Sometimes on a Sunday

I love ordinary Sundays. For me this begins with coffee and a newspaper with my family, followed by worship and social time with my congregation. It’s a cozy arrangement, a comfortable pattern. Usually.

But sometimes Clive comes to church, and then the dynamics change. Clive is not his real name, but it will work just fine for this story. Clive lives on the streets and can look pretty rough. But a gentle soul survives inside that swollen, mottled body and grungy clothes. He comes to worship with us from time to time, respectful in his own way. He joins right in with our rituals and makes a beeline for the coffee fellowship downstairs as soon as the service is over. It’s his favourite part. Sometimes he brings friends.

A couple of months ago Clive showed up 15 minutes after the service started with seven visiting cousins in tow. Two sat in the back row on the left, three sat in the row behind me, three, including Clive, sat a row ahead. We were still in a singing phase of the service and with varying degrees of fervour they joined lustily in. Clive turned to me with a wink and a nod. Reverently he removed his toque, and then chastised his seatmate with a glare and a glancing, backhand slap to the side of the face to remove his ball cap.

“Welcome,” I said, even as I wondered how the rest of the service would unfold.

After the singing we moved into a sharing time. The pastor began with an anecdote about a well-deserved speeding ticket. “Preach the word!” came an admonishing voice from the back. “Preach the word!”

After another worshiper mentioned a book with “archangel” in the title, one of Clive’s friends in the pew ahead of me spoke up. “I wish I was an archangel,” he said. “Then when they nailed Jesus on the cross I’d have come and beat them back.” My pastor thanked him for the comment, adding, “Jesus could have called 10,000 angels” but chose to die instead.

“I know, I know,” replied our visitor. “But if I were there I’d have taken them and really given them some rrrrrrrrrrr!” Here he took his right fist and pummeled it against the palm of his other hand. There was no way this man would stand by to see Jesus suffer abuse at the hands of others. The service continued.

It got a little interesting once the sermon started. Clive later told me they’d rented a house for the week, but it was rather obvious they’d been out all night partying. They were very tired, and the pastor spoke only a few lines of his message before the snoring began.

Behind me, a large man snoozed oblivious to the proceedings. Ahead of me, Clive’s head rolled back. When he began to snore, his neighbour gave him a swift chop to the neck with the side of his hand, and they both broke into giggles. Two minutes later they were both slumbering softly.

The sermon continued, punctuated by an occasional “preach the word” from the back of the sanctuary. After the service they crowded the coffee line and piled their plates with the goodies laid out for our fellowship hour. One man discovered guacamole for the first time, and kept coming back for more of that “green stuff.” He liked it a lot.

None of our church members were rude to our visitors. Not visibly, at least. Most sat at their own tables and carried on their own conversations. A few sought to befriend our visitors, to sit and speak with them. Some of us went through the routine of declining to ante up bus fare.

Sundays like this are two parts troubling and six parts satisfying. They are not particularly comfortable. Something about me loves predictability on Sunday mornings. I respond well to orderly reverence. I like my coffee fellowship with my kind of people. I like my comfort zone a lot.

Clive and his friends challenge my easy contentment. They make me confront the fact that not everyone enjoys the same set of privileges. They live with a much harsher set of realities. They are poor. They are not healthy. They make some bad, bad choices. They sleep in hard, cold places. Their ways are not my ways.

But Clive’s friend would fight to keep Jesus off the cross. His friends sing to God with joy on their faces. They beckon us not only to preach the word. Their very presence encourages us to also live the Word—those frightening words of God that challenge us to recognize the image of God in unexpected faces.

Clive came to church alone a week or two later. He slipped quietly to a pew near the front as the sermon was winding down and communion about to begin. He looked as clean as I’d ever seen him. In fact, he seemed positively radiant. As we sang, he lifted his face and arms in gentle acts of worship. He came forward for communion and took the elements with gratitude beaming from his face. I know at least one other person who was moved to tears by the blissful sight.

