Caught In Between
November 27 is the first Sunday of Advent. We wait, desperate, for the appearance of Christ into our lives, goggle-eyed and sweaty-palmed, daring to believe that God is more than just some cosmic despot who rules from afar, that maybe God cares, that maybe we matter. The Church is pregnant with that message, that God does care, and that we do matter... will the church carry Christ to term? Or is this pregnancy too much trouble, have we better things to do?
I don't know about you, but it seems to me that there are churches on every street corner. Many of them make a claim to be somehow "different. " Some are different because they use unusual instruments in worship. Some are different because they offer the five-star children's program, or youth program, or singles program, that no other church offers. Some are different because they have fun catch phrases on the signs, things like "A Home for Your Heart" and "The Caring Place." My favorite is "The People's Church," because it makes me think that the state-run church in China probably has a sign out front that says exactly that.
In the midst of this, though, something is missing. I recently heard a pastor preach a sermon on the Parable of the Talents. One servant received five talents, one received two, and one received one. The first two servants, of course, traded with their money and were commended for their actions, but the servant who only got one talent buried it. It was explained that the servant who buried his talent wasn't dishonest; in fact, he did what any of us would do. But in the end, we were told, it takes more to live for God than to hold down an honorable job, to show up for church, to put your money in the plate. To be like the other two servants, we have to come back to church on Sunday night and attend "Share Jesus without Fear," where we will learn to lead others to Christ. Then we will be like the servants who traded with their master's money and were invited into his delight.
Despite our worship style, our diverse congregations, and our catch phrases, we are very much alike. Radical obedience, the obedience to which Christ calls us, has been collapsed into radical obedience to church programming. Thus, the possibility of hearing a frightening call from Christ, a call that may change every aspect of our lives, is prevented before every having a chance to emerge. We learn just enough of Christ, and conform to his life just enough, to look strange once in a while, not to fit quite into the world, but we never manage to follow him completely. Caught in between sainthood and the world's "success," we languish on uselessly all our lives.
We are called to something better. The church is pregnant, and each of us is as well. Will we carry Christ to term?
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Monday, November 07, 2005
A Storm with No Name
This evening, in parts of Indiana and Kentucky, at least twenty-two people are feared dead after a tornado, which left a trail of damage three quarters of a mile wide and twenty miles long late Sunday night, tore portions of both states.
This kind of event, events where innocents lose their lives, always raises the same questions, questions of providence that need not be repeated here. But in special circumstances of a tornado, I cannot help but ask if the problem is more acute.
When thousands of Allied soldiers stormed the beaches of Normandy in June 1944, those who died gave their lives on a day that will not be soon forgotten, a day with its own name, and with its own monuments. It was the kind of day that causes those who lived through it to remember exactly what they were doing when the tide was turned.
When the World Trade Center came down, those who were lost became martyrs, almost overnight. The few blocks of Manhattan on which the Twin Towers were built will always be considered hallowed ground.
When the levees broke in New Orleans, those who perished did so with the eyes of the entire nation trained on them. Their deaths alerted us to the weaknesses of our own systems in coping with natural disaster. The storm which flooded the city had a name. And as such, it will remain lodged in the annals of our history.
But when a tornado touches down, it comes without warning, takes property and lives, and then vanishes. Outside of a limited geographical area, no one will mark time by this tornado. No one will remember what they were doing that Sunday evening. D-Day, 9/11, and Katrina have earned a place in the national consciousness, while this tornado will soon be forgotten. Because the storm has no name, it also has no official significance.
Perhaps naming tornadoes, even after the fact if there has been significant property damage or any loss of life, would go a long way towards recognizing that those who perish in these storms do not go unnoticed by the movers, shakers, and newsmakers in places like New York, Washington, and Los Angeles. These random events cannot be consigned to the official status of "non-events;" rather, they should be accorded the same significance as those events by which a nation marks its collective time.
What do you think?
This evening, in parts of Indiana and Kentucky, at least twenty-two people are feared dead after a tornado, which left a trail of damage three quarters of a mile wide and twenty miles long late Sunday night, tore portions of both states.
This kind of event, events where innocents lose their lives, always raises the same questions, questions of providence that need not be repeated here. But in special circumstances of a tornado, I cannot help but ask if the problem is more acute.
