Last week my secretary said something that I had been thinking but had been almost afraid to say myself. She said that ever since our day of prayer and fasting, things have been happening around here, and there is a different kind of energy in the air.
Several weeks ago we called our little congregation to a day of prayer and fasting. We had plenty of people who agreed to participate, and it has been very exciting to me to see what has happened since then. We've had a steady stream of visitors. We've added a couple new families to our fellowship. Several people are considering or have already started new missional efforts in their neighborhoods.
Not everything has been good, of course. Our new website was hacked last week, just a short time after the new changes went live. Our main web guy, my friend Dan, is still trying to get the site back up. But even that event is kind of interesting. I mean, we've been on the web for years without incident. We launch a revision of the site designed to reflect our missional goals and nature, and within weeks we are attacked. This happens even as focus group of some of our newest members were affirming how important an effective webiste is to their finding and choosing a church of which to be a part. It makes me think the enemy is unhappy with what we are doing, and that can only be good.
Here's the thing, though... what we are doing is simply leaving our path open so we can be led where God wants us to go. This, as opposed to setting up our program and asking God to bless what we are doing. Some of the things that are developing will, no doubt, eventually be represented in "program" form, but hopefully their development will be more spirit centered and organic.
I find that genuine ministry seems to be happening in some unexpected places, and that we, as an organization, have less direct control over these things. I think this is healthy, and I'm watching with anticipation to see where some of these things go.
Yesterday, I received a particularly encouraging affirmation. My wife and I got to have lunch with a couple of our newest members. After sharing with me how some things I had been speaking about interacted rather profoundly with things the Spirit had been leading them in, she shared with me an observation that I agree with, but would not have put half as well. "For some reason," she said, "God's attention is focused on this church."
Monday, November 17, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
New Website
I haven't written anything here in quite some time, in part because I've been writing and editing some content for our new church website. I think its coming along great! This is an improvement we've been working on for some time now, and we hope it will make the site more interesting and interactive.
If your are interested, check it out: www.livedifferentchurch.org
If your are interested, check it out: www.livedifferentchurch.org
Friday, September 5, 2008
Faith and the Ferris Wheel
I’ve always enjoyed amusement parks, so when my kids got free tickets to Lakeside amusement park in Dener as a reward for successfully completing the local library summer reading program, I was good to go.
I had never been to Lakeside, but I had read some of the history of the place, and I was looking forward to enjoying the park during this, its 100th anniversary season. And I did. With the possible exception of an attraction called “Starship 2000.” This “ride” is essentially a centrifuge sized for human beings. Its true purpose is apparently to flatten your internal organs against your spine. I’m fairly certain it may be the antichrist of amusement park rides, and I am opposed to it on entirely theological grounds.
Aside from that, I had a great time. Lakeside is a nostalgic old park of the type often imitated by the newer parks. It is a mix of Coney Island and art deco, which gives it a very retro classical appeal. And though the facilities could use an influx of capital to improve maintenance and landscaping, in many ways, Lakeside is an ideal family amusement park. Except for one thing: It’s old. It struck me that, while modern amusement parks often attempt to mimic the classical feel and nostalgia of the great old parks, as a culture, we are not predisposed to actually attend the great old parks. We have come to prefer the newer imitations of the original over the original.
I guess we like the newer parks because they feature carefully controlled guest environments. The attractions are often faster, and feature licensed characters from our favorite movies. They can accommodate larger crowds and larger events, which also means they have longer lines. They offer different attractions to appeal to different members of the family, which often means that, rather than attending together, family members split up to go and do their own age appropriate thing. I like those newer parks, but I have to say that Lakeside, smaller, older, and much more simple, was a nearly perfect place to be with my family.
The dynamic I’m describing here is the same that has frustrated me about the modern church. Anyone who wants to take an honest look knows that the church as it exists today is very different from the church of the first century. And while cultural differences are to be expected, one can easily make the case that we have fundamentally changed the definition of the church. This has not made us a more effective vehicle of the Kingdom, as far as I can tell. Even in apparently thriving Christian communities, I am hard pressed to identify, in the western world, churches as vital and fast growing as the early church. And yet, we prefer our modern imitation of the original, over the original. We enjoy a more controlled environment, with flashier, if less substantive, attractions. We can accommodate larger crowds. And we divide ourselves generationally.
