Those of you who have read my blog in the past will know that I spent a lot of time attempting something approaching an allegory. The main thrust of that attempt was a journey through various ‘spiritual’ experiences and, I suppose, living parables. Whether I was successful in my quest is a discussion for another day.
Right now I want to share another journey with you. One that I have barely begun but have covered quite a bit of ground already. Just a quick piece of personal background. I have been in the so-called full-time ministry since December 1992. In that time I have pastored and fulfilled, hopefully, the role of a teacher (Bible teacher, that is, not those heroes and heroines who go to schools each day). I have studied at seminary and hold two degrees, one post-graduate. I lecture in college and travel quite a bit. I have written a few unpublished books which have proven helpful in one or two contexts.
Throughout this period, with growing intensity, I have felt somewhat concerned at how the average Christian group ‘does church’. Like many, as I am sure I am not alone, I have been concerned at the largely ineffective presence of churches in various communities where I have had the privilege to travel, work and minister. On the whole, and this is my personal opinion formed from my own observations, church is little more than a gathering of like-minded people to be entertained by musicians and singers of varying talents, or lack thereof, and then be spoken to, lectured, or preached at by what appears to be a specialist. Every now and again the doors to these gatherings open to release a minority of ‘insiders’ out into the world to reach out with whatever message is received behind those doors.
Please do not misunderstand me, many churches and Christian groupings around the world do marvelous work among the poor, and the disenfranchised. I honour them for their self-sacrifice and open-heartedness. But, do we really witness change on a Book of Acts level? I mean, do the young people of our city streets, for instance, really get attracted by the message they are hearing, or are they put off by the threat, intended or otherwise, of having to give things up, lose their friends, follow a particular set of rules pertaining to dress, music, and the like? Do suburban families who work hard and often with long hours really feel the need for what their local churches offer?
Why not start right there? What does the average local church offer? Now, you and I really need to be honest here, it will not be easy or palatable, but we must be courageous and face the facts head on. The average local church, of whatever ilk, has one primary activity: Meetings. More than likely the principle gathering will be a so-called Sunday morning service. This will comprise of some singing led by a ‘worship leader’, followed by an appeal for money, i.e. the offering, followed by the sermon, followed by some announcements concerning some more meetings. Is that really the best we can do?
You may argue that my description above is painted with a rather broad brush. That may be so, but is any Evangelical church, be it Charismatic, Pentecostal, hybrid, or otherwise really any different in its approach? Come on, be honest now. The format is pretty universal and, dare I say it, predictable.
At this point, please allow me to remind you that all of this is part of my journey. As such, I have many more questions than answers. What I am writing constitutes my questions; how I would love some answers.
Let me pose the principle question: Is church as we practice it in the western world (I have not traveled to the Middle East or Asia ... yet) really what Jesus had in mind when He spoke of “life more abundantly”? Okay, I can hear you. I know we are not supposed to just focus on the meetings as they only constitute a very small part of our lives. However, church is what the world equates with Christianity.
Where I find myself right now, I would say the following traits would more closely approximate God’s intentions: 1) Church should not be about tasking together, but about relating to each other, i.e. all who come regardless of need, belief, position, potential, etc. 2) Church should be a place where an environment is facilitated where people feel loved and secure. 3) Church is a tool to facilitate our lives together in relationship with each other and Jesus Christ.
After all is Christianity, first and foremost, God’s invitation for us to enter His reality? Now surely such cannot be ‘achieved’ with predictable formats, humanly led and dominated programmes which can only happen on certain days and times?
There is a place for group Bible study, no doubt about that. Corporate times of prayer, well there can be no debate there, can there? Times of rejoicing in song? Bring it on. However, each of these things are not an end in themselves, they are merely component parts of a greater whole.
That greater whole is the life I live beyond Sundays. The life with the not yet Christians with whom I work, study, play, and live. What I live out in that primary arena is what will attract, or put off, men and women towards the reality of a relationship with Jesus Christ. Please note, I did not say attract them to church.
Let me make my position clear on this point. I attend a gathering of Christians because I do have a relationship with Jesus Christ and I do like to be among people who love Him and are loved by Him (as everyone is). However, this getting together does not define my walk with God. Jesus Christ does.
I have a lot more to say on this subject but to go on would only put off those who have been mad enough to still be reading this far and I do not want to lose them as well.
So, let’s talk about this ...
