You Say You Want A Revolution?
DRiViNG THROUGH STARBUCKS
Today, for the second time in the last few weeks, I had the chance to tell a friend of ours that we were “starting a church.” And while it is most decidedly “the truth and nothing but the truth” that this is the call on our plate and the very thing we are most earnestly pursuing, for some reason both times I said it the words have had an inwardly hollow ring to them. Like when you’re some dude looking for the perfect engagement ring for your girlfriend and you hold up one that looks good to you, but something inside says, “Hold up, that’s not quite right, is it? Is that the one she would want?” And you pause (yes, I’ve done this). There’s this inward, almost imperceptible, but quietly unavoidable reservation that is steering you to the right thing like the dial on a compass pointing true north. When I said “we’re starting a church” — I felt exactly the same way both times. But I don’t think I realized why until just this moment: it’s because that statement doesn’t really begin to capture the surprise, drive, mystery, and adventure of what has been happening in our lives of late. Not at all. In fact, the idea of “planting a church” is the polar opposite of exciting to me. I don’t even think I agree with the idea in theory or practice (it’s a long story). But, on the other hand, what we are actually doing on Friday nights is thrilling and alive to both my wife and I! So are we starting a church? Well, yes and no.
THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON
No. Because what most people think of when you say “church” is not what we are doing. Unfortunately, not even close. But Yes. It is a church that we are called to build, emphatically. And in walks the problem: it’s time to ditch “the horse you rode in on.”
What I mean is: in order to understand what God has called us to do — even to follow the explanation of it all the way through — you’ll have to jettison your typical, modern-day ideas about and picture of what church is.
I think I need to start using a different short-phrase for what it is that we are doing. Rather than saying we are “starting a church,” which is true but otherwise off the mark, I think I’ll start saying we are “building a worshipping and discipleship community.” You see when we say “church” this is the picture that should spring to our mind’s eye, a “worshipping and discipleship community,” but it is not. God help us, it is not. And the problem we (all of us, the Church as a whole) are facing cannot be overstated. To completely or precisely outline, explain, and describe the totality of the dilemma is difficult at best, but — on the other hand — we all feel the weight of it, every one of us, to the point that it hardly needs explanation. We are in the belly of the problem itself, like Jonah and the whale. And like Jonah, we desperately want to get out, breathe fresh air, and feel the sun on our face again. But again, like Jonah, we need God’s help if this is ever going to happen.
RETHiNKiNG WORSHiP
So why these two things? Why a “worshipping and discipleship community?” I’m glad you asked. Because maybe, just maybe, course-correcting these two big pieces will put us back on track. It’s really just the beginning of the whole thing, but in order to get back to being the church God wants it will be kind of like following a compass dial out of the woods: at some point you realize you’re lost, check the dial, and just start walking.
We have to rethink worship.
As a starting point, be honest with yourself: when I say worship, you think, “that thing those guys do up front that sometimes I participate in and sometimes check my phone during.” Well, check the compass. When God directs us to “worship and serve Him only” (Luke 4.8), do you really imagine that He’s saying, “don’t let those guys sing those songs once a week to anybody else but Me?” Worship in our day, whether it’s the singing of the songs or the whole service on Sunday morning, has become so performance-driven and stage-oriented that it has tainted our very definition of the word itself. I mean sure, Webster’s won’t say this, but I’m not talking about our textbook definition of the concept. I’m talking about our actual, de facto, in practice reality. What we really think is where the truth really lives, or doesn’t live. And when God says He wants our worship, He means that He wants everything. Period. The devotion of our hearts, the passions that drive our thoughts, the desires that shape our will, and the expression of it all. Our worship and our worship gatherings are just meant to be an echo and reflection of this reality that already exists at the very centre of our hearts and lives. It’s the pulse, the heartbeat, that courses through our spiritual veins that proves we are alive unto God. No pulse, no life. Just ask a doctor.
In order to lift this truth from decay into action, maybe it’s time we peel back the skin of performance and appearances until we are face-to-face with each other and God. To just sit and worship without the words on the screen. To read our Bibles without a guy telling us to. To ponder spiritual things, think about Jesus, and pray when no one is prompting us to do it. This is the stuff of life.
This is the stuff God wants, and nothing else. It’s everything and nothing. There’s no outline to follow, nothing to go out and buy, no action list. But it lies so much at the centre that it’s everything: the sum total of life and godliness.
A DiSCiPLESHiP CULTURE
And why, you ask, “discipleship?” That is simpler still. Because discipleship implies meaningful social interaction and relationships, growth towards God and each other (Luke 2.52). And this is a broken thing in the church of our time too. We are more prone to emphasize giving money, building bigger buildings, developing better programs, growing our numbers, and having sleeker, more stylish services than the church next door. These things in and of themselves are not bad or evil. But when we seem more likely to see our churches as little kingdoms of their own to be promoted and marketed as such, than to see them as they are — smaller communities that are part of a larger body that is the Kingdom of God — then “Houston, we have a problem.” In the name of progress we too often promote our little kingdoms over His kingdom, the name of our church (or thing) over His name. Along with an attitude of overflowing devotion towards God, we seem to have neglected caring about and serving one another out of sincere love.
Simply put, placing focus on relationships and community around the fire of the Word in the context of discussion and discipleship seems to be a forgotten thing. And we want to bring it back.
We mean to take part in God’s mission, His passion, to restore it back into the Church (Isaiah 58.12). To re-form us, like clay on the potter’s wheel (Jeremiah 18.4–6), into the thing He wants His church to be, the very thing our hearts long for the most: a vibrant and deeply alive, inclusive, forgiving, prayerful, God-saturated community of loving persons with Himself at the center (Matthew 5.13–16). A community where you are more likely to hear words of genuine love expressed than backbiting or gossip. Where you are more likely to hear words like “How can I serve you?” or “Who are you discipling?” than to witness silent, empty nods being exchanged in conversation. Personally, that’s why going forward I’m going to use the word “community” before “church” anymore, because at this point we no longer seem to honestly understand that being a warm and friendly, real and spiritual community is implied when we talk about church.
CHOOSE THiS DAY
So how do you become this? In 1968, the Beatles said: “You say you want a revolution? Well, you know, we all want to change the world.” Talk is cheap. With men this is impossible, but if God intends to do this in the church, to raise it to new life, then all bets about what can and can’t happen, about what is or isn’t possible, are off. For our part, we choose relationships over progress and worship over performance. And we think God does too.
What I Know Of What There Is To Know
Is that there is some place, that still remains,
light with arms to hold me
there is a way to go
and escape the fading rains.What I know of what there is to know
Is that this forest is not all, as it claims
but there are open fields
with eyes to see me
and, much more, these open plains.On quiet nights this wind blows through my mind
forming the hope that holds me still
what I know of what there is to know
Is that there are worlds beyond this little hill.