A return to the original demands that we relinquish the convenience and control to which we have become accustomed. The early church was more raw, and if I may say, more real than what we have experienced. It was, in a sense, more dangerous and unpredictable, because God’s Spirit controlled the action in a much more direct fashion than we allow today.
But, honestly, given a choice between a church built by God and directed by his Spirit into miraculous things, and a church built by humanity out of foam and fiberglass to represent the miraculous, which would you choose?
I had never been to Lakeside, but I had read some of the history of the place, and I was looking forward to enjoying the park during this, its 100th anniversary season. And I did. With the possible exception of an attraction called “Starship 2000.” This “ride” is essentially a centrifuge sized for human beings. Its true purpose is apparently to flatten your internal organs against your spine. I’m fairly certain it may be the antichrist of amusement park rides, and I am opposed to it on entirely theological grounds.
Aside from that, I had a great time. Lakeside is a nostalgic old park of the type often imitated by the newer parks. It is a mix of Coney Island and art deco, which gives it a very retro classical appeal. And though the facilities could use an influx of capital to improve maintenance and landscaping, in many ways, Lakeside is an ideal family amusement park. Except for one thing: It’s old. It struck me that, while modern amusement parks often attempt to mimic the classical feel and nostalgia of the great old parks, as a culture, we are not predisposed to actually attend the great old parks. We have come to prefer the newer imitations of the original over the original.
I guess we like the newer parks because they feature carefully controlled guest environments. The attractions are often faster, and feature licensed characters from our favorite movies. They can accommodate larger crowds and larger events, which also means they have longer lines. They offer different attractions to appeal to different members of the family, which often means that, rather than attending together, family members split up to go and do their own age appropriate thing. I like those newer parks, but I have to say that Lakeside, smaller, older, and much more simple, was a nearly perfect place to be with my family.
The dynamic I’m describing here is the same that has frustrated me about the modern church. Anyone who wants to take an honest look knows that the church as it exists today is very different from the church of the first century. And while cultural differences are to be expected, one can easily make the case that we have fundamentally changed the definition of the church. This has not made us a more effective vehicle of the Kingdom, as far as I can tell. Even in apparently thriving Christian communities, I am hard pressed to identify, in the western world, churches as vital and fast growing as the early church. And yet, we prefer our modern imitation of the original, over the original. We enjoy a more controlled environment, with flashier, if less substantive, attractions. We can accommodate larger crowds. And we divide ourselves generationally.
A return to the original demands that we relinquish the convenience and control to which we have become accustomed. The early church was more raw, and if I may say, more real than what we have experienced. It was, in a sense, more dangerous and unpredictable, because God’s Spirit controlled the action in a much more direct fashion than we allow today.
But, honestly, given a choice between a church built by God and directed by his Spirit into miraculous things, and a church built by humanity out of foam and fiberglass to represent the miraculous, which would you choose?
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Ownership
Well, here it is the middle of August, and I haven't posted a word since mid-June. As bloggers go, I'm afraid I've not been very diligent. But I do have something on my mind that might be worth sharing:
My wife wondered aloud this afternoon, as we left our Sunday morning assembly, "I wonder if there's anyone's toes you didn't step on today?"
She's probably right, though I didn't set out to offend. I've just got a bee in my bonnet about ownership. It's been a pet peeve of mine for some time. I cringe every time I hear someone saying that the way to motivate people in ministry is to give them ownership. This corporate culture notion of ownership is about as far removed from Scripture as you can get. And yet our culture is so enamored with ownership as a concept, that we tend to accept this advice with little thought.
Lately I've become frustrated with just how pervasive the notion of ownership has become. It occurs to me that the things we use to define church are all rooted in ownership. The things that frustrate me about organized religion: the focus on facilities, budgets, attendance, and hierarchy, all speak to our desire to own and control the church. Consider: If we speak of a church "closing its doors" the assumption is that congregation no longer exists. Its members must disperse to other places. Now, how is it that closing the doors of a building is so readily equated with ending the fellowship of a congregation? When did the external conveniences of church, such as an owned meeting place, become the church itself?
