what Martin Luther King wrote in Strength to Love:

 “Human salvation lies in the hands of the creatively maladjusted.”

Well, Jesus is nothing if not creatively maladjusted.

Jesus explodes our tame, self-aggrandizing expectations about how joining up with him will be the end of our problems.  John wants to show us that just because you follow Jesus doesn’t mean everything magically becomes sweetness and light.  In fact, joining up with Jesus may cause you a whole new set of problems you might otherwise have avoided if you’d just stayed home and watched Jeopardy.  Sometimes we have to follow Jesus into the temple, where only hostility awaits us.

And that bothers us, doesn’t it?  If not, we haven’t been paying attention to what happens to people willing to walk into the teeth of the storm.

In April of 1963, a group of well-meaning (I think) white clergy in Alabama got together and issued a statement calling for the end of demonstrations they considered “unwise and untimely,” by “some of our Negro citizens, directed and led in part by outsiders,” even though this group of white clergy recognized “the natural impatience of people who feel their hopes are slow in being realized.”  Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., whose birthday we celebrate today, responded to these clergy in his, now famous, Letter from a Birmingham Jail.  Not surprisingly, Dr. King’s anger at the unjust social systems made bolder through their embodiment in law is present throughout his letter, raising again the Augustinian question about whether unjust laws—laws that degrade “human personality” and “distort the soul”—ought rightfully to be considered laws at all.

Dr. King reserves his biggest disappointment, however, for the church.  He rightly criticizes white moderates, whom he considered to be “more devoted to ‘order’ than to ‘justice’; who prefer a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice.”   He speaks candidly in his letter about weeping because of the laxity the church, about how “blemished and scarred” is the body of Christ “through social neglect and through fear of being nonconformist.”

At one point, Dr. King recalls with a certain wistfulness “a time when the church was very powerful.”  It’s interesting to note, though, just how he sees the church’s relationship to that power.  The church was at its most transformative, he argues,

when the early Christians rejoiced at being deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society.  Whenever the early Christians entered a town, the people in power became disturbed and immediately sought to convict the Christians for being ‘disturbers of the peace’ and ‘outside agitators.’  But the Christians pressed on, in the conviction that they were a ‘colony of heaven,’ called to obey God rather than humans.  Small in number, they were big in commitment.  They were too God-intoxicated to be ‘astronomically intimidated.’  By their efforts and their example they brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide, and gladiatorial contests.

It occurs to me that we who have committed ourselves and our communities of faith to seeking justice are the inheritors of that legacy—a legacy that hears the cries of inequity and injustice, and remains incapable of turning a deaf ear.

We are the spiritual offspring of the creatively maladjusted.  We cannot stand by and do nothing.  We join together across the diversity of theological and denominational lines to take our place in the procession—a procession that, just in this country alone, stretches back through the Civil Rights movement, through women’s suffrage, and through the abolition of slavery.

We are people who cannot abide and will not stomach the excuses offered up by unjust systems that somehow “now is not the time,” or that raising a ruckus only contributes to the problem.  We draw together because we’ve been called to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with God—not because there is anything necessarily heroic in us, but because we’ve been passed a torch by heroes and saints who’ve gone before us, and who have called us to bear witness that God is not satisfied with either an unjust society or a lazy church “more devoted to ‘order’ than to ‘peace.’”

There's a constituency within the church today urging caution, who think it "unwise and untimely" to press the issue of justice for young African American men who suffer disproportionately at the hands of the legal system, for the full inclusion of LGBTQ people within the church, for a beloved community that includes our Muslim sisters and brothers—even though this constituency recognizes “the natural impatience of people who feel their hopes are slow in being realized.”  They believe that taking any kind of a stand will be heavy-handed and disruptive, while failing to realize that, if Jesus is our model, heavy-handed disruption of the existing unjust order is sometimes not the thing we wait for the right time to pursue, but the very thing with which we lead, the thing that sets the shape and trajectory of our ministry.

If we are indeed the offspring of the creatively maladjusted, we will never have a better time than the celebration of the birth of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. to start living like it.

Looking For Jesus In All The Wrong Places

By Rev. Evan Dolive

(This post originally appeared at evandolive.com)

Starbucks has been in the press a lot recently over a design choice. Traditionally November is the start of “red cup” season at Starbucks as they begin their journey into the holiday season. This year, however, is causing a stir.

Joshua Feuerstein is a minister and has millions of followers on Facebook and Twitter. He and his backward red MLB hat take to the Internet in an effort to “rally” others to his point and his theological framework. He has ranted on subjects like evolution, same-sex marriage and even Target’s decision to make their toy section gender neutral.

Recently he took to the Internet to complain about Starbuck’s “attack on Christianity” in this so-called “era of political correctness.”(video above)  In Feuerstein’s mind, the removal of snowflakes, reindeer, snowmen and the like is akin to trying to remove Christianity from the public sphere. His solution? Instead of telling the barista your actual name, tell them your name is “Merry Christmas” (so lying is ok?) in an effort to “force them” to say “Merry Christmas” to you.

