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.

Church and Money--a paradox?

The love of money is the root of all evil, right?  Except, we need money to accomplish good in the world.  I’ve been involved in three churches in my life, all different sizes, demographics, and faiths.  None of them ever have enough people, enough time, or enough money to complete all their ambitious plans.  Recently, during a vestry discussion about church finances, my priest raised the question:  Shouldn’t we treat the church a little more as a business?  Shouldn’t we have high expectations for our parishioners, in terms of gifts of resources and time?  Shouldn’t we hold people accountable when they don’t follow through on pledges and commitments?  Don’t high expectations lead to church growth?  I have to admit, I got my back up a little bit during this vigorous conversation, and my priest invited me to write about it.  I wonder, must my church conduct itself as a business, in order to properly care for our resources?  We need money to continue, to pay for the building, the lights, the priest, and our ministries.  Why are we afraid to talk about it?

As a disclaimer, I should say that although I ran my own business for a number of years, I’m about the worst person to answer this question.  I was a terrible business person; I spent more than I had, I took risks at the wrong times, acted cautiously at the wrong times, I worked too hard, rather than too smart.  As much as I loved the work, I failed in the end.  My first question while considering serving on the vestry was, “Do I have to calculate any of the finances?”  Thank goodness that we have accountants on the vestry, so I’m off the hook in that department.  When people start talking about income and expenses, my eyes cloud over a little bit.  So, when I speak about business practices, I may be wrong.  I have only my personal experience to guide me, and it is limited.

A few quick google searches yield few results about “church as a business”--probably because no one wants to treat the church like a business.  I learned a little but came up with more questions.  After all, what is our product?  The free, catholic grace of God?  You can’t market it, price it, box it up, and ship it out.  It is freely available to anyone who notices it.  Are we selling spiritual succor, happiness, and peace?  Then we’d better quit preaching about sacrifice and giving up our life in order to find it.  We’d better skip over the crucifixion and get happy already.  No one wants gloom and doom when their life is hard enough.  Are we a spiritual gym, training Christian warriors to build the kingdom?  Then we need stiff registration fees and demanding expectations for prayer, fasting, and theology.  We’d better whip those parishioners into shape, and, while we’re at it, let’s only pick the ones who are already smart, strong, friendly, wealthy, and attractive.  That’s our target market; how to we get to those people?  Oh, and they have to be young.  Where do the millennials hang out?  We need millennials, by God!  My short research project did not yield a product that the church for the church to sell.  OK, so without a product, can you have a business?  

Even if the church is not a business, we still need money to help those in need and to spread the good news of the gospel.  It’s difficult to talk about money, in personal and professional situations, and exceptionally difficult to discuss church money.  We are supposed to be the kingdom of God come to life, serving the community, feeding the poor, spreading the gospel, AND keeping a beautiful building, an intelligent and loving minister, and excellent, inspiring liturgy.  We are supposed to give out of the abundant grace of God while we are worried about keeping our mortgages paid and our doors open (both at home and at church).  Don’t you dare start talking about money--because a church might deal in money, but it is definitely NOT a business.  I am usually the first one to pipe up with that line during conversations.  Once again, though, I think there's something more than my kneejerk reaction allows.

We are Christians, Episcopalians for that matter, so we should be practiced in paradoxes.  We can hold both Christ’s incarnational nature and his divinity in our minds.  We can celebrate the mystery of the Eucharist in the bread and the wine that is also body and blood of Christ.  We can contemplate the beautiful love of the incomprehensible Trinity.  Still, we have difficulty balancing a church that is the Kingdom of God and requires a positive bank balance.  It is the church’s practice to find that balance.

As a good Episcopalian, I don’t have the answer, but I do have a story--about practice.  There was once a Zen archery master who moved to the US from Japan to develop a school.  For years and years he taught Americans the principles of Zen archery, that the mindful pursuit of form and technique without attachment to results develops into mastery.  He built a successful school and a reporter came to interview him.  The reporter asked the master, “How is your school going?”  The master replied, “It’s terrible!  These Americans cannot understand practice.  They cannot understand that they should not aim for the target, but that they should practice until the arrow finds its home.  Americans just do not get it.”  The reporter asked, “So what are you going to do?  Will you abandon the school for your native Japan?”  The old master said, “No, THIS is my practice.  Teaching Americans something they may never understand IS my practice.”