It goes much further than this, of course. Our denominational identities allow us to slap a brand name on the church, guaranteeing to some extent that we will be able to control membership and the content of our worship. This is exclusively about our ownership and control, as far as I can tell. Which is, I suppose, no big deal if the church is just a human religious organization, as so many people see it. But if it is of diving origin, then such attempt to own and control it are out of line.
I've not had much success pursuing this point of view, to be honest. I've no particular interest in being identified with any particular denomination, but some in our fellowship still experience strong ties to the denominational identity. What scares me about this is that I believe God's Spirit is quenched by our ownership and control. It's like we are asking God to work through our structure and our plans, rather than us responding to His.
My wife wondered aloud this afternoon, as we left our Sunday morning assembly, "I wonder if there's anyone's toes you didn't step on today?"
She's probably right, though I didn't set out to offend. I've just got a bee in my bonnet about ownership. It's been a pet peeve of mine for some time. I cringe every time I hear someone saying that the way to motivate people in ministry is to give them ownership. This corporate culture notion of ownership is about as far removed from Scripture as you can get. And yet our culture is so enamored with ownership as a concept, that we tend to accept this advice with little thought.
Lately I've become frustrated with just how pervasive the notion of ownership has become. It occurs to me that the things we use to define church are all rooted in ownership. The things that frustrate me about organized religion: the focus on facilities, budgets, attendance, and hierarchy, all speak to our desire to own and control the church. Consider: If we speak of a church "closing its doors" the assumption is that congregation no longer exists. Its members must disperse to other places. Now, how is it that closing the doors of a building is so readily equated with ending the fellowship of a congregation? When did the external conveniences of church, such as an owned meeting place, become the church itself?
It goes much further than this, of course. Our denominational identities allow us to slap a brand name on the church, guaranteeing to some extent that we will be able to control membership and the content of our worship. This is exclusively about our ownership and control, as far as I can tell. Which is, I suppose, no big deal if the church is just a human religious organization, as so many people see it. But if it is of diving origin, then such attempt to own and control it are out of line.
I've not had much success pursuing this point of view, to be honest. I've no particular interest in being identified with any particular denomination, but some in our fellowship still experience strong ties to the denominational identity. What scares me about this is that I believe God's Spirit is quenched by our ownership and control. It's like we are asking God to work through our structure and our plans, rather than us responding to His.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Mission Mindset
We've just returned from a mission trip to the Navajo Reservation near Bluff, Utah. It was a productive and blessed week; the culmination of four years of relationship building. We finished construction of a hogan meeting house for a group of Navajo believers there, and we look forward to beginning a series of local service projects on the reservation, which we hope will also be a great blessing to our Navajo brothers and sisters.
Each year when I return from this trip, I am mindful of the challenges of translating missions into a local setting. On a mission trip, the team is fully focused and committed to the task at hand. They are blessed to serve, and anxiously await God's hand in things. Upon returning home to all our normal distractions, it is difficult to have that same kind of focus; the same openness to opportunities. And we've been lulled into thinking that God is not likely to act in powerful ways at home, in the same manner we've come to expect on these ventures to new places.
This year I am keenly aware of how slow and difficult a process it is to befriend many Navajo people. They are generally distrustful of outsiders—particularly white outsiders—and often with just cause. It's been relatively easy to go and build something or complete some job that needs doing. The relationships we've created over the years have been more challenging. They simply cannot be rushed. They take time and attention. I am thrilled that we have finished the hogan (a project three years in the making) but I am convinced the real victory here is that we've come to be loved and accepted by some of our Navajo hosts, and we very genuinely love them in return.
I bring this lesson home with me, and consider how our area is not all that different in terms of the challenge of relationship. It is not that difficult to create programs, host events, or complete service projects. It's another thing altogether to create genuine community with people. Evergreen and the surrounding area is filled with highly independent, rather postmodern and largely unchurched people. When they have questions about life, they do not seek answers from churches or from the Bible. They look on committed Christians with some degree of distrust, or write them off with the familiar, "That's great if that works for you but I'm not into the whole religion thing."