This argument of a hostile corporate removal of Christianity is one that has no basis; Christianity is not under attack from a coffee company or any company for that matter. Sure I do not like the commercialization of Christmas but not having “Merry Christmas” on a cup or a Christmas tree in the mall is not something I worry about, it doesn’t prove or disprove my faithfulness, it is not a threat to my relationship with God and Christ.

The story of the birth and ministry of Christ is not Starbucks’ (or any corporations) story to tell. This story of the coming of the Messiah is one of all people of the Church to tell through their life, their sharing and their embodying the teachings and actions of Jesus.

Starbucks’ previous red cups did not have “Merry Christmas” emblazon on them and the company still sells “Christmas Blend” coffee and even has a Advent Calendar. So just because the words “Merry Christmas” do not appear on the actual cup, this is an attack on Christianity?

The problem is Jesus is not found on the outside of a red cup from a multi-national coffee chain. If Jesus and all that Jesus stands for is not found at the bottom of a bottle or in prescription medications, then why would Jesus be found on a cup?

Jesus is found in places we would never expect.

Jesus is found at bed 57 at the homeless shelter.

Jesus is found at the bedside of an ICU room or at a hospice.

Jesus is found in the glassy eyes of a single mom receiving food assistance for the first time from the local food bank.

Jesus is found in the undocumented worker who harvested the food we eat.

Jesus is found when people of faith set aside their theological differences on Sunday mornings and strive for a more just and loving society.

Jesus is found in the laughter of children.

Jesus is found in the cool wind of fall.

Jesus is found where ever the faithful for God gather to worship.

Jesus is found when we give.

Jesus is found when we serve.

Jesus is found when we love unconditionally.

Jesus is found when we liberate.

Jesus’ love, grace and mercy cannot be confined to a single Sunday or even a red paper cup.

We cannot and should not limit the movement and presence of Christ to the four walls of a stained glass building or even a red paper cup.

If we are going to claim to be Christ’s followers then how we work, where we serve, the things we give need to emulate the ministry and movement of Jesus the Christ.

Having a barista write “Merry Christmas” as your name on a red paper cup for your triple venti toffee nut latte is not helping the cause of Christ. Rather take the $5 you would have spent on yourself and give it to someone who needs it is the definition of selfless giving and the gospel.

So the next time you are in Starbucks and you order a drink in their pretty red cups, do not look for Jesus on the cup, look for the Jesus in the world around you; you never know where you might see him.

In Christ,

Rev. Evan

Receiving the Invitation

By Colton Lott

I can quickly tell you my favorite parts of worship: communion, the pastoral prayer, times of meditation and silence. Even though I don’t attend a church that regularly practices this, I even find significance in a unified confession of sin and an assurance of pardon.

While there are some elements of worship that I question or have difficulties with, none of them parallel the problems I have with the typical understanding of the invitation to discipleship. The offer to make a public confession of faith, otherwise known as the “alter call,” has been at the end of every service of the three churches I have been involved with. I didn’t pay it much mind when I was growing up; if anything, I thought it to be a slight embarrassment or heartache for my pastor, who saw the invitation come back to her empty on average fifty-one weeks out of the year.

When I began leading worship services a predicament emerged. The invitation to discipleship was not only awkward due to the fifty-one rule, but increasingly painful to perform. To cope with my uneasiness, I tried to wrap the time at the end of the service as a catch-all for any need—confess your faith, receive additional prayer, take a seventh inning stretch, or snap a picture with the boy preacher, come on down, you’re the next contestant on The Price is Right!

The core of my discomfort was the feeling that the invitation to discipleship was either about peddling heaven or growing church membership. Either way, I felt like a dishonest used car salesman. I was growing convinced that intellectual affirmation is not a definition of Christian identity and I was especially convinced that maintaining official church membership is a bizarre exercise to keep.

But I began wondering if the emphasis of the practice was wrong. I separated the two words “invitation” and “discipleship” and considered what this phrase could mean if it were reconstructed without the overtones of sinner’s prayers, televangelists, crusades, and hellfire.

When Jesus calls Simon and Andrew to be disciples, he uses the evocative language of: “Follow me and I will make you fish for people” (Mt 4:19, Mk 1:17; New Revised Standard Version). In both cases the two left their nets immediately and began following Jesus to seek out people in need of holy healing, love, and rejuvenation.

Jesus did not say “make a statement of affirmation which will cause you to be saved,” or “shake the right hand of Christian fellowship and be a card-carrying member of my church.” Jesus said, “Follow me.” Taking Jesus up on his offer puts the invitee in a labor that redeems people—hands on, dirty, sweaty, heartbreaking work.

This invitation to discipleship received by Simon and Andrew had teeth and meaning and the threat of hardship. It was not a social formality, it was a life-changing choice. It was the invitation to come and die, it was the opportunity to live life abundantly (albeit not by traditional metrics).

