Church in the Park

Yesterday I did something that I know I have never done before. It was the first Sunday our table group got together in the morning rather than the evening. We met at Countryside Park at 11:00 AM for picnic lunch and fellowship, and followed lunch with a great game of adults vs. kids wiffle ball (adults won and showed no mercy) and some sand volleyball. A neighbor family and another boy from our neighborhood also came. I know, without any doubt, that this was a first in my life. Yes, I've had plenty of picnics before; and yes, I've even "skipped church" before and done other things on Sunday morning. Yesterday was neither of those. I did not skip church yesterday. I met with my church yesterday. And we were the church, in a way that was quite unexpected.

When you've been doing something a certain way for a few decades, your pre-conditioning alerts you to any changes. I was aware that church services were going on all morning, and that we weren't at one of them. The recordings kept playing in my mind: all the times I've urged people to be at church on Sunday, all the meetings I've been in where the main goal was to figure out how to get people to services, and all the frustration when the data came back telling us that half the church was absent on any given day (which is true even for the "best" churches in our community). There was an internal struggle going on, and I had to sort through it and find the truth. At moments like these, God has a tendency to clear things up, which he did in a dramatic fashion.

One of our neighbor families lost a loved one unexpectedly this weekend. I am thankful that we knew the family and cared about them, which meant that we were aware of it when it happened. I wonder how many times a family experiences this kind of thing in our community and no one around them knows about it? Their youngest son was too young to process the environment of grief the family would be in throughout the day, so we took him with us to the park for lunch, and another family from our neighborhood came also. We prayed for the family around the picnic table at lunch. During the volleyball game, the other dad and I hung out with this boy who had just received news that his grandfather had died. As he played around, he would just spontaneously ask us questions about his grandfather's death. He wanted to know about where his grandfather was, whether we had ever lost our grandfathers and how we felt, whether his grandfather was happy, that kind of thing. We discovered in the course of conversation that all three of our families have Scottish heritage (btw, Cameron means "crooked nose" in the ancient Scottish tongue), and we speculated about whether we might all be related somehow, and that this boy's grandfather was reunited with relatives who had come before him.

There was no sermon yesterday and no singing (except in heaven). Instead of being concerned with sound systems and message notes, I listened to my neighbor help another neighbor's son in his grief over a lost love one. I shared a meal with my church, played with kids and adults (who have often forgotten how to play). We had attendance of 21, which was over 125% of our membership. The fellowship and ministry that happened at the park could not have happened at a church service. As we were leaving, one family said it was the most fun they remembered having on Sunday morning. Since they had been to several services where I preached or led worship, I tried not to be offended by this.

I'm not advocating bailing out on church services. This is not a license to blow off church, which we did not do yesterday. We're not going to stop having services, and I'm not going to stop encouraging people to prioritize them. They serve an important and strategic purpose in ministry. But they aren't everything, and the important things they don't accomplish have to be addressed. We're only having services two Sundays per month specifically to make room for this kind of thing. But each of us has to take advantage of it. I know many of us still feel a compulsion to attend a service each Sunday, or at least feel a little guilty if we don't. But our consciences would probably serve us better if we felt equal pangs of guilt over not engaging people around us, not meeting the needs of others, not loving our neighbors as ourselves and not developing the kinds of relationships with other Christians that the early church did. I'll even go so far as to say that some of us are hiding in church services. It takes less to sit and soak than it does to engage and love. We all need to learn, but some of us have already heard more than we'll practice in a lifetime.

We begin a new teaching series this week called "Life in the Margins." This month we're all going to be challenged to live our lives differently, and much of it starts with how we spend our time. So this coming Sunday, BE AT THE SERVICE! But come with an open mind and a willingness to try something new. As I learned this weekend, investing your time even a little bit differently can make big changes in your life and the lives of people around you.

If any of our group members would like to weigh in on our table at the park, leave a comment. What was it like for you?

Hot Tub Baptism

Last week, while on vacation with our friends the Spencers, I had the privilege of baptizing the youngest Spencer, Nicholas. We did it in mid-afternoon in the hot tub at the resort where we were staying, with both our families in attendance, and lots of other people around the resort's pool area. In fact, as I was standing in the hot tub with Nicholas, explaining to him the meaning and significance of baptism, another young boy and his father slipped into the hot tub with us and watched the whole thing from a front-row seat! I heard him ask his father what was happening as I was about to submerge Nicholas, and his dad explained that I was baptizing. The conversation didn't go much further than that (at least in my hearing), but it was as public a baptism as I think I've ever done. And it was good.