I don’t have the answer, only a vision of a church that acts as a responsible steward for its resources while giving to the congregation, the community, and the larger world in money, time, and effort.  I only have a vision of a church that turns our secular monetary gifts into the sacred kingdom of God.  I only have a vision of a church that practices both responsible stewardship and gives from abundance, with faith and fidelity, without attachment to the results, until the arrow finds its way home to the target.

For my youngest, on her 2nd birthday

For my youngest, as you begin your second year…

You came into the world on the wings of a storm, and you haven’t slowed down since.  In the first thunderstorm of the hottest, driest summer I can remember, you made your entry.  You dad could barely see through the sideways rain as we drove to the hospital, and the doctor barely made it to the room before you made your entrance.  Forty-five minutes from check-in to birth.  The nurse slapped me a high-five and said, “That’s the way to have a BABY!”  I had nothing to do with it, darling; it was all you, arriving in your own way.

You embrace life with gusto, going full-speed ahead.  When you fall (often), you say, “I’m OK.”  I worried that you wouldn’t learn to walk on time and the next thing I knew, you ran everywhere.  We can hear you coming down the hall, on your little fat feet.  Your daddy says you’ve got your mother’s lightness of step, which means we both stomp like elephants.  You love to dance though, so you might have a chance to learn some grace.  

You express yourself unmistakably.  I worried that you weren’t talking, and even called in my friend, who’s a speech pathologist.  The next week, you said, “I want that!” and “I do it!”  It was only a matter of days until you were yelling, “I want the IPAD!”  From one who didn’t talk, to one who won’t be quiet, you have found your voice.  Your newest word is “Why!”, usually shrieked in dismay when I refuse your request for a lollipop.  In the throes of anger, all it takes is 30 seconds in the “time-out space”,  and you return smiling, saying, “All done!”  You know how to make your desires known, little one.

           I hope your sturdy little legs carry you far in life.  I hope your smile continues to light up a room.  I hope you giggle and giggle until you can’t breathe every day.  I hope your indomitable spirit, that leads you to climb up the stairs or try to ride the dog, helps you overcome challenges that life brings.  I hope your helpful nature, the way you pick up your toys or try to vacuum the floor, serves the rest of the world.  I hope your enthusiasm remains undamped and you relish your life, the way you relish ice cream cone coating your adorable face. I hope you know the love of the creator in the love of your family and friends.  I hope you keep hugging with all your might, leaning in and snuggling, just like you do now, for all your life.

My yoke is easy

Sometimes it’s a little hard for me to believe Jesus.  Not believe “in Jesus”, but to believe what he says.  For instance, every night (almost every night) I pray Compline before I go to bed, from the Book of Common Prayer.  One of the readings in this lovely litany is Matthew 11:28-30.  “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  I have loved this scripture passage since I was a child.  But, sometimes, I have trouble believing it.  When I’m worn out from family, work, and church projects, I want to say to Jesus, “Really, dude?  When do I get all this rest and light burdens?”

Something happened since I committed to living a Christian life--I began to work harder.  I say “Yes” to projects much more often, I see need in the community and I wonder how to help, I have ideas and I get excited to organize events for my church and my community.  Since deciding to follow Christ, I have more work, not more rest. In the midst of satisfaction and challenge, I’m tired.  When I read the gospel of Matthew, I want to say, “Come on, dude!”

Once again, as I wish for rest at the end of a hectic day and I doubt Christ’s promise of an easy yoke, I am probably missing the point.  Consider those who work hard for others, for their community, for their church.  The folks serving at the food pantry, the charity resale shop, teaching Sunday School, organizing a church rummage sale, and campaigning for social justice, probably don’t think their burden is light.  They keep working, in spite of fatigue and frustration.  Are they waiting for a lighter yoke?  Somehow, I don’t think they so.  All those verses in the gospels about taking up the cross and giving up your life make it clear that the Christian life is no Easy Street.  So, what did Jesus mean by an easy yoke, if his followers would work so damn hard?