This invitation—one of life-altering work and service—is one I need, and closer to what Jesus may have been intending. This is the invitation to fish for people, not only despite, but because of the unspeakable evil we see in this world, such as: racial terrorism, insatiable greed, disregard for God’s creation, and the mistreatment of children. If we call this time in worship an “invitation to discipleship,” then it is time that the church recognizes and lives into the depth and richness of what these words truly mean.

This Way of Jesus is not an inherently easy way to live and inviting people into such a life may have lower response rates than the traditional confession of faith. I see this in my own life. It is not personally advantageous to speak out against white male privilege. It is not convenient to live a life of sacrificial love. It is not heartwarming to face poverty and brokenness and be virtually powerless to halt the cycles that cause it. But it’s this difficulty in living the Way that demands we recall and restate our devotion every week. The renewal of our vow to live ordinary lives extraordinarily has to be bolstered often.

No matter how long, if ever, those gathered have been disciples of Jesus, all present are being asked to continually accept the call of Christ to “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.”

Turning off Sarah McLachlan

By Lisa McDowell

I can hear the song from the kitchen and I begin shading my eyes to search for the remote. My full intention is to change the channel without seeing the television screen. As soon as the words start, I’m at a place of guilt and sorrow. “In the arms of the angel…” It used to be one of my favorite songs, long before it became the ASPCA’s theme.  It used to be a reminder from my teenage years of a movie starring a young Nicholas Cage and a very popular Meg Ryan. But now, it is caged dogs and sad-faced puppies, and I don’t like it. The first thing I do when I hear the song is turn the channel because I cannot bear to watch.  

As I sat in church last week, listening to my husband deliver a really good and necessary sermon on Jesus’ teachings and how we can’t just ignore the ones we don’t like, it hit me: I do this all the time! It’s the Sarah McLachlan Effect in my spiritual life. When I don’t like something, just turn the channel, just shut it off, ignore it. Sure there are millions of abandoned pups out there, but I don’t want that image to ruin my nice, ordinary life. Then the even more poignant thought, “Sure Jesus told the young rich man to sell all of his riches and then he could enter the kingdom of Heaven, but I really like my stuff” <she quickly turns the Bible page>.  

This isn’t a new way to view our faith. All of us latch on to our favorite scripture and ignore the things that don’t align with our own thoughts and desires. But the difference between the hard scripture passages and the ASPCA commercials is that the commercials affect me. I encourage and support adoption of sheltered pets. If I knew I could give a needy animal or two proper attention (because let’s be honest, two small children, a full-time job and an active church life doesn’t leave time for much) I would be the crazy dog lady in a heartbeat. Yet, I don’t allow the scriptures to have the effect that the commercials have. 

Maybe it’s because the Christian culture avoids these scriptures and the teachings that are hard to explain. Go read Luke 18:18. Okay, I’ll make it easier on you: 

18 A certain ruler asked him, “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”19 “Why do you call me good?” Jesus answered. “No one is good—except God alone. 20 You know the commandments: ‘You shall not commit adultery, you shall not murder, you shall not steal, you shall not give false testimony, honor your father and mother.’[a]21 “All these I have kept since I was a boy,” he said.22 When Jesus heard this, he said to him, “You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”23 When he heard this, he became very sad, because he was very wealthy.24 Jesus looked at him and said, “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God! 25 Indeed, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”

It’s really hard to explain away Jesus’ words, although I’d prefer to do just that. How about Matthew 5:38-42?

 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’[h] 39 But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. 40 And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. 41 If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles. 42 Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.”

So basically Jesus is saying to not ignore that man or woman on the corner holding a sign even though I wonder what they are going to do with the money or food I give them. Jesus is asking for a lot. He wants disciples to leave their families, “let the dead bury the dead”, and deny even ourselves. I’ve been turning pages in the Bible over and over and it gets hard to ignore all of these commands from Jesus. I want to turn away from this Bible overload, so I usually shut the Bible and tune into social media or trash TV. There’s a relief in that act because it usually affirms that I’m not as bad as I was starting to feel!  

But when I realize that my fulfillment doesn’t come from my ability to numb my brain with useless information and far-from-reality TV, the sway to watch the sad commercial in its totality arises, the desire to read into the words of Jesus pervades. Because the real reality is, the ASPCA is showing us the worst-case scenarios, they are playing on our heartstrings because really great things can come for both participants in the adoption process. The same is true for us Bible-readers and Christ-followers. Jesus was commanding us to get rid of the fringe, the things we hold so dear that we cannot open our hands or arms to anything else. He doesn’t want the sad commercial to be the end of the story, because the reality is that when the dearest and most-treasured thing is no longer firmly in our grasp, we are open to more grace, bigger blessings, and others entering into our embrace. That’s hard to fathom, just like the commercial is hard to watch.  