Last fall, I baptized three young men, including my own son, in Village Creek in east Texas, in a state park swimming hole. I also participated in several baptisms on Lake Austin in the '90s. We usually baptized on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, and the lake was always packed. Boats full of people would slow down and watch as we were baptizing. Some would cheer, others would heckle. That's just part of the deal when you're in a public place, but overall I think it's both fitting and exciting. My own baptism, like that of probably most Christians in America, was in a church baptistry while wearing a white robe. I remember how strange I thought it was that the pastor wore rubber waders under his robe. My family and church members were in attendance. It was definitely meaningful, but after having experienced more public baptisms, if I had it to do over again I would choose the lake or the creek. Maybe even the hot tub too!

In the church I grew up in, the method of choice for publicly announcing one's faith in Jesus was walking down the aisle at church at the end of a service and talking to the pastor. The pastor would then announce to the church whatever decision had been made, and the baptism would occur at a later date. In this scenario, I'm not exactly sure what the baptism really signified, since the fact that I had become a follower of Christ had already been publicly announced. We did it in obedience and following Christ's example, but I think much of the meaning of the baptism was lost.

Baptism is older than Christianity itself. It has roots in the many ceremonial washings of Old Testament Law, and there were even forms of baptism in most pagan religions. But from the very beginning of the Christian church, water baptism was the public ritual by which a person identified himself or herself as a Christian. This public ritual, however, has become a somewhat private affair in modern expression. Church buildings are not the community centers they once were, where anything that happened in the church was public knowledge. Today, much of what happens inside a church building is known only to those present at the time.

My purpose is not to diminish anyone's baptism, far from it. Being baptized is a cause for celebration anytime, anywhere. But all other things being equal, I think baptizing publicly captures an important aspect of the ritual. There is something bold and exciting about a person making that commitment for all eyes to see. And those eyes may never forget it.

Resurrection Day

Wow, what a week! So many amazing things have happened over the past week that I haven't had time to write about them. We finished our 21-day challenge on Easter Sunday, during which many of us read a chapter of the Gospel of John each day for 21 days. I wrote some reflections on each chapter on the Intake blog, so that's taken most of my blogging time. All 21 posts are still there, so if you didn't take the 21-day challenge there's no time like the present! I have done few things in recent years that made the impact on me that reading John has made this month. Try it, and see what happens in your life.

Resurrection Day was a landmark day for me. We had our first "family service" at the Springs, with elementary age through adults in the service together, and changes made to the service to make it more engaging for the kids. Our Core Virtue this week was Hope; what else would it be on Resurrection Day? I asked the kids to color pictures of Hope for me during the service, and they did a great job. Check them out! If you click on the slideshow above, controls will appear that allow you to pause the show at your favorite pictures. It's amazing to me how insightful they are. Sometimes I think they kids get it better than the adults. I thought they were terrific, and I can't wait for our next family service.

After the service, our table group gathered at our house for Easter lunch. This was a first for me. We had grandparents, parents, kids, and friends, I think 19 in all, and Elizabeth pulled out her grandmother's china for the occasion, which I don't think we've used since she received it as a wedding gift 17 years ago. We shared communion together as part of our celebration, sharing the bread at the beginning of our meal and the wine (grape juice for the kids) at the end of the meal, just like the first Christians did (yes they did, check into it). It may have been my favorite Easter celebration ever. The more things like this we do, the more I realize how much of the real essence of Christian community--of Christian life--I have missed over the years. For me, what church "should be all about" is becoming what church is all about. Resurrection Day was a perfect day to experience that.

There was a lot more that happened last week, but I'll save the rest for tomorrow's post. Love Wins! Let the joy of the living Christ carry you through your week.

When Space Flight Became Personal

Elizabeth and I stayed up until 2:00 AM last night to watch the launch of Space Shuttle Endeavor. It was spectacular. We had actually received an invitation to go to Florida and be present for the launch, and I could not help but feel like I had missed the opportunity of a lifetime as I watched it last night from home. But even watching it on TV was an experience I will not soon forget: for the first time for me, this launch had personal meaning.