Of course, they are into religion. It may be nothing more than the religion of self or some generic spirituality, but people here are very religiously committed and fervent. What they are not so keen on is the truth, as allowing any singular truth to be defined is a threat to individuality, which here, and in American culture in general, is often considered the ultimate good.
Most churches here end up competing over the minority of residents already inclined to attend a church. They sponsor big programs and events to draw them in.
We have begun to operate on a different premise. We want to be in conversation with unchurched and dechurched people about life and faith. This requires that we invest a great deal of time and respect in building relationships with people. We can't expect them to come to us, and we cannot force Jesus upon them. We must go to them, build community with them, and let them open the doors to spiritual conversation.
Our culture is accustomed to immediate results and gratification, so building relationships without some evangelistic plan of attack feels a little open ended, but this is about letting people learn to trust and love us, even as we learn to love and trust them.
As an example, I've got a bunch of neighbors coming over this weekend to help me build a ramping bridge from my driveway to my front door. These people, at various levels of spiritual awareness and religious participation, are not coming to my house as my "target population" or "evangelistic prospects." They are coming as my friends. And I can say, with great honesty, that I love and appreciate each of them. We are becoming a community, and I am choosing to rely on them in my time of need. I strive to be, within the context of that community, a man of God, and I look forward to the times they trust me with their spiritual questions, but I do not try to steer conversations. As I see it, my job for now is to love them and invest myself in them. Their personal spiritual journeys are far more dependent on God's work in their lives than on mine.
Along these same lines, God has opened another very interesting door. A few of us here, through a very interesting series of events, have come to host an "open mike night" at a local restaurant and tavern. This is not overtly evangelistic in the sense that we sing and play many secular songs, and there is no "come to Jesus" speech made at any point in the evening. But we do slip in a few songs that reflect our heart for God, and we are enjoying the opportunity to connect with local musicians and their friends.
We wait anxiously to see where God is going to take such opportunities.
Blessings,
Doug
Each year when I return from this trip, I am mindful of the challenges of translating missions into a local setting. On a mission trip, the team is fully focused and committed to the task at hand. They are blessed to serve, and anxiously await God's hand in things. Upon returning home to all our normal distractions, it is difficult to have that same kind of focus; the same openness to opportunities. And we've been lulled into thinking that God is not likely to act in powerful ways at home, in the same manner we've come to expect on these ventures to new places.
This year I am keenly aware of how slow and difficult a process it is to befriend many Navajo people. They are generally distrustful of outsiders—particularly white outsiders—and often with just cause. It's been relatively easy to go and build something or complete some job that needs doing. The relationships we've created over the years have been more challenging. They simply cannot be rushed. They take time and attention. I am thrilled that we have finished the hogan (a project three years in the making) but I am convinced the real victory here is that we've come to be loved and accepted by some of our Navajo hosts, and we very genuinely love them in return.
I bring this lesson home with me, and consider how our area is not all that different in terms of the challenge of relationship. It is not that difficult to create programs, host events, or complete service projects. It's another thing altogether to create genuine community with people. Evergreen and the surrounding area is filled with highly independent, rather postmodern and largely unchurched people. When they have questions about life, they do not seek answers from churches or from the Bible. They look on committed Christians with some degree of distrust, or write them off with the familiar, "That's great if that works for you but I'm not into the whole religion thing."
Of course, they are into religion. It may be nothing more than the religion of self or some generic spirituality, but people here are very religiously committed and fervent. What they are not so keen on is the truth, as allowing any singular truth to be defined is a threat to individuality, which here, and in American culture in general, is often considered the ultimate good.
Most churches here end up competing over the minority of residents already inclined to attend a church. They sponsor big programs and events to draw them in.
We have begun to operate on a different premise. We want to be in conversation with unchurched and dechurched people about life and faith. This requires that we invest a great deal of time and respect in building relationships with people. We can't expect them to come to us, and we cannot force Jesus upon them. We must go to them, build community with them, and let them open the doors to spiritual conversation.