This realization that I am ignoring some pretty clear commands of Jesus is not easy to swallow, but I am always up for a good challenge, and I have seen my faith grow when I truly incorporate Jesus and his teachings into my life. That being said, I will not promise that I will make eye contact with my television the next time Sarah’s beautiful voice graces my ears, but I will make a pact to stop skipping over the hard parts of the Bible that I don’t like, or understand, or want to live out. I know my faith journey has to have an upward climb at some point and the aches and pains of growth come in passages like those shared above. I know that my greatest challenge day in and day out is to not tune out the words of my Savior and my God. I like to think that changing the channel prevents a change in me, and that’s just not okay anymore.  

If You Were Successful, Would You Even Know It?

Living with Drama

I’ve got a friend who, not too long ago, experienced some difficult times with his family. Addiction. Co-dependency. A nightmare of family recriminations. For a couple of months, it seemed, he was on the phone every day with his family rehearsing some new sordid development.

He and I went out to breakfast one day, and I asked him how he was doing. He said that this family crisis seemed to consume him, and that he didn’t have any energy for anything else. Always some new wrinkle, some new situation requiring that he devote more time and energy.

“It’s like living in a soap opera. And the weird thing is, I feel almost like I’m addicted to it.”

I said, “What do you mean?”

“At first it seemed interesting being involved in something important. I liked the phone calls and the meetings, thinking I was helping to make the situation better. Hours every day. But then I realized that I needed the adrenaline rush I got when some new twist appeared, and we were all on the phone about it. Now, it just feels like we talk endlessly and nothing really gets fixed. And I’m beginning to wonder if I’m hooked on the drama.”

“So why don’t you quit doing it?” I wondered.

“It’s not that easy. I want to quit, but we really are talking about some important things. On the other hand, whatever we’re doing isn’t really changing anything; it’s just making me constantly stressed out and preventing me from doing other things I need to do. I don’t know.”

Have you ever been around somebody who’s gotten hooked on drama? Everything in their lives revolves around “the thing.” They endlessly run conversations and scenarios in their head, like the Joint Chiefs of Staff war gaming the invasion at Normandy. There’s intrigue and subplots, betrayals and instances of sacrifice, great acts of courage and petty retributions.

I’ve been a part of congregations like that. Congregations get hooked on drama. Phone line marathons. Postmortems on the board meeting in the parking lot. Strategy sessions seated around conference tables, furiously poring over copies of the by-laws, now complete with marginalia and a cross-referencing apparatus.

The whole negative feedback loop of drama can start innocently enough. A personnel issue here, a budget problem there—and pretty soon you’re talking about Roberts Rules of Order over your cornflakes.

But the irony is that doing anything creative (or even constructive) is almost impossible once the drama takes hold. Reactivity reigns. You spend more time rehearsing what you “should have said” at the meeting than imagining what kind of action could allow you to realize a faithful vision of the future.

“So, how do we stop it?”

It would be easy for me to be glib, coming off like I have all the answers about how to disrupt the drama enough to get purchase on a healthier way of being. The truth of the matter is I don’t have any magic elixir I can dispense.

But let me get back to that in a minute.

If You Were Successful Would You Know It?

I was driving the other day, and this phrase popped into my head: If your congregation were ever successful, would you recognize it?

That’s a lot to unpack, right? Most of which has to do with how you define “success.” That’s problematic, as I’ve argued before, since congregations tend to have standards of success that are largely impossible to achieve, having to do with a variety of complex factors mostly out of any congregation’s control. Because of the culture we live in, we have a pretty good idea of what “successful” congregations are supposed to look like. They’re the one’s getting all the attention, the one’s reporters turn to to get a comment on breaking news, the one’s highlighted in denominational P.R. materials.

I’m increasingly convinced, however, that success has more than just one face—past which we all too quickly walk. There are successful congregations—congregations that are living faithfully their calling to embody the reign of God—which, because they don’t look that great according to the ways we’ve been taught to keep score, are always in jeopardy of despair—always in danger of succumbing to the temptation of drama.

These churches limp along on budgets that rarely seem to cover all the costs. They don’t have huge numbers of transfers. They can no longer support a graded Sunday School program. By all popular ecclesiastical accounting measures, they’re failures.

And it would be one thing if they failed courageously, but for the most part their failures are pedestrian, unexceptional, ho-hum.

Decline. Attrition. Death. Not with a bang but a whimper.

But what if there were some congregations, congregations that had no business calling themselves successful, that were actually doing something huge, enormous, earth-shattering? Because of the ways we’ve trained ourselves to think about success, would these churches even know they were setting the world on fire—and if not the world, then at least the worlds they occupy?

“So, where are you going with this?”

Let me try to weave two separate strands together.

The Tsunamis of Drama that Keep Us Preoccupied with Our Inadequacies

Congregations, like the enablers addicts require to feed their addictions, often get caught up in the self-destructive cycle of drama. They move from one catastrophe to another, always convinced that they’re in a life and death struggle. Three hour board meetings, frantic phone calls, endless email threads exegeting each passive-aggressive line of text.