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Sailing aboard the Pneuma (Part Thirteen)
The island’s harbour town was a bustle of activity, sounds, and smells. People were simply everywhere. So much so, it was almost disconcerting, what with all the pushing and shoving of the milling crowds. Although I had left the ship in a group I was now isolated in an ocean of bobbing heads.
I made for a fountain some fifty yards ahead of me. I had hoped it was mounted upon some steps and I would be able to recover the location of my friends from that elevated position. Living in such close proximity with a set group of people, over a period of time, makes one quite dependent upon their presence. I had not appreciated this fact before, but then, isolated as I then felt, it was an undeniable fact.
I was in for a double disappointment, no steps from which to gain elevation and no sign of any familiar faces. Lonely in the throng.
It was still only mid-morning and we were due to spend the night in that harbour. Therefore, there seemed no risk on pushing on inland for a bit of a look around. The dockside warehouses and the area directly next to them slowly morphed into terrace houses lined in long unbroken rows up and down either side of the street. Each house, though built the same way, was distinct in terms of different colour front doors, gardens – some lovingly tended, others neglected as if they had caused some offence.
Children played in and out of the front gardens. Screaming with glee as they ran, while others sat on their haunches spinning tops and playing marbles. Some of the boys, in various stages of dishevelment looked up as I passed and said things like, “hello mister”; the others simply ignored my presence. The girls seemed simply unaware of me or, if they noticed me at all, shied away.
It was only then that it struck me. The whole crowd down at the docks were adults pushing and shoving, shouting and cajoling, while everyone, in that street at least, were all children with not an adult in sight. I stopped and looked around and there was no evidence of any adults in the street, the only human movement came from children. This seemed like a place of strict separation, a demarcation based on what I did not know.
Puzzled but eager to move beyond the town limits, I passed from the presence of the children in to the open fields that bordered that side of the busy conurbation. As suddenly as the buildings ended and town smells faded, immediately the fragrances of the open fields caressed me. I was reminded of how important the natural created world was to my well-being. I felt almost relieved that I could no longer hear human chatter. Even the bubbling enthusiasm of the children was not missed. Now, for the first time in recent memory I was alone apart from the throng.
The blue sky was invaded by lace-like and the most see through of clouds. The grass beneath my feet was soft and lush as if well watered although there was no evidence of recent rain. The trees ahead of me seemed to beckon me closer excited to let me in on some secret. Birds weaved through the open air, their songs expressing a song of liberty of which most men could only dream. I caught sight of small animals in the bushes and evidence of bigger ones could be discerned in amongst the tall grasses and wild flowers.
For the first time since departing the ship, I thought of Shekinah. I felt immediately guilty that he had not been pondered upon at all. In fact, nothing that he had said had made it into my considerations or musings.
How could I be so neglectful? Was he not important in my life, had he not been such an influence for good? These accusing questions assailed me mercilessly. I felt compelled to stop walking and sit down to take time to consider him and what he had shown and taught me on this wondrous voyage.
My mind battled valiantly to get Shekinah into focus, to recall his voice, to mull over his wisdom. A bird swooping, a tree rustling, the sun reflecting of some small body of water, resisted every attempt. The sounds of the field and the woods seemed to mount a determined assault against all that was related to my gracious host.
Guilt welled up within me, as I could not gain for my mind the upper hand in the war. Thoughts of my not being worthy of even being aboard his ship mounted a vicious bombardment and I considered never returning to the Pneuma.
The feelings of ill will towards myself increased shutting out the beauty of my surroundings. The wonder of creation around me faded as images of dogs and old men with silk scarves elbowed and pushed their way to the centre of my attention. Accompanying them were reminders of bad habits and wilfully evil actions that had polluted my life both before and after boarding the Pneuma. I felt horrid, an outcast, one not worthy of all that being aboard that ship promised.
Suddenly, there stood before me a huge proud Stag. His antlers were a declaration of his strength and prowess. His eyes sparkled with a life that I had never seen in mortal men. His entire being seemed to vibrate with vitality and vigour. He bent his noble neck toward me until his face was only inches from mine. What happened next shook me to the very foundations of my being. Established science was overthrown, philosophy bamboozled, and religion firmly put aside. The stag spoke.
I made for a fountain some fifty yards ahead of me. I had hoped it was mounted upon some steps and I would be able to recover the location of my friends from that elevated position. Living in such close proximity with a set group of people, over a period of time, makes one quite dependent upon their presence. I had not appreciated this fact before, but then, isolated as I then felt, it was an undeniable fact.