Those of you who have worked with us at Habitat for Humanity in Dickinson have met their wonderful director, Wendy Gorie. You may not have known, though, that her husband Dom is the commander of this shuttle mission, now orbiting the earth above us. We stayed up last night to watch the launch primarily because we had committed to pray for Dom and the Gorie family, and I'm happy to say that the launch was smooth as silk. I was starstruck, if you'll pardon the pun, the first time I met Dom, and could have listened to him for hours talking about his experiences in space, even though we could also talk about kayak fishing and any number of other adventures. I've been inspired by the Gories' devotion to Christ and thankful for their impact in our community. I've also grown to love and appreciate Wendy, with her heart for the less fortunate in our community and the great work she is doing with Habitat. Elizabeth and Wendy are actually in a small group together, and we've spent enough time with them now to begin to see the challenges, stresses, and sacrifices that come with a member of the family being an astronaut. So last night, in addition to watching this amazing feat we call a space shuttle launch, I was looking at those tiny windows of the shuttle on the launch pad and thinking, "I know a guy sitting in there, and I know his family." This little piece of knowledge heightened everything about the experience: I was more interested, more nervous, more excited and amazed than I had ever been about a shuttle launch before. It was not just impressive, and it was more than national or community pride. I had a personal stake in it.

When you think about it, this is true for almost everything in life. If you personally know someone involved, any event or activity takes on new meaning. How does your interest in a Little League game change when your own child is on the field? For some of us, it takes on meaning of ridiculous proportions. The success or failure of businesses in our community mean more to us if the owners are friends of ours. The same is true of marriages. Hospitals are just buildings full of sick people until someone we care about is in one.

This is always true in ministry. Church services mean one thing to you if you're just attending, and something completely different if you brought someone with you. Suddenly you have a stake in whether or not this experience is meaningful. I try to keep that in mind every time we have a service, and I'm often introduced to someone's friend or relative before a service begins. I've never been offended when someone looks at me with that "don't screw this up today" look in their eyes. That's what it's all about. We had a whole bunch of neighbors at our last service, and I was saying those things to myself! I think God feels that way every time, because He's not as selective as we are about who is important to Him.

A cubicle field is pretty blah until you know someone who sits at a desk near yours. It's just another set of apartments, just another street added to the suburban sprawl until you know the family next door and the one down the street. Everything in life is better and more meaningful as we move from detachment to engagement. Knowing people makes all the difference.

For the next several days, I won't be able to look up without saying a prayer for a guy who is zooming around up there at 17,000 miles per hour. I hope my whole life is like that in some way, and I hope yours is too.

Churn

"Churn" is the new word to describe the current state of religious faith in America. The word has great imagery. Here we are, with our various religious beliefs, swirling around in a giant fishbowl called America (or for you pessimists, pick whatever swirling bowl you prefer). The news is that we're apparently churning more than anyone thought.

A recent study of religious life in America by the Pew Research Forum has generated a lot of buzz and several major news articles over the past week (for more articles besides the Pew report itself you can search any major newspaper's site for Pew Forum and get an article or two). The study reveals, among other things, that Americans are changing religious affiliations at a surprisingly high rate (hence the "churn" image), and the largest winner of any religious group is "nothing in particular." There are--and inevitably will be more--people who will respond by rushing to decry the sad state of faith in America, and others who will as quickly celebrate the demise of religion. Both groups will be wrong. I think this study shows that America values faith more than it ever has in my lifetime, and is less content to accept party line answers than it ever has been. Both of these trends make right here and right now a great place and time to be a follower of Christ in America.

As much as anything, I think this snapshot of the nation tells us that a whole lot of people haven't made up their minds about religious faith. What could be better news for those of us who hope to introduce them to life in Christ? The "nothing in particular" group comprises about 12% of the population. That's about three times more people than all adherents to religions other than Christianity combined (including Islam and eastern religions, that have obviously not made significant inroads in the American population despite all the media hype). This number, along with all the others, is not static: it represents a group consisting of people coming and going, sometimes seeking and finding. Americans are looking around more than ever, which makes it easier than ever to engage people in matters of faith.

The study shows that Americans are relocating religiously, just like they are physically. Suspicion of religious institutions is at an all-time high (and often deservedly so). Abuses and failures by institutional leaders have devastated the churches and denominations they represent. Catholicism is only avoiding decline because immigration is offsetting decline. Protestants will soon be less than half of the population for the first time in our lives. Over a quarter of the population has changed religions, and the number goes up to 44% if it includes people changing to a different kind of Christian church. People are more than willing to try something new. More than that, they're generally convinced that the Christian God is real--but they're suspicious of the packaging.