The handwringing is exquisite in its enjoyment of self-inflicted pain, like the ever darting tongue rolling over a canker sore. Drama gives satisfaction, just to the extent that it allows its participants to feel the same apprehension and foreboding felt by people who really are facing cataclysms. Life seems so much more significant when infused with the adrenaline of anxiety.

But here’s the problem I see: Congregations addicted to drama are virtually incapable of doing the kind of reflection necessary to recognize when they’re doing something right. The lizard brain takes over, reactivity sets in, and every external stimulus gets read as a threat requiring all the energy and resources of the body.

What if you were doing something outrageously important, but because it didn’t fit whatever model of success sold to you by a cynical culture you continued to cling to the familiar fears you associated with your inadequacies?

What if caring for that group of aging CWF women was the very thing God put you on the earth to do?

What if as God is busy drawing up the blueprint, your congregation’s role in helping usher in the God’s reign is handing out backpacks and haircuts to the children of migrant field workers?

What if what you have to offer for the cause is a van and a couple of folks willing to go to the wrong side of town to pick up a few kids who’ll never swell anybody’s bottom line?

What if God is busy saving the world with the very resources you discount because you’re so addicted to the drama, so afraid your resources can’t possibly be enough that you don’t even realize it?

In The War of Art, a book about writing and the pursuit of creative passion, Steven Pressfield gets at the crux of the issue:

It may help to think of it this way. If you were meant to cure cancer or write a symphony or crack cold fusion and you don’t do it, you not only hurt yourself. You hurt your children. You hurt me. You hurt the planet.
.
You shame the angels who watch over you and you spite the Almighty, who created you and only you with your unique gifts, for the sole purpose of nudging the human race one millimeter farther along its path back to God.

Don’t let the drama suck your soul and steal your passion for the very thing God is depending on you to do.

Slow Down, and read Slow Church

By Rev. Mindi

My small local clergy group was taking suggestions for new books to read, and me with my smart phone and sometimes smart mouth decided to search right then and there for a new book rather than taking a month to go do research. In my Amazon recommendations popped up Slow Church: Cultivating Community in the Patient Way of Jesus by C. Christopher Smith and John Pattison. I really didn’t know much about it but that it was a brand new book, and that the book has a Twitter account that followed me, so I followed back.  It was really by chance and Amazon’s logarithms that I began reading this book.

But I’m so glad I did. Smith and Pattison are not pastors, not professional church leaders, but were inspired by the Slow Food movement to think about church life as an alternative to the “McDonaldization of Society” as George Ritzer coined it. (I read The McDonaldization of Society back in college and still have the book on my shelf—it was a profound wake-up call to the capitalist production machine that our society functions by: the idea that we have to make more stuff and make it faster, and that even our self-worth has come to depend upon it).  Slow Church looks at how church, just like the rest of the institutions of our society, have bought into the hyper-fast production-based model. “Decades, if not centuries, of taking shortcuts have repelled many people from the faith and diminished the quality of our life together” (117). We have tried to short-circuit discipleship and evangelism.

You might think at first that this is a book for a more conservative or evangelical audience, not for a mainline congregation—but we have done the same thing in the mainline church. Maybe we haven’t watered down the Bible to a tract that fits in the size of a business card, but we have (often) failed to do a good job of teaching our children and youth what it means to believe in and follow Jesus, what it means to be part of the church, how to participate in the kingdom of God.

Furthermore, we have failed to connect with the greater community, and that is the key of Slow Church—a reminder for us to slow down and reconnect with God, others and nature. “The ‘ecology’ of Slow Church is embedded in the interconnectedness of creation and God’s reconciliation of all things” (90).

Mainliners don’t differ much from our evangelical or fundamentalist kin in that we also water-down and short circuit the uncomfortable parts of our faith. We don’t do mourning well. Where our evangelical and fundamentalist kin will jump to “there’s one more angel in Heaven,” and lots of celebration that a loved one is now with the Lord, we do the same: we water-down the grieving process and try to jump into getting over death, rather than struggling with the suffering. Slow Church looks at the way our society as a whole has tried to just overcome suffering rather than the “willingness to enter into the pain of others” (83). If we are going to be committed in community to one another, we also need to be willing to suffer together as well as rejoice. This is what it means in particular to be part of Christian community: that we do not suffer alone.

Slow Church is about digging deep and being engaged and committed to the process of God-growth in us and around us. This commitment happens with God and with each other and with the greater community. Slow Church goes back to the roots of our faith in Scripture—Sabbath practice, discernment, community—and asks how we can re-engage with our roots and develop long-term, lasting foundations.

My major critique of this work is that  while my experience resonates with the book's view of church and society, I wonder if similar parallels would be drawn by my colleagues of color and different church cultures. I often err on the side of viewing US culture as homogeneous when it never has been; even critiquing the McDonalidzation of our US culture comes through a white lens, as the McDonalidzation was a white creation to begin with. Just some food for thought.

I highly recommend Slow Church. It is not often that I read a book that I say, “Yes, Yes!” out loud while reading it. I often highlight while I read; this time, I made notes as to what parts to quote for my next board meeting when we talk about stewardship. Each chapter has good discussion questions at the end for small groups or churches. The authors also have a blog: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/slowchurch/ and are active on Twitter and Facebook.