Our culture is accustomed to immediate results and gratification, so building relationships without some evangelistic plan of attack feels a little open ended, but this is about letting people learn to trust and love us, even as we learn to love and trust them.
As an example, I've got a bunch of neighbors coming over this weekend to help me build a ramping bridge from my driveway to my front door. These people, at various levels of spiritual awareness and religious participation, are not coming to my house as my "target population" or "evangelistic prospects." They are coming as my friends. And I can say, with great honesty, that I love and appreciate each of them. We are becoming a community, and I am choosing to rely on them in my time of need. I strive to be, within the context of that community, a man of God, and I look forward to the times they trust me with their spiritual questions, but I do not try to steer conversations. As I see it, my job for now is to love them and invest myself in them. Their personal spiritual journeys are far more dependent on God's work in their lives than on mine.
Along these same lines, God has opened another very interesting door. A few of us here, through a very interesting series of events, have come to host an "open mike night" at a local restaurant and tavern. This is not overtly evangelistic in the sense that we sing and play many secular songs, and there is no "come to Jesus" speech made at any point in the evening. But we do slip in a few songs that reflect our heart for God, and we are enjoying the opportunity to connect with local musicians and their friends.
We wait anxiously to see where God is going to take such opportunities.
Blessings,
Doug
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Questioning Denominational Identity
I grew up in a fellowship that considered itself non-denominational. That was the ideal anyway. We wanted to simply be Christians, and not identify ourselves as anything but. Unfortunately, this sort of morphed over the years into a certain pride about our non-denominational status. We kind of went from being just Christians to being the only Christians. Our fellowship became very sectarian and exclusive.
This is ironic on several levels. I mean, how do you become prideful about your denomination if you are claiming you aren't one?
In spite of these problems, I am still drawn to the nondenominational ideal. I suppose some level of corporate organization in the church is inevitable, but whenever that organization starts to become the core of our identity I get nervous. Which is why I feel so strongly about this next pair of ideas:
Christocentric vs. denominational
All this really means is I think we need to stop putting our faith in the "rightness" of our human organizations and put our faith in Jesus. Though I will always be influenced by the particular Christian heritage of which I am a part, I don't want that heritage to define me or the fellowship of which I am currently a part. I'd simply like to, as best I can, be a follower of Jesus.
I realize that this is heretical talk to some. From about the third century on, the church has assumed, on one level or another, that it had the authority to redefine itself, and to manage its membership in accordance with a narrow spectrum of doctrinal beliefs. The proliferation of Christian denominations that exist today has its origin in the assumption that "my church is just a little more right than your church."
This makes me wonder: When did the church become "mine?" And where does the Bible give us the authority to segment and divide the church just so we can work and worship exclusively with people who believe exactly as we do? And why do Christians waste so much time insisting that if others were truly being faithful to Jesus they would believe "just as I do?"
It strikes me that a great many of our differences could be successfully accommodated if only we could remain focused on the core principle that Jesus is Lord.
This is ironic on several levels. I mean, how do you become prideful about your denomination if you are claiming you aren't one?
In spite of these problems, I am still drawn to the nondenominational ideal. I suppose some level of corporate organization in the church is inevitable, but whenever that organization starts to become the core of our identity I get nervous. Which is why I feel so strongly about this next pair of ideas:
Christocentric vs. denominational
All this really means is I think we need to stop putting our faith in the "rightness" of our human organizations and put our faith in Jesus. Though I will always be influenced by the particular Christian heritage of which I am a part, I don't want that heritage to define me or the fellowship of which I am currently a part. I'd simply like to, as best I can, be a follower of Jesus.
I realize that this is heretical talk to some. From about the third century on, the church has assumed, on one level or another, that it had the authority to redefine itself, and to manage its membership in accordance with a narrow spectrum of doctrinal beliefs. The proliferation of Christian denominations that exist today has its origin in the assumption that "my church is just a little more right than your church."