When thousands of Allied soldiers stormed the beaches of Normandy in June 1944, those who died gave their lives on a day that will not be soon forgotten, a day with its own name, and with its own monuments. It was the kind of day that causes those who lived through it to remember exactly what they were doing when the tide was turned.
When the World Trade Center came down, those who were lost became martyrs, almost overnight. The few blocks of Manhattan on which the Twin Towers were built will always be considered hallowed ground.
When the levees broke in New Orleans, those who perished did so with the eyes of the entire nation trained on them. Their deaths alerted us to the weaknesses of our own systems in coping with natural disaster. The storm which flooded the city had a name. And as such, it will remain lodged in the annals of our history.
But when a tornado touches down, it comes without warning, takes property and lives, and then vanishes. Outside of a limited geographical area, no one will mark time by this tornado. No one will remember what they were doing that Sunday evening. D-Day, 9/11, and Katrina have earned a place in the national consciousness, while this tornado will soon be forgotten. Because the storm has no name, it also has no official significance.
Perhaps naming tornadoes, even after the fact if there has been significant property damage or any loss of life, would go a long way towards recognizing that those who perish in these storms do not go unnoticed by the movers, shakers, and newsmakers in places like New York, Washington, and Los Angeles. These random events cannot be consigned to the official status of "non-events;" rather, they should be accorded the same significance as those events by which a nation marks its collective time.
What do you think?
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
For All the Saints
Today, November 1, is All Saints' Day. If you know a saint, call them up! But them a steak dinner, maybe, or some flowers.
But seriously. Today is the day on which the church celebrates all those who have been saints in the past, whether or not we remember their names. I think that it is an especially appropriate day to remember the brave women and men that first gathered together in England during the early 17th century and began the movement of free churches that we now call Baptist.
Many of these souls were willing to suffer fines, imprisonment, or worse, just to be able to worship in the way that they felt was pleasing to God.
Baptists, unlike many other groups within Christianity, aren't able to point to one person (or small group of people) when describing their origins. Methodists have the Wesleys, Reformed Christians point to Zwingli and Calvin, Anglicans and Episcopalians can point to Cranmer and Hooker, but Baptist beginnings were so humble that the exact circumstances of our birth are foggy at best. John Smyth and Thomas Helwys, while important, pale next to the mostly unnamed persons who led the JLJ church into a Baptist expression of faith through adult believers' baptism.
I think that perhaps this tendency towards anonymity, the emphasis of the religious leadership and experience not of bishops and nuns but of everyday people, sets the Baptist movement apart. Today, however, many Baptists shun anonymity, working to build the biggest church, the biggest programs, and the biggest name. This early tendency is in jeopardy.
Do you think that anonymity is a desirable quality in the Christian life? Is it being lost in Baptist life, and if so, how might we begin to recover it?
Today, November 1, is All Saints' Day. If you know a saint, call them up! But them a steak dinner, maybe, or some flowers.
But seriously. Today is the day on which the church celebrates all those who have been saints in the past, whether or not we remember their names. I think that it is an especially appropriate day to remember the brave women and men that first gathered together in England during the early 17th century and began the movement of free churches that we now call Baptist.
Many of these souls were willing to suffer fines, imprisonment, or worse, just to be able to worship in the way that they felt was pleasing to God.
Baptists, unlike many other groups within Christianity, aren't able to point to one person (or small group of people) when describing their origins. Methodists have the Wesleys, Reformed Christians point to Zwingli and Calvin, Anglicans and Episcopalians can point to Cranmer and Hooker, but Baptist beginnings were so humble that the exact circumstances of our birth are foggy at best. John Smyth and Thomas Helwys, while important, pale next to the mostly unnamed persons who led the JLJ church into a Baptist expression of faith through adult believers' baptism.
I think that perhaps this tendency towards anonymity, the emphasis of the religious leadership and experience not of bishops and nuns but of everyday people, sets the Baptist movement apart. Today, however, many Baptists shun anonymity, working to build the biggest church, the biggest programs, and the biggest name. This early tendency is in jeopardy.
Do you think that anonymity is a desirable quality in the Christian life? Is it being lost in Baptist life, and if so, how might we begin to recover it?
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