Open Doors

By Rev. Mindi

During the entire first half of 1998, from January until June, I attended one worship service. It was the folk mass at my host family’s Catholic Church in England. Before I had left the states for my semester abroad, several people had told me about various churches—Baptist, Methodist, Anglican—that I could attend while I was abroad. But I chose not to. I chose, quite purposefully, not to attend worship the rest of that spring. 

I was at a crossroads in my faith. I had been part of a few conservative Christian campus ministry groups, and found that while I enjoyed the spirit of the music and the community, I could not abide by the legalistic approach to the Bible nor the narrow theology. I was also involved in our campus’ Gay-Straight Alliance group (this was the late 90’s), was reading feminist literary theory and I always claim that my Introduction to Sociology course the fall of my junior year saved me from fundamentalism forever. While I attended a fairly liberal congregation in college, I found my faith conflicted—I loved the spirit of worship among my conservative friends, the relational nature of God in Jesus that was expressed—but not the narrow ideology. During that time in my life, Christian community was stifling. I equated Christian community with conformity, and liberal or conservative, I did not want to conform. So I chose not to attend a worship service.

However, I was in a church, a chapel, a cathedral or other sanctuary at least every week, if not more often. I lit candles in York Minster and Notre Dame, sat and listened to the choir in Westminster and Winchester, and lifted my eyes up to the stained glass everywhere. I sat in the pews and lit candles under the names of saints I had never heard of.

I grew up Baptist, and am a Baptist minister serving in both American Baptist and Disciples congregations. But in those days, having the opportunity in those old Anglican and Catholic churches to pray, to sit and be silent in the presence of God—or even in the emptiness in some of those dark days of my faith journey—helped me in my faith journey.  It is something I lament in the free church tradition, that often we do not have our sanctuaries open.  The few times I have participated in opening the doors of my own churches I have served have been after major tragedies, such as 9/11 and Sandy Hook. Most of the time, our doors are locked.

In the debates about SBNR (Spiritual But Not Religious) what often gets argued is the need for community—and the assumptions that those who are not in church do not have community. But I am starting to wonder if those of us in the church have been arguing from the wrong angle. Besides the fact that many people who claim to be spiritual gather in other settings for community, what about those who are seeking, or who are spiritual, or even *gasp* religious, but find community stifling? What about those who have been wounded in community?

Are there ways we can be open, be a place of prayer to the public, where people can come and pray, or sit in silence, or listen to music, or light candles? Our Catholic and Episcopalian brothers and sisters, among others, have kept up this ancient tradition, but many of us in the free church tradition have forgotten. We have placed such great emphasis on community that we have forgotten other’s needs. There are times in people’s lives in which community can do more harm than good. But it is the work of the community in providing the space set aside specifically for God, that can reach those in need of solitude.

I still value community and worship together. When I returned from England, it took me a while to get back into church, but I remember clearly the first worship service I attended when I came back was Communion Sunday, and I was never so glad to participate in the breaking of bread and the meal of remembrance with the church I had been raised in, with the people who had always been there for me. But I wouldn’t have appreciated it nearly as much had I not had the time away. I also feel that had it not been for the open churches, the candles in the chapels and the opportunities to pray or sit in silence, I would not have felt as assured of God’s presence even in my own dark valleys.

 

 

Save Camp!

By Rev. Mindi

Of all my experiences in church life growing up, church camp was one of the most important experiences of my life. While I experienced a call to ministry in a worship service on a Sunday morning, and was nurtured in a congregation in that call, the memories that I carry with me over the years that were incredibly important in my faith journey are from church camp. Friendships were forged, fellowship and fun were had, and for many of my friends, church camp was the one place where church really and truly was fun—and camp was just for us, for that age group, for that week. Everything was about us in that place and time.

Since high school, I have been a camp counselor a few times and a camp pastor (and currently am getting ready for another stint soon). What has struck me recently are the many adults of all ages, but especially adults under fifty, for whom church camp has been one of the most formative experiences of their faith lives. In my current ministry setting I have a high number of young adults involved in my small congregation—all of them went to church camp. I have started meeting other young adults in our area who grew up going to church camp. Some of them are no longer attending church, but all of them had a positive experience of camp that has influenced them in their faith journey.

Church camps are places where friendships are made fast. Trust is built up. Faith is taken seriously but there is a good balance of irreverence and silliness. Camp is also the one place where we actually worship our Creator out in creation on a daily basis. The experience of God in nature, in creation, especially for youth who may come from urban areas and not have those experiences with any regularity is an opportunity hard to find elsewhere.

Having now lived and participated in camping ministry across the country—from Alaska to New England, to Oklahoma and now Washington—what I have found, in both the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) and the American Baptist Churches, USA, is the same trend you probably already know: funding for camps is running short. Scholarships aren’t as readily available as they once were. Sending kids to camp is not a priority for most churches. Property and buildings are becoming run-down from age and use and are not being repaired. The camp experience I grew up with may not be available for the next generation.