This makes me wonder: When did the church become "mine?" And where does the Bible give us the authority to segment and divide the church just so we can work and worship exclusively with people who believe exactly as we do? And why do Christians waste so much time insisting that if others were truly being faithful to Jesus they would believe "just as I do?"
It strikes me that a great many of our differences could be successfully accommodated if only we could remain focused on the core principle that Jesus is Lord.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Following Jesus
The next pairing of ideas I want to talk about - discipleship vs. membership - is something that has been on my mind a great deal lately. I often find, when I talk to Christians about restoring discipleship as a core practice of the faith, they stare blankly almost unable to comprehend what I mean. Discipleship is, in the simplest of terms, about following Jesus, and our experience of church has duped us into believing that if we keep the traditions of modern western Christianity, we are, in fact, following Jesus.
What Jesus said about it was, if we wanted to follow him, we would need to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow him. At the time, this was taken quite literally. It meant you denied your own will and agenda to replace it with the will and agenda of Jesus, based on the belief that his will is superior to our own. It meant that you took on his mission, and thus his burden, even to the point of great persecution or death. And it meant that you followed him, allowing his life and the direction of his Spirit set the course for your life.
Oddly enough, today we don't often interpret these words as literally. When I hear Christians talk about the deny self, take up the cross, and follow passages, they somehow find a way to make this almost exclusively about dealing with their personal sin. Self denial is about dealing with our sinful nature. Taking up the cross is about fighting our sin just as Jesus fought our sin with his sacrifice. And following is about living your life by the moral standard of Jesus.
Sadly, there is no mention of our participation in mission, our role in building up the body, the use of our spiritual gifts, or our commission to take the message of Jesus to the world around us. In the age of the modern church, these are the vocation of professional clergy, missionaries, and a handful of committed lay volunteers. But the New Testament makes very clear that there is no such distinction between disciples who serve the mission of Jesus, and disciples who are mere members of the church. We are a priesthood of believers.
The original disciples, recruited to be "fishers of men" would be very surprised to hear that discipleship was merely a matter of personal moral improvement. It was a life directing mission and belief. Modern Christians believe in Jesus. Disciples believed Jesus was the only genuine source of life, meaning, transcendence, and salvation, and they lived accordingly.
True discipleship has been moderated to the point that if we attend Sunday services, give some of our money, sit through a few sermons, and possibly volunteer some time to a church ministry, we are living the life to which Christ called us. Oddly enough, many of the things Christians do to feel spiritual or Christ focused have their origin in human tradition and not in the life and ministry of Jesus. For a helpful book on this subject, check out Pagan Christianity: Exploring the Roots of Our Church Practices by Frank Viola and George Barna. While I differ with some of their conclusions, this is a very eye opening book.
The misconception that "doing the church thing" is the same as following Jesus spills over, I think, into our notions about Biblical study. In a recent conversation with some of our church leaders about our educational efforts, including Sunday school, small groups, Bible classes, and sermons, the consensus seemed to be that the purpose of these educational efforts was to encourage. Odd as this may sound, that really bothers me. I wish that we looked on Biblical studies as a source of transformation. I wish that we approached the Bible expecting it to undermine our human thinking and to defy our expectations. I fear that we approach the Bible expecting it to reinforce or perhaps clarify what we already believe. This is, I think, the result of our membership ideology. Since the call of discipleship is moderated to mean being a good and moral person who attends a particular fellowship, the use of Scripture gets moderated to include only personal moral instruction and reinforcement.
One of the things I really like about missional church thinking is that the mission is always directing my attention back to the Scriptures, not to reinforce my belief, but to seek real answers to missional problems. For instance, when people come to me with suggestions about how we can market the church or to advocate some leadership technique, I often find myself asking the question, "How is this reflected in the life and ministry of Jesus." With some regularity, I discover that the thing being advocated is little more than the latest in human thinking about corporate organizations. This doesn't automatically make it a bad idea, but it does cast doubt. If we are trying to live out a divine and organic reality, it serves to reason that many human and structural ideas may not apply.
