Just another weblog
And I miss it. I realized this when my oldest daughter pointed out that every time she makes a comment on practically any subject, I launch into a three-point sermonette. It’s not on purpose, my dear! With no outlet, I feel a little bit strangled.
Bear with me. I’m actively praying for an outlet.
We went to a baptism celebration yesterday. The vast majority of attenders at our church are in their 20s, which makes for a very dynamic group of people eager to know more about God and follow him. It also makes for some goofy displays.
The baptism was held at a local park which has a large lake. It was a great setting, and about a dozen 20somethings were being baptized, with a hundred more of us standing on the beach to watch. As each person was baptized, their friends gathered around them in the water to pray and rejoice. It was excellent…until it got goofy.
When one young man came up out of the water, someone in the group around him started chanting his name (“Jamie! Jamie!”), and the crowd in the water picked up on it. You know what it reminded me of? It seemed EXACTLY like a frat party, where Jamie would be trying to down as much beer as he could at one go.
This display became contagious, and was repeated after every other person being baptized. (“Lacey! Lacey!”)
I couldn’t decide whether I was feeling like:
Actually, it reminded me of how Moses might have felt when he came down from the mountain and saw the children of Israel dancing around the golden calf. Were they really all that much to blame? As far as I can tell, here’s what happened: Moses went up on the mountain and received the 10 commandments. He came down, wrote them in a book and read them to the people. They agreed to obey, and Moses threw blood on them. (Glad we haven’t kept THAT ritual around.) Then Moses went back up the mountain to talk to God again.
What I didn’t see is him hanging around to give the people guidance on how to follow the commandments, or even explanation of what they mean. So with a list of commands but no leadership or guidance, should we really have been surprised at the result?
So, back to the beach. Am I an old fogey? Am I a benevolent dad? Am I a disgruntled prophet? Yeah, maybe a little of each.
I’ve read a few articles today about how much or little Christians give…mostly little. It’s depressing. However, there are some assumptions I’ve seen that I don’t entirely buy into.
Here’s a typical line:
Had giving been at an average of 10 percent in 2005 rather than 2.58 percent, there would have been at least an additional $168 billion available for the overseas and domestic mission work of churches.
The assumption is, of course, that if churches only had more money, they could do more mission work. But what I’ve seen is the opposite. When churches get a lot of money, they don’t ship it out the doors. Instead, they tend to build huge, multi-million-dollar campuses. The stated purpose is to reach the neighboring community, and sure, that’s a good idea. However, millions of dollars to build a place just so people can have meetings….
So if suddenly everyone started tithing and churches had all the money they could ever use, would we see an increase in giving money away? Sure, the total dollars would go up, but I doubt the percentage would increase. Use yourself as an example: when you got your last raise, did you increase the percentage you gave away, or just the total amount — or maybe neither?
Churches are the same as people. We (American churches) only give 3% of our money to non-Christians; the majority stays in the building. I doubt it will change just because we have more.
So I preached last Sunday, and I really tried not to pull any punches. The talk was on the parable of the “rich fool”, and the punchline was that we don’t really trust God, even though we say we do. We fall for the “grand illusion” that one of my favorite bands, Styx, sang about in the early 80s:
But don’t be fooled by the radio / The tv or the magazines / They show you photographs of how your life should be / But they’re just someone else’s fantasy / So if you think your life is complete confusion /
Because your neighbors got it made / Just remember that it’s a grand illusion / And deep inside were all the same.
So after I’m done, I get all sorts of people thanking me for the message. One guy said it was the best he’s heard me give. They’re happy that I told them we’re all a bunch of hypocrites who don’t really trust Jesus when he says he’ll take care of us? They’re happy that I said we’re just dupes who fall for the wisdom of the world, which tells us to get more and more stuff for ourselves? Shouldn’t they be mad at me instead, or at least offended?
So maybe the real grand illusion is the one that preachers fall for. We think we need to make our listeners feel happy about the decisions they’ve already made. I think they’re more satisfied when we just tell them the truth.
I’ve been thinking for some time of what it would take to start a church. That is, what it would take for me to start a church. It sounds like a fun, challenging, and worthwhile idea — at least, it did until I watched my friend in the middle of one.
It seems the problem lies in whatever meaning people pour in to the word “church”. In English, the word could mean a building, a meeting held at the building, or the group of people who attend that meeting. But even more difficult are the things people attach to the notion of church. There appears to be an assumption that a church should have certain features, like youth group and moms’ day out, and provide certain offerings, such as marriage ceremonies and confirmation classes. People may start attending because they like the pastor or whatever, but sooner or later it seems they inevitably start looking around for the other stuff.
Maybe it’s because the church takes money. If people give to the church, maybe they think the church should be doing something for them.
So I don’t want to start a church anymore. Instead, I’d like to be part of a community that does the four things the disciples did in Acts: the apostles’ teaching, fellowship, eating together, and praying. Let’s not call it church. Let’s not take money. Let’s just start doing the stuff the apostles did — and see what happens.