So, besides the obvious—giving money to our church camps—here’s what else we need to do: Send kids to camp. Make it a priority. I grew up in a small startup church—we maybe had twenty people at most on a good Sunday—but they made the commitment that every child associated with the church got to go to camp for free. The church paid our way, and one year there were nine of us—grandchildren, friends of friends—it didn’t matter—we got to go to camp for free. If a small startup church that could barely afford to pay rent with a very part-time pastor could send their kids to camp, imagine what you can do. Have a bake sale. Invite others in the church to sponsor a scholarship. Partner with another congregation to help send kids to camp.

Support your camps. They raise up our disciples. I know that few of my friends who went to camp with me as a youth go to church now, but camp was a vital part of their lives, something they have never forgotten. I know among the young adults I minister with and to, camp was where their faith emerged and grew. Our camps are an important part of who we are, and who we can be as the church, in making and nurturing new disciples.

 

*For another personal perspective on the importance of camp, please see Dr. Mark Poindexter's recent post on "Grandparent and Me" Church Camp.

Love As Truth

By Brian Carr

First, some scripture:

“Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action” ( 1 John 3:18).

 This verse has spoken to me significantly over the last few months of my life. It is profound in that it moves my heart in ways that I don’t always understand.

 It is truth; and as children of God, truth speaks to us.

This verse helped me to realize that I had been leading a superficial life as a Christian. I was loving people on the surface in order to make myself feel better. I would dishonestly say that I loved everyone, that I had a place in my heart for all of creation.

 But that love stopped at thoughts and at words. It never formed as something greater than the words “I love you.”

 This is my problem. This is our problem.

 Far too often we think that love can be love simply if we think it is love. Thought is certainly a good place to start, but it’s the worst place to end.

 The dictionary is the only place where love should be described by words. I could try to describe love for you, telling you that it is compassionate, unconditional, generous, forgiving, righteous and just. But where has that gotten you and I?

 If I say that I love you, yet I never do anything for you, is that really love?

 Christ loved with his actions. Christ loved to the point where his life was sacrificed for us. Christ served humanity. Christ serves humanity. Christ truly loves.

 So where does this leave us?

 It should leave us with conviction. It should leave us with a challenge. We are called to love the entirety of humanity. Humanity calls out to be loved, and we must answer that call with enthusiastic action. It is not enough to answer the call by saying that we love humanity. We must show this love.

 I am not suggesting that you save the world. I am not asking you to be the hero for all of humanity. Good can come from the smallest expressions of love. Start with a smile. Hold a door open for someone. Offer to pay for a stranger’s meal. Talk to someone who has no one to talk to. Do something for someone. It’s that simple.

 Now ask yourself, how many people have you truly loved?

 How many people have you failed to love?

 

Practicing Inclusion

By Rev. Mindi

“Inclusive” has become a buzzword descriptor among churches these days. Perhaps you mean it to include LGBTQ individuals and families in your congregation. Perhaps you mean it to include people of different ethnic backgrounds. Maybe it means including people of different economic statuses.

Inclusion means including everyone. It doesn’t mean creating a special program for or a specific mission outreach to a certain group of people.  Inclusion means you actually include someone: you value, encourage participation, listen to and incorporate all people into your congregational life.

Inclusion is actually very difficult to accomplish. Most of us have the best of intentions but don’t actually follow through. Most of the time, our inclusion is actually under another buzzword, “Welcoming.” We throw together a welcoming statement and say we welcome all people. We might even go to the next level and say we welcome all persons regardless of age, gender expression, sexual orientation, racial or ethnic identity, economic status, ability, etc. etc. etc.  However, there are places where we specifically do not include people and we need to not only be aware but acknowledge this.

We often do not include children, whether it be in worship (though many churches do include children to a degree, but we still often send them out after the Children’s Message) or in church business. Sure, we might ask them their opinions or talk with them in children’s sermons about things happening in the life of the church, but rarely are they included in business meetings or given the right to vote (my current church is in the process of revamping its constitution and it still states that members have to be age 16 in order to vote).  We have our reasons—they are not old enough to understand, or they would just vote the way their parents did giving them twice the vote, or other reasons we pass off. We also don’t include homebound members (often still called “shut-ins” in the life of the church) because they are no longer able to attend.  Sure, we visit them now and then, but we don’t include them in the business of the church, or the worship, for that matter.

And we do not include people with differing abilities, usually. We assume persons who use a wheelchair or walker, or those who have long-term illness, mental or physical, cannot participate in the life of the church. Sure, we welcome them to worship and we may build ramps and make our restrooms accessible, but we often do not ask them about participating, assuming they cannot.

Can a person who uses a wheelchair still hand out bulletins and greet people? Can a child carry the offering plate? Can a person who is ill still help make decisions in the life of the church? Can a young teen have a mind-blowing idea that could change the church? Of course!

