Why the church?

“What is the reason for the church’s existence?”  Who are we and what do we do?”  This week, the Acts 8 movement asks that question. (Check out their page here: http://www.acts8moment.org/blogforce-assemble-why-the-church/?utm_content=buffer2638b&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook.com&utm_campaign=buffer ) What is the point of having the church, anyway?  I could never resist a good rhetorical question, so here is some of my rhetoric.

The church does a great many things.  It educates our youngsters, supports the community, challenges the comfortable, serves the needy, builds fellowship amongst neighbors, and uplifts those desperate for inspiration.  However, none of those things are the reason we need the church so desperately in this day and age.  We can find education at universities, inspiration in nature, challenges in athletics, assistance at the food pantry, friendship in a bowling league, and service in the Lion’s club or 4-H.  There are a plethora of organizations to fill those needs.  Why do we need the church?

There was a long period in my life when I didn't need the church. I didn't need some archaic, patriarchal, restrictive religion telling me to believe a God in heaven that kept score of my every move and handed out rewards and punishments in this life or in the next.  My life was going just fine without it.  Until one day, when my can-do attitude and work ethic failed me, when my spiritual-but-not-religious outlook fell short, when my failings became too great for me to bear and I melted in a puddle of tears on my bathroom floor.  In that moment, overwhelmed by anxiety and exhaustion, I felt the tangible love of God.  I couldn’t quite believe it, but I started to pray.   When I could no longer find God in nature, in meditation, or in self-awareness, I found God in Christ. I prayed the prayers of my childhood, the ones I had learned in church.  Praying, I traded in a Sunday-school version of God as an old man in the sky and encountered a mystery.  That mystery that led me through the doors of a church and back to the cross.

At church, we meet in the greatest mystery of all.  The mystery that can love me, a sinner, in the midst of my sin, my self-righteousness, my selfishness, my overall jerkiness.  The mystery that didn’t excuse my bad behavior, that helped me feel it, own it, repent, and forgive myself.  The mystery that held me in the palm of its hand during my father’s death, the mystery that brings grace to those in the midst of great suffering.  It is the mystery of catholic, universal love in the name of Christ.  That is why we need church, not to solve our problems, make us better people, teach us values, or give us answers, but to give us a space and a place to live with the mystery.   In the liturgy, I hear it, I feel it, I smell it, I eat it, I drink it, I bask in it, I love it.  I meet others, also imperfect, also beautiful, also beloved children of God, and I learn to love them, too. At church, the mystery of the grace of God in Christ loves me back.

Transforming the Loaves and Fishes of Vacation Bible School

They say the church is dying, and sometimes I wonder if they’re right.  It’s Vacation Bible School time at my church, and I’m a little worried as we make our plans.  Like the disciples with Jesus, I feel like I’m  surrounded by many hungry people and I don’t have enough for all of us.  There is so much pain in this world, so much loss.  My facebook feed is filled with rants about refugees and immigrants, Israel and Palestine, pro-life advocates and feminists.  Everyone seems angry, and I agree with them.  My fellow parishioners are tired from our summer fundraising efforts and no one seems very enthusiastic this year.  We desperately need the loving, uplifting grace of God, and all I’ve got is some construction paper, some glitter, a castle backdrop, a few crowns, and some praise songs.  How can we feed them with this?  It’s not enough!  I’m anxious and concerned and I wonder if I have bitten off more than I can chew.    We just don’t have enough.  Oh, but I should have known better, O me of little faith.

Just as in the feeding of the five thousand, Jesus, in the form of the Holy Spirit, takes the small and makes it large.  We build an ancient stone table from some plastic and cardboard and create a scene of sacrifice and resurrection with bean bags and firecrackers.  The children arrive, and we create a feast from goldfish crackers and apple slices.  Under the guidance of a patient music teacher, our wavering voices blend into a choir of praise, ringing in the miracle of Christmas with bells.  Santa visits to bring the good news of great joy, and provides the water balloons, as well.  With some fake fur and make-up, our priest embodies the holy lion, Aslan, in all his glory.  Using cardboard shields and bubble wrap, we wage a battle, defeating the evil witch and her minions with the values of love, honesty, and courage.  Children of all ages become soldiers, knights, and kings and queens of Narnia.  We sing and dance and celebrate that “he has the whole world in his hands”.

In my doubts, I wondered if we could pull it off, but I should have known.  I should have known that Jesus would increase and expand our limited resources, our tired spirits, our half-baked ideas into spiritual food for everyone.  I feared we would not have enough energy, creativity, and patience, but I forgot that it wasn’t up to us.  How could I doubt that the God who fed five thousand people from a few loaves and fishes would transform our humble efforts into the kingdom, alive in the hearts of children.  The church is not dying, my friends, not this week, not at St. Ignatius of Antioch Episcopal Church.