Maybe he meant that I would get a chance to rest, not from hard work, but from self-deprecation, from self-hatred, from not being good enough.  The work we do as Christians isn’t competitive work, driven by ambition.  It is collaborative work, driven by the desire to help, to build a community, to support others.  In the midst of an overwhelming project, I can turn to prayer for aid, or ask a friend to lend a hand.  If my best efforts meet with failure; no one criticizes, rather someone helps me up again.  Jesus’s promise reminds me of a favorite phrase of a great horse trainer I know:  “Ask for much, be happy with little, and reward often.”  The yoke of Jesus Christ comes with high expectations, but there is understanding if we fall short, and the rewards are immeasurable, right here in our daily lives.  Jesus knows what it’s like to be a fallible human being and he forgives us our mistakes.  We can lay our burdens at his feet and rest, until we can pick them up and go on with the challenging, fulfilling, grace-filled work of the kingdom.

"Selling Church" and the Simpsons

Something bugged me just a little in church today.  In mass, our priest wore a t-shirt instead of vestments.  I am not a liturgical purist, so the casualness of attire didn't cause the problem.  But the message gave me pause.  The t-shirt advertised a business owned by one of our very active parishioners, who advertises monthly in our church newsletter.  Last week our priest explained that he would wear t-shirts of our advertisers, to give greater exposure to those who support our ministries.  I value local businesses, especially those who support local charities and churches.  But, I wasn’t sure that commercials belonged in mass.  It felt a little like our church space was for sale to the highest paying advertiser.

Remember the Simpsons?  If you were around in the 1990s, you can’t help but know one of the funniest and most intelligent cartoons of the time.  The shirt on Fr. Tim’s back reminded me of a Simpsons episode, the one where Homer destroys the church with a poorly timed rocket launch.  In order to rebuild the church, Rev. Lovejoy turns to Mr. Burns, the local millionaire.  Mr. Burns promises to build a successful church, by running it like a business.  In no time, neon signs cover the walls and product displays fill the sanctuary.  Upset at the commercialism in her church, Lisa searches for a new faith.  She converts to Buddhism after she meets Richard Gere at the Springfield Buddhist Temple.  Much hilariousness ensues, as usual.  Watching the show, I agreed with Lisa.  There is something a little ironic about listening to a sermon about faith in abundance and commitment to mission, while the priest is a walking billboard.  However, knowing my priest, there was more to learn from this.

On the way home, I mentioned to my husband, “I’m not sure how I feel about the advertiser t-shirt thing.”  He reminded me that churches do rely on businesses for support, that we need to pay the bills, and we should recognize businesses who value our ministries.  It is a blessing that parishioners and community members advertise with us, so we can continue serving our little town. My husband often reminds me of “the real world”, especially regarding money.  I prefer my fantasy world of economics, where everyone has enough, and if they don't we can give it all away to anyone who needs it, where I can round up my income and round down my expenses, and where it all works out in the end.  I don’t like the nitty gritty of making a budget and sticking to the bottom line.  This attitude drives my husband crazy, and it probably doesn’t help my church, either.

I don’t want to go to church to talk about money.  I don’t want to hear about budget woes, or pledges, or fundraisers.  I want inspiration, education, mission, fellowship, and service to the community.  I don’t want to be bothered with how we pay for those things!  When I’m sitting in mass, ready to worship, I don’t want to think about how St. Ignatius requires area businesses to fund our existence, that we depend on money to make our mission.  Perhaps that was exactly Fr. Tim’s point, that the church’s supporters and advertisers (individuals and businesses) literally put the shirt on our priest’s back.

Besides the obvious benefit of bringing exposure to our advertisers, maybe our priest is showing us something.  Maybe he is showing us that the church, with our lofty goals, our commitment to service, and our mission to spread the grace of God, also lives in the real world.  The church also has bills to pay and requires money to pay those bills, as distasteful as it may be to some of us.  The church has financial decisions to make.  We must live in the nitty gritty world of bills, rummage sales, fish dinners, and pledges, while we create the kingdom of God.  We take the secular (money, time, work, donations of furniture and clothes) and turn the secular into the sacred.  We live in the paradox of caring for the needy, giving from the heart, putting others’ needs first, while we preserve our resources in order to maintain our mission. Episcopalians love symbols; they are deep in our language and our liturgy.   Wearing t-shirts of advertisers during mass might just be another symbol of the work that creates the kingdom of God.