The idea of discipleship I've proposed within our fellowship is that we would follow Jesus as literally as possible. I don't mean that we will start dressing in sandals and robes, but I do mean that when Jesus says he is the way, the truth, and the life, we reorganize our life around the idea that the ministry of Jesus is our roadmap for mission, the truth of Jesus is the truth that guides us, and the life of Jesus is the source of our hope. If we are true disciples, I believe our choices, priorities, daytimers and checkbooks will all reflect these truths.
What Jesus said about it was, if we wanted to follow him, we would need to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow him. At the time, this was taken quite literally. It meant you denied your own will and agenda to replace it with the will and agenda of Jesus, based on the belief that his will is superior to our own. It meant that you took on his mission, and thus his burden, even to the point of great persecution or death. And it meant that you followed him, allowing his life and the direction of his Spirit set the course for your life.
Oddly enough, today we don't often interpret these words as literally. When I hear Christians talk about the deny self, take up the cross, and follow passages, they somehow find a way to make this almost exclusively about dealing with their personal sin. Self denial is about dealing with our sinful nature. Taking up the cross is about fighting our sin just as Jesus fought our sin with his sacrifice. And following is about living your life by the moral standard of Jesus.
Sadly, there is no mention of our participation in mission, our role in building up the body, the use of our spiritual gifts, or our commission to take the message of Jesus to the world around us. In the age of the modern church, these are the vocation of professional clergy, missionaries, and a handful of committed lay volunteers. But the New Testament makes very clear that there is no such distinction between disciples who serve the mission of Jesus, and disciples who are mere members of the church. We are a priesthood of believers.
The original disciples, recruited to be "fishers of men" would be very surprised to hear that discipleship was merely a matter of personal moral improvement. It was a life directing mission and belief. Modern Christians believe in Jesus. Disciples believed Jesus was the only genuine source of life, meaning, transcendence, and salvation, and they lived accordingly.
True discipleship has been moderated to the point that if we attend Sunday services, give some of our money, sit through a few sermons, and possibly volunteer some time to a church ministry, we are living the life to which Christ called us. Oddly enough, many of the things Christians do to feel spiritual or Christ focused have their origin in human tradition and not in the life and ministry of Jesus. For a helpful book on this subject, check out Pagan Christianity: Exploring the Roots of Our Church Practices by Frank Viola and George Barna. While I differ with some of their conclusions, this is a very eye opening book.
The misconception that "doing the church thing" is the same as following Jesus spills over, I think, into our notions about Biblical study. In a recent conversation with some of our church leaders about our educational efforts, including Sunday school, small groups, Bible classes, and sermons, the consensus seemed to be that the purpose of these educational efforts was to encourage. Odd as this may sound, that really bothers me. I wish that we looked on Biblical studies as a source of transformation. I wish that we approached the Bible expecting it to undermine our human thinking and to defy our expectations. I fear that we approach the Bible expecting it to reinforce or perhaps clarify what we already believe. This is, I think, the result of our membership ideology. Since the call of discipleship is moderated to mean being a good and moral person who attends a particular fellowship, the use of Scripture gets moderated to include only personal moral instruction and reinforcement.
One of the things I really like about missional church thinking is that the mission is always directing my attention back to the Scriptures, not to reinforce my belief, but to seek real answers to missional problems. For instance, when people come to me with suggestions about how we can market the church or to advocate some leadership technique, I often find myself asking the question, "How is this reflected in the life and ministry of Jesus." With some regularity, I discover that the thing being advocated is little more than the latest in human thinking about corporate organizations. This doesn't automatically make it a bad idea, but it does cast doubt. If we are trying to live out a divine and organic reality, it serves to reason that many human and structural ideas may not apply.
The idea of discipleship I've proposed within our fellowship is that we would follow Jesus as literally as possible. I don't mean that we will start dressing in sandals and robes, but I do mean that when Jesus says he is the way, the truth, and the life, we reorganize our life around the idea that the ministry of Jesus is our roadmap for mission, the truth of Jesus is the truth that guides us, and the life of Jesus is the source of our hope. If we are true disciples, I believe our choices, priorities, daytimers and checkbooks will all reflect these truths.
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