I was in for a double disappointment, no steps from which to gain elevation and no sign of any familiar faces. Lonely in the throng.
It was still only mid-morning and we were due to spend the night in that harbour. Therefore, there seemed no risk on pushing on inland for a bit of a look around. The dockside warehouses and the area directly next to them slowly morphed into terrace houses lined in long unbroken rows up and down either side of the street. Each house, though built the same way, was distinct in terms of different colour front doors, gardens – some lovingly tended, others neglected as if they had caused some offence.
Children played in and out of the front gardens. Screaming with glee as they ran, while others sat on their haunches spinning tops and playing marbles. Some of the boys, in various stages of dishevelment looked up as I passed and said things like, “hello mister”; the others simply ignored my presence. The girls seemed simply unaware of me or, if they noticed me at all, shied away.
It was only then that it struck me. The whole crowd down at the docks were adults pushing and shoving, shouting and cajoling, while everyone, in that street at least, were all children with not an adult in sight. I stopped and looked around and there was no evidence of any adults in the street, the only human movement came from children. This seemed like a place of strict separation, a demarcation based on what I did not know.
Puzzled but eager to move beyond the town limits, I passed from the presence of the children in to the open fields that bordered that side of the busy conurbation. As suddenly as the buildings ended and town smells faded, immediately the fragrances of the open fields caressed me. I was reminded of how important the natural created world was to my well-being. I felt almost relieved that I could no longer hear human chatter. Even the bubbling enthusiasm of the children was not missed. Now, for the first time in recent memory I was alone apart from the throng.
The blue sky was invaded by lace-like and the most see through of clouds. The grass beneath my feet was soft and lush as if well watered although there was no evidence of recent rain. The trees ahead of me seemed to beckon me closer excited to let me in on some secret. Birds weaved through the open air, their songs expressing a song of liberty of which most men could only dream. I caught sight of small animals in the bushes and evidence of bigger ones could be discerned in amongst the tall grasses and wild flowers.
For the first time since departing the ship, I thought of Shekinah. I felt immediately guilty that he had not been pondered upon at all. In fact, nothing that he had said had made it into my considerations or musings.
How could I be so neglectful? Was he not important in my life, had he not been such an influence for good? These accusing questions assailed me mercilessly. I felt compelled to stop walking and sit down to take time to consider him and what he had shown and taught me on this wondrous voyage.
My mind battled valiantly to get Shekinah into focus, to recall his voice, to mull over his wisdom. A bird swooping, a tree rustling, the sun reflecting of some small body of water, resisted every attempt. The sounds of the field and the woods seemed to mount a determined assault against all that was related to my gracious host.
Guilt welled up within me, as I could not gain for my mind the upper hand in the war. Thoughts of my not being worthy of even being aboard his ship mounted a vicious bombardment and I considered never returning to the Pneuma.
The feelings of ill will towards myself increased shutting out the beauty of my surroundings. The wonder of creation around me faded as images of dogs and old men with silk scarves elbowed and pushed their way to the centre of my attention. Accompanying them were reminders of bad habits and wilfully evil actions that had polluted my life both before and after boarding the Pneuma. I felt horrid, an outcast, one not worthy of all that being aboard that ship promised.
Suddenly, there stood before me a huge proud Stag. His antlers were a declaration of his strength and prowess. His eyes sparkled with a life that I had never seen in mortal men. His entire being seemed to vibrate with vitality and vigour. He bent his noble neck toward me until his face was only inches from mine. What happened next shook me to the very foundations of my being. Established science was overthrown, philosophy bamboozled, and religion firmly put aside. The stag spoke.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Sailing aboard the Pneuma (Part Twelve).
The dark eastern horizon gradually cracked to reveal the silver promise of a new day. Slowly the morning grew from silver-grey to yellow gold as the great sun arose anew from its nighttime tomb. The wind blew in from the direction of the resurrected star bringing with it the freshness of a new beginning.
The decks of the ship were alive with activity. Men coiled ropes, barrels rolled and stacked. The smell of breakfast escaped the galley into the open air and assailed each man’s nostrils without mercy. This morning was indeed a new morning. Everything seemed to have a new urgency, a renewed impetus.
Shekinah stood next to the wheel. His voice boomed over the wind and the activity of the men. “Make ready men a storm awaits us in the sea ahead!” I looked directly over the bows and saw a mountain of slate grey cloud bubbling up from the sea itself, or so it seemed. A rumble of thunder travelled the miles between to reinforce in me the dread of the coming tempest.
