This week I want to address faith issues common to (affecting, afflicting?) every level of the church, things embedded so deeply in our instinct or unconscious that we forget to examine them.
The first of these issues: I hear people say, "[Church X] is my church" all the time. Most of them insert the name of their local parish but it's also used to describe Lutheran, Christian, what have you. I wonder what we mean when we say, "The Genesee Lutheran Parish is my church" or "The ELCA is my church body"?
It seems to me there are two senses to "my church", the common and the theologically correct. As you may guess, these don't line up well together.
Most people view the words "my church" through cultural lenses. Church is "theirs" because they've gone to the church forever or because they're comfortable there or because the church espouses a philosophy they agree with. "My church" means "church matches up with me".
The theological shortcoming here is obvious. Church is meant to shape and transform us. To deny this is to assume we're perfect, the Big Biblical No-No. We are meant to transform our church as well, but transformation isn't inherent in these particular "my church" stances. If church is "mine" just because I've gone here forever it no longer feels as much mine when something changes. If church is "mine" because I'm comfortable here I become detached and angry when pushed beyond my comfort zone. If church is "mine" because I agree with its philosophy I feel disenfranchised when that philosophy evolves. In this framework the church becomes less "ours" every time something moves. Over time we become less concerned with discovery, vibrancy, spiritual growth and more concerned with power, prerogatives, keeping things the way they are. Not failing becomes more important than succeeding. Not dying becomes more important than living. Fear replaces courage and we get triggered into fight or flight mode every time something doesn't go our way.
Sometimes this dynamic gets wrapped up with "ownership" in the economic sense. Our society tells us that we have power over that which we own, paid for at the time of purchase, exclusive to us over and above anybody else. If I buy a truck I get to choose where and how to drive it. You don't get to because you didn't pay for it. It's not your truck! Nor can it be your truck as long as it is mine. I might let you borrow it if I'm not using it at the moment. I might sell it to you slightly used someday. But we can't co-own or else the whole idea of paying for it in the first place becomes silly. How many people drop 50 grand on a new pickup then walk over to their neighbor's house and say, "I want your name on the title and you don't have to pay anything"?
Few of us are crass enough to think we own a church outright (or at least we wouldn't admit it in public). It is God's house, after all. But the phrase "my church" is often a clue that people think their contributions--money, time, energy--have purchased a place on the title alongside God's. It's not written on paper. It's maintained by keeping tight control over decision-making processes, preemptively vetoing anything that goes against the grain (a.k.a. "tradition"), threatening to walk out and cease support--thus bringing the church down--if things go awry. It's a clever, and perfectly understandable, way to keep things the same...comfortable...agreeable.
Every time you hear the phrase "That person is a 'Good Member'" your ears should prick up. The most likely translation is, "That person is part of the group that thinks they have ownership of the church based on their various contributions." Just like the truck title, there no room for others no matter what their contributions. This item has been bought and paid for.
Between the not moving, not growing, not exploring, not tolerating anything different, treating God like a commodity, narrowing real membership to a select and unimpeachable few, and horribly mangling the definition of "good", this definition of "my church" gets ugly really fast. You'd think people would be up in arms about it. That doesn't happen as often as it should. This kind of ownership has the side benefit of few things going wrong, few people arguing, few uncomfortable moments, and the assurance that somebody will always support the church and keep it running so it'll never die. To a society pressed for time and money that favors a peaceful church experience that doesn't require more than an hour a week, the trade-off is worth it.
Judging by outward appearance and convenience, the churches owned in the worst ways seem to be functioning the best.
The correct theological definition of "my church" takes more time, thought, explanation. The first hurdle is overcoming cultural bias. How do you explain to somebody in 21st century America that it's good to invest your money, time, energy, and life into something that you do not then control? In a society obsessed with biggest return for least investment and risk, how do you convince folks to devote everything to a community that only functions well when it's in a constant state of trial, discovery, failure, and renewal? How do you keep a straight face when telling someone that the sign of a great church is that you don't always agree with it, that you are forced to go beyond any boundary you thought you had in service to people who will give you no tangible reward...even people whose views you might despise?
Here's what "my church" is supposed to mean. "My church" means "the community in which God's mission for me is revealed and lived out".
Notice that this is just as personal and intimate as the other definition...more so, in fact. The "for me" is still in there. My mission will look different than everybody else's. I bring something distinct, important, irreplaceable to this gathering, for God shows something unique through me. It isn't a church where I do some thing. The mission, the call, and the interactions which stem from them are peculiar to me. The experience isn't interchangeable. Thus I call the church "mine".
Through church I hear God's Word given for me. In church I receive God's body and blood shed for me. From fellow participants I receive encouragement to live out the life God has prepared for me. Among them I get to reflect on the triumphs and challenges I experience along the way. The personalized "me" is all over the joint!
But that personal, intimate connection between God, me, and my neighbor doesn't convey any of the control of the prior definition. Nor does it carry the same baggage. Power isn't conveyed by length of tenure or size of monetary contribution. My own comfort and agreement aren't prerequisites to the experience. Half the time they get in the way as God calls me beyond myself and my old limits. Most importantly, my sense of ownership and connection don't prevent anyone else from having the same ownership and connection in their own way. My church is also your church, always and totally.
I expect that God's mission for you will look different than mine and will lead this community to different places than mine will. I commit to affirming you in your mission even as you strengthen me in mine. Together we make the church bigger, expanding its borders into new individual frontiers while maintaining the fullness of the communal connection. Growth and change don't trigger fights and flights, rather new reasons to celebrate. If I have to sing a new hymn or take out the garbage an extra time a week to make that happen, hey...that's just more of God's mission, right?
Every church, every level of church, should stop for a moment and re-examine the assumptions under which they're operating when they make the claim, "This is my church". It doesn't take long for outsiders and people in need to figure out which definition of ownership you're operating under. It shows up in the welcome, in the variety of interactions, in expressions of celebration and grief, in the practices of leadership, and even in that sixth-sense, spiritual feeling you get when you walk among a people. You may think you're hiding ownership skeletons in your closet. In reality you might as well hang them right up above the altar on the cross in place of Jesus, because people perceive them just that clearly. The only folks who can't see them are the ones who have long since become used to them and accepted them in place of the true work of the Spirit.
Once upon a time folks might have accepted that kind of church, eager to put on appearances and be perceived as one of the good people. The cardinal rule nowadays is simple: nobody respects disingenuous motives and nobody wants to expend that much energy playing pretend...at least not about spirituality. When people talk about the "dying church" they're not talking about the death of the Spirit, nor of God's work. They're talking about the long, slow death of the "owned" church, the kind of foolishness and blindness that nobody sees a reason to put up with anymore.
I don't know about you, but I find that a good thing. It's a warning to those who would preserve their own power but it's also a promise that God's true mission will prevail no matter what else we try to substitute for it.
Next Up: Practical applications for church life!
--Pastor Dave (pastordave@geneseelutheranparish.org)
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