Look at your congregation’s practice of inclusion. First look at what you say about yourself. Then look to see what you are really doing. Who is in leadership? Who is involved in worship? Who is involved in outreach or other ministries? What is the diversity represented? Even if there is little ethnic diversity in your congregation, look for other diversities. Are people with differing abilities represented? Are people of different ages represented? Economic status? How do you include home-bound members and those who deal with long-term illness?

How are you practicing inclusion in the life of your church? Is it a matter of lip-service, or are you doing your best to include people from all areas of life?  If not, how could you improve?

Here are some recent examples from churches I have known that have made a change to practice inclusion better:

 

-Including a ramp for the choir loft so that singers of all abilities could participate.

-Moving the choir down to the sanctuary floor for the anthem so that others could participate who could not get to the choir loft.

-Inviting a young man using a wheelchair to collect the offering

-Including a teen with Asperger’s on the youth outreach committee

-Making all restrooms accessible and changing the signs to “Restroom” with no gender indication

 

What can you do to practice inclusion better as a church community?

Moving out of Ecclesiology, into Koinology

By John O'Keefe

In my upcoming book, The Naked Jesus; a Journey out of Christianity,[1] I bring out an idea that some have talked about, but I’ve seen very little, if anything, written about. The idea is our need to move from the institutional weight behind the concept of Ecclesiology, based on the word ekklēsiā (a legal term), to the lighter, more connective community-oriented idea behind what can be seen as Koinology, based on the word Koinonia (a personal/spiritual term). We should be moving away from the ideas, and theologies, behind Ecclesiology and be ready to dance into the ideas, and theologies, behind the idea of Koinology.

Why?

There are many reasons, not the least of which is that the term Ecclesiology has less to do with people, and more to do with building. The term “Ecclesiology” is a word developed in the 1840’s and it was used to describe the science, decoration and architecture behind building a church building, it was never intended to define a people; it dealt with the physical structure of a building. Sure, over the past few decades (since about 1940) we have strived to make it a theology of the church but, since its roots are connected to a building, connecting the idea to a people seems like forcing a round peg into a square whole. While koinonia is a word that centers on people; it centers on the spirituality of connection and common unity. Koinology is about people and how we connect to each other and the Divine.

Koinonia brings us to the idea and theology of Koinology; when we translate the word into English (which is very hard because of the spiritual weight behind the term) we see a theology that centers on community, a joint partnership and deep intimacy with the Divine and each other. While the term koinonia is hard to translate into English with just a simple word, koinonia speaks of community, common unity, communion, joint participation, sharing, and a deep intimacy. It is a word that has a deep spiritual meaning behind it – so, Koinology seems to be the natural expression of a “theology of a community of faith.”

Now, I’m not self-centered enough to believe that the word Koinology came from a firing of neurons in my limited mind; in fact I know I didn’t come from me. The use of the word Koinology dates back to 1899 in the writings of Isacc Althaus Loos in "Studies in the Politics of Aristotle and the Republic, volume 1, issue 1-2." Loos brings out the idea of Koinology and suggests the term should be used in the study of Sociology when speaking in terms of human relationships: family, villages, communities and tribes. Granted, it has not been adopted by sociologists (if you do a Google Ngram on the work Koinology, you’ll get a message that tells you the word can’t be found), but it’s a term that we, as followers, should adopt for how we see the “theology of a community of faith.”

The central focus of Koinology is on the spiritual relationship of Communion, and how communion bonds the community to the Divine in some very intimate ways. This bonding brings about a deeper level of intimacy between members of the community. It can be seen as a point in which we pivot from our worldly view of self, to a desire to see the world through the eyes of the Divine and embrace one another at the common table of Communion.

Koinology can be seen as a joining together between humanity and the Divine. It is defined by our joint partnership in creation, community, and self. In this realization of Communion, in holding common unity, which we realize has little to do with what we posses, but what we share with others that invites us to live in amazing joy. It removes the idea of a building, and speaks only about people and their relationship to each other and the Divine. When we share, give, we live in a powerful understanding of embracing the relationship of grace, and we develop a lasting interconnected relationship that spans time and spaces. We hold not only common possessions, but common interests; we seek a higher level of intimacy, thinking and understanding of our interaction with each other. We see our lives intertwined (bound together) become more and more centered on the divine and each other. This bond brings to life the reality that we move past demanding thoughts and actions. We seek to generate good for others, and in turn others seek the greater good for us. Because we don’t seek control, we seek to serve and not demand to be served.

Koinology is the place where we see the hungry being fed, where we see the marginalized lifted, where we see voting booths open to all who desire to vote; it is a place where the powerful realize they have no power, and develop a servant heart. Moving from Ecclesiology to Koinology moves us from a powerbase to a gracebase, where love is spoken. Koinology does not lend itself well to a systematic thought, or process. While this will mean we will need to retool our thoughts, I am a believer that by doing so we can redefine what it means to be a Community of Faith.


[1] Release date is June 15, 2014