“First we eat.” The galley crew brought food to the deck and each man received a full plate of breakfast. Everyone tucked in without seemingly giving a thought of what lay ahead. I did my best to eat with the hearty gusto of the men around me. Furtive glances forward towards the storm preceded each mouthful.
Our captain sat beside me on the deck. His plate half empty he gestured with his fork towards the storm, “I knew this was waiting for us, you do know that don’t you?” I remembered the night before with my every mood reflected in Shekinah’s face and wondered why he needed to pose such a question. “I am sure you did’” I ventured, none too convincingly. “What I cannot grasp is why we do not navigate around it.” The impertinence of my reply shocked me but I resisted the temptation to apologize, as I now accepted he knew my attitude before I voiced it. “We will go through it, so one can learn of it.” “One can...” I wondered silently. “Was this about me or was it just a matter of grammar?”
He smiled towards me, tapped me on the knee, and was gone.
The promise of the bright dawn died with the rapid advance of the deep rumbling clouds and the advance party of lashing rain. The last of the sailors came down from the masts after furling all of the unnecessary canvas in order to preserve them from damage. On-deck stores checked and knots were tested.
Boom followed mighty boom interspersed by an avalanche sound that rumbled and roared from one horizon to the other. The Pneuma pitched and rolled. The decks were awash with the sea and rain. Lightning crackled to our starboard side like a manic conductor overseeing the performance of a demon orchestra.
I found myself clinging to the ropes that secured a row of barrels to the port rails. I was soaked and saw no prospect of navigating the pitching desk towards my quarters. I looked up behind me and saw Shekinah standing, without support, surveying all before him. His eyes were wide open and his mouth was moving, as if in conversation. The man behind the wheel was a mass of rope-like muscle and sinew as he wrestled with the wheel. While his body was a mass of effort, his face was serenity personified.
Through the rain, which now flew almost horizontal across the deck, I caught sight of a slinking form. Black with its head held low it made its menacing way towards me. Then, a flash a rumble, a crash. Nothing. Where did it go? My heart became a bass drum, my blood raced through my veins. Then, again, closer now. The black form stood and stared. Behind it, through the silver curtain of rain stood a man. Elderly and that yellow silk scarf. I looked up behind me only to see Shekinah gone. The storm roared with derision. The wind howled in mockery. The dog moved.
“Stand where you are!” The command came from behind me. I found myself standing in the centre of the deck. Shekinah stood behind me with his right hand upon my shoulder. The dog and his master slowly, almost indiscernibly, moved forward. “Remember the house and the presence.” Shekinah whispered in my ear so that only I could hear. “What did I do?” My mind raced in search of those images, that memory of victory.
I recalled that old house with the whiny wind, the musty darkness, and the sound of scurrying in the shadows. “You commanded the presence to stop and then evicted it as a trespasser.” His grip on my shoulder firmed, “Now, you do likewise.”
I breathed in all the air I could as if arming a weapon for war. “You stop right where you are. You are trespassers, interlopers. I have been given the authority to evict you, now go!” Both figures mutated into one whirling, tornado like shape. It bent towards us with what appeared to be a face and swayed like a snake under the charmer’s spell. “Go!” I bellowed as if fuelled by the tempest itself. From the midst of the whirling form, came a scream of anguish such as the one that I had heard in that house and never wished to hear again. That scream tore through the sound of the storm and seemed to make the very timbers judder.
The warmth of the sun caressed my face. His hand was still on my shoulder. The sky was clear blue and filled with the sound of sea birds. Men were in the rigging unfurling the sails.
“Come and sit with me awhile.” I followed him to the upper deck and sat at his table. Wine flowed and glasses rose. “Interlopers.” He almost giggled. “I have no recollection of saying that. However, it did lend a certain flavour to the proceedings.” “It just came out, I didn’t plan it.” “The lesson here is that you don’t have to quote me, just follow my lead. Learned principles are more useful than accurate but scarcely believed in quotations.”
“Set a course for the islands.” Came the command and the wheel was spun and the Pneuma plunged towards the west.
The decks of the ship were alive with activity. Men coiled ropes, barrels rolled and stacked. The smell of breakfast escaped the galley into the open air and assailed each man’s nostrils without mercy. This morning was indeed a new morning. Everything seemed to have a new urgency, a renewed impetus.