We are positioned to make a difference for Christ at this moment in American history. People are hungry for faith and relationships, but skeptical of institutions. They believe in Jesus generally but don't know Him personally. They are "staging" in increasing numbers as "none of the above," but they're open to something refreshing if they can find it. And while we're hoping every church is successful in accomplishing Christ's mission, it's obvious that there is an important place for us to serve people who aren't connecting with the church of their childhood. I think we walk around convinced that most people around us aren't interested or have already made up their minds about religious faith. They haven't, and with every conversation that becomes more and more obvious. Our feelings are more about our own discomfort than reality.

There is nothing more exciting than helping someone in their spiritual journey, and all the indicators out there tell us that right now we are surrounded by people who are looking. Indicators also tell us that relying on institutions, professionals (whatever those are), and programs is not working, and may in fact be just what people in the "churn" are trying to avoid.

I am part of the churn. I am now leading a less institutional, non-denominational church, after growing up in a denominational, protestant church environment. Does the "churn" image represent you? How has your faith or its practice changed from your childhood? Are you still churning? How do you feel about jumping into the churn to serve people?

Pizza and Champagne

It was a laid-back night for our group. Everybody just brought pizza, plus some fruit and salad, which I think cancels out the bad effects of the pizza. Then I noticed the bottle of champagne. With pizza? I was told there was going to be a special announcement, that we had reason to celebrate. It was apparently champagne-worthy, so I was more than a little curious. As we gathered around in the kitchen, the attention quickly focused on one particular couple in our group. The wife then said she wouldn't be having champagne tonight, and said there would soon be a new arrival in our group. It was a great setup: they weren't having a baby, they had bought a new home.

Buying a home was certainly reason to celebrate, but it was the explanation after the announcement that really made it special. This couple had chosen the location of their house and the layout of the house and yard to maximize their new home's ministry potential. They wanted to make sure they lived in a neighborhood that the Springs could effectively serve, and that their house was a useful tool for developing neighborhood life and hosting families at their table. They weren't just making a financial investment or positioning their children to attend certain schools; they weren't merely trying to streamline their commutes (although these things are also important). They were positioning themselves for ministry, to be used by God.

I could not help but think back only one year ago when Elizabeth and I and the boys did the same thing. We believed strongly at the time that living in a neighborhood in the middle of the Springs' scope of ministry was important, and God seemed to have showed us just the right house. It took more than a small miracle for the move to happen at all. God made all the pieces fall into place. One year later, God is opening doors for us to build relationships in our neighborhood and serve people there in a way I could not have imagined. It was no coincidence to me that on this day, when our table was celebrating a family positioning itself for ministry, several families from our street had been in our church service that morning, a high school student who lives a few houses down had played drums in the band, and at least two families from our neighborhood had attended our church for the first time. I can't wait to see how God uses another house in our community as a ministry base.

Why do you live where you live? Because you got a good interest rate? Because it's all you could afford, or because you got a really good deal? Because the schools are good and crime is low? Is it just a stopover on the way to the next place? At least a few of these are probably true. But if you don't believe you live where you live because God wants you in that exact spot to make a difference in people's lives, you're missing the point. Paul said in Acts 17:26-27, "He determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. God did this so that people would seek Him and perhaps reach out for Him and find Him, though He is not far from each one of us." We are where we are for God's purposes, and we're either aware of it or we're not. I'd rather be aware, and not miss God's purpose. I don't want to have to discover one day that God placed me in a particular location to meet a particular need, and I missed it.

You don't have to relocate to live with God's purposes in mind. Sometimes, NOT moving is the thing. If you knew God had you in a certain place for a reason, would you stay even if it meant passing on a pay increase or missing an opportunity for your dream house? Are you willing to stay in one place long enough for meaningful relationships to happen?

Sometimes living in a place with ministry in mind may mean downsizing. If you've bought more house than you can afford, your house is as much an obstacle to ministry as a useful tool for it. If you can't afford to be at home much, what's the point in having the house?

As I'm writing this post, I can see my neighborhood. We live on the end of the street, and I can see all the way down the street from my study window. It's raining today, so no one's outside. But I see houses with people inside whom I've come to know and care about, and I desire God's best for them. I believe God gave my family this house for that purpose. Every time ladies meet in our living room for coffee and Bible study, every time families share a meal with us at our table, kids play in the house, or I have a conversation with a neighbor about his or her spiritual life, God reminds me of why I'm here. Last night I toasted with champagne in a red plastic cup with a family who, maybe a year or so from now, will be saying the same thing about their house and their neighbors. God did this for both of our families--and yours too--so that people would seek him and perhaps reach out for Him and find Him, though He is not far from each of us.