Where should I draw my line?

Current events have gotten me thinking.  Recently, I wrote a post about the Hobby Lobby case in the Supreme Court.  I don’t usually write a political-type piece, but there were some particulars about it that bugged me.  It sparked a respectful and thought-provoking Facebook exchange with a friend and I’ve been thinking about the case since then.  My overall opinion on the decision is constant, but I am reconsidering a few things.  There is something to learn about here.

The Greens (owners of Hobby Lobby) drew a line they wouldn’t cross based on their beliefs and stuck to it in the face of opposition.  They believe that life begins at conception, so they would not pay for contraceptives that prevent implantation of a fertilized egg.  They do not oppose contraceptives that prevent fertilization.  Some contraceptives are OK, but certain ones are not.  It is interesting to me that they drew a line and stood by it, whether I agree with their beliefs or not.

I grew up in a community with many Amish people.  My family there attends a Mennonite church.  Recently, when visiting with my mom, her Sunday School class had an interesting digression.  We were discussing rituals and rules and some of the ex-Amish members began to reminisce.  They told a story about a man who lived Amish all his life, but followed some of his own rules.  When he died, they wouldn't bury him in the Amish cemetery; his grave lay right outside the fence.  His transgression?  Using rubber pneumatic tires on his tractor.  See, the Amish in that particular community can use a tractor for their farming business, but not for transportation.  However, they cannot have rubber, pneumatic tires on the tractor.  According to the conversation, they can have wooden or solid tires covered with rubber; they can even fill their tires with foam that becomes nearly solid, but they cannot fill rubber tires with air.  Rubber is OK, but rubber filled with air will send you to the devil.   They drew a line somewhere, to stand against worldly convenience, and this guy was ostracized for the air in his tires.

Silly?  It sounds a little silly, right?  Then I ask myself, what lines do I draw?  Is there something that I will do or will not do, simply based on my beliefs?  I don’t mean the big no-no type things, like stealing or killing, but the more ordinary things, the things that most of society accepts.  I can be outraged or poke fun at those who draw lines, but maybe they are braver and more principled than me, with my easy-going attitude towards life?  I have a strong faith, a strong belief in the universal, catholic salvation of the world through the grace of God.  So, maybe I don’t care about IUDs or morning-after pills or air in tractor tires, because I don’t believe any of them are going to land anyone in hell.  Or, maybe I’m just too convenient?

To be honest, I don’t do very well with giving things up.  I failed abstaining from sweets for Lent before I was one week into it.  I avoided meat on Fridays for the first few weeks, until a double cheeseburger craving did me in.  I don’t have beliefs that limit what I drive, what I put into my body, how I have or prevent having children.  No lines in the sand.  How convenient.

So, then what about things I will always do based on my faith?  Do I always give money to the poor?  Well, sometimes an outgoing panhandler scares me and I ignore him--call it self-preservation or something.  Later, I feel guilty about it and almost follow him to hand them $20, but I don’t because I’m still a little scared.  I do always go to church, except if I’m out of town (which is rare because I have little children.)  Giving regularly to my church is a habit,  but I make my own giving goals myself, so I know I can afford it.  It’s difficult for me to I pray before I eat, because mealtimes are crazy and I forget.  I don’t always help at the local food pantry, because my work schedule interferes.  You could say that I always treat others with love and respect, except when I am short-tempered and impatient.  Come to think of it, my life is pretty damn worldly and comfortable, even with volunteering for the church rummage sale, serving on the vestry, and running vacation bible school.  It’s all within my capabilities and time constraints.  If the circumstances of my life change, my commitments may change as well.  There is no line in the sand here.

Is drawing lines the province of conservatives?  Are the only people who need to abstain and avoid the ones who fear a vengeful God?  Standing up for one’s convictions cannot be limited to a certain type of theology.  So, I have to sincerely ask, for a middle of the road, progressive, liberal Christian, with a full-time career and a full-time family, what should I always do, or never do, because of my faith?  Where should I draw my line?