Shekinah stood next to the wheel. His voice boomed over the wind and the activity of the men. “Make ready men a storm awaits us in the sea ahead!” I looked directly over the bows and saw a mountain of slate grey cloud bubbling up from the sea itself, or so it seemed. A rumble of thunder travelled the miles between to reinforce in me the dread of the coming tempest.
“First we eat.” The galley crew brought food to the deck and each man received a full plate of breakfast. Everyone tucked in without seemingly giving a thought of what lay ahead. I did my best to eat with the hearty gusto of the men around me. Furtive glances forward towards the storm preceded each mouthful.
Our captain sat beside me on the deck. His plate half empty he gestured with his fork towards the storm, “I knew this was waiting for us, you do know that don’t you?” I remembered the night before with my every mood reflected in Shekinah’s face and wondered why he needed to pose such a question. “I am sure you did’” I ventured, none too convincingly. “What I cannot grasp is why we do not navigate around it.” The impertinence of my reply shocked me but I resisted the temptation to apologize, as I now accepted he knew my attitude before I voiced it. “We will go through it, so one can learn of it.” “One can...” I wondered silently. “Was this about me or was it just a matter of grammar?”
He smiled towards me, tapped me on the knee, and was gone.
The promise of the bright dawn died with the rapid advance of the deep rumbling clouds and the advance party of lashing rain. The last of the sailors came down from the masts after furling all of the unnecessary canvas in order to preserve them from damage. On-deck stores checked and knots were tested.
Boom followed mighty boom interspersed by an avalanche sound that rumbled and roared from one horizon to the other. The Pneuma pitched and rolled. The decks were awash with the sea and rain. Lightning crackled to our starboard side like a manic conductor overseeing the performance of a demon orchestra.
I found myself clinging to the ropes that secured a row of barrels to the port rails. I was soaked and saw no prospect of navigating the pitching desk towards my quarters. I looked up behind me and saw Shekinah standing, without support, surveying all before him. His eyes were wide open and his mouth was moving, as if in conversation. The man behind the wheel was a mass of rope-like muscle and sinew as he wrestled with the wheel. While his body was a mass of effort, his face was serenity personified.
Through the rain, which now flew almost horizontal across the deck, I caught sight of a slinking form. Black with its head held low it made its menacing way towards me. Then, a flash a rumble, a crash. Nothing. Where did it go? My heart became a bass drum, my blood raced through my veins. Then, again, closer now. The black form stood and stared. Behind it, through the silver curtain of rain stood a man. Elderly and that yellow silk scarf. I looked up behind me only to see Shekinah gone. The storm roared with derision. The wind howled in mockery. The dog moved.
“Stand where you are!” The command came from behind me. I found myself standing in the centre of the deck. Shekinah stood behind me with his right hand upon my shoulder. The dog and his master slowly, almost indiscernibly, moved forward. “Remember the house and the presence.” Shekinah whispered in my ear so that only I could hear. “What did I do?” My mind raced in search of those images, that memory of victory.
I recalled that old house with the whiny wind, the musty darkness, and the sound of scurrying in the shadows. “You commanded the presence to stop and then evicted it as a trespasser.” His grip on my shoulder firmed, “Now, you do likewise.”
I breathed in all the air I could as if arming a weapon for war. “You stop right where you are. You are trespassers, interlopers. I have been given the authority to evict you, now go!” Both figures mutated into one whirling, tornado like shape. It bent towards us with what appeared to be a face and swayed like a snake under the charmer’s spell. “Go!” I bellowed as if fuelled by the tempest itself. From the midst of the whirling form, came a scream of anguish such as the one that I had heard in that house and never wished to hear again. That scream tore through the sound of the storm and seemed to make the very timbers judder.
The warmth of the sun caressed my face. His hand was still on my shoulder. The sky was clear blue and filled with the sound of sea birds. Men were in the rigging unfurling the sails.
“Come and sit with me awhile.” I followed him to the upper deck and sat at his table. Wine flowed and glasses rose. “Interlopers.” He almost giggled. “I have no recollection of saying that. However, it did lend a certain flavour to the proceedings.” “It just came out, I didn’t plan it.” “The lesson here is that you don’t have to quote me, just follow my lead. Learned principles are more useful than accurate but scarcely believed in quotations.”
“Set a course for the islands.” Came the command and the wheel was spun and the Pneuma plunged towards the west.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