I don’t know if Clive spoke to anyone that day. He slipped out quickly and I’ve only seen him back one time since. This time he asked us to pray for another relative, a woman who died two days earlier. He wanted us to sing “Amazing Grace.”

Citizenship confers sense of belonging

Every time I attend a citizenship ceremony I learn something I didn’t know before. This happens even though the same judge inevitably tells the same stories and reiterates the same points. He prattles on about rights and responsibilities and recounts the history of his own family’s immigration experience. I wonder how often the uniformed Mountie has stoically stood through the same speech.

At some point, the judge always says something about celebrating “a happy and momentous occasion,” and gladly welcomes one and all “to the Canadian family.” Such sentiments warmed the mid-October Winnipeg chill when my friends—a Liberian family—smiled broadly and stood proudly as they declared their allegiance to the queen.

My own mind wandered back 30 years, to the time when it was my turn to attend a ceremony and take the Oath of Citizenship, the final formal requirement in the somewhat bewildering but strangely affirming process of becoming a Canadian citizen.

As I listened to the judge’s words through the haze of old memories, I picked up some new historical information. Obviously I wasn’t paying proper attention at previous ceremonies. Imagine that. This time I was struck by the fact that although Canada is 140 years old, the status of Canadian citizenship has only been around for 60 years.

That’s right. Prior to 1947 people living in this country were considered British subjects. On January 3, 1947 Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King was honoured with the first citizenship certificate. This was, by all accounts, a momentous and happy occasion. It joyfully marked a new level of maturity and formally conferred a deep sense of belonging to a people already functioning as a nation.

Citizenship is about belonging. The word for people who are not citizens is alien.

I was 22 when I moved permanently to Canada. My father was born and raised in Canada. My mother was born and raised in the United States. They met and married as missionaries in Ethiopia, where I was born and raised. In one sense I always felt I belonged to three countries. In reality, however, I was somewhat alien in each.

I don’t think I realized at the time how that changed as I stood in a ceremony I would not have attended had it not been required. Strangely, these ceremonies become more meaningful as time passes. It is increasingly a privilege to welcome others to join the Canadian family, to be fully at home in country where they were not natural born.

Today it occurs to me that citizenship is a lot like salvation. It’s easy to take one’s status for granted, but regular reconsideration—like ceremonies and oaths—can help us discover and appreciate new layers of meaning.

If a shooter gets in ...

Here's the latest, cutting-edge training for church leaders in the U.S. It was posted by Christianity Today on their BuildingChurchLeaders.com website. Enjoy!

It is critical for leaders to be decisive. If the gunman targets a pastor or some other leader, those most visible should draw attention away from the congregation. If the shooter targets the congregation, direct confrontation is essential. This is dangerous, but you can improve your chances by distracting the shooter. Weaken his shooting ability by throwing hymnals, yelling from multiple directions, and tackling him from behind.

If the shooter does not penetrate deep into the sanctuary and is shooting randomly, take cover behind a pew, pillar, or balcony. Most shooters will be well armed and intend to inflict maximum damage. Recognizing the grave danger, church leaders and members of a crisis team can save lives by closing the gap between themselves and the shooter and overwhelming him.

Once a shooting begins, establish communication with the police as soon as possible. Avoid chaos by assigning only people on your crisis response team to call 911. Police will want to know the number of shooters, location of suspects, types of weapons, possible traps or explosives, immediacy of threat, and location of sensitive areas such as Sunday schools or nurseries. The emergency dispatcher will instruct the caller to stay on the line in order to provide real-time information to police on the scene.

When police arrive, stay on the ground until you are told to move. People have a built-in urge to run for safety. But movement creates confusion and complicates the situation for police. When you do get up, avoid sudden movements or any object in your hand that could be construed as a threat.

Sometimes you just need to be there

Loyalty isn't what it used to be. A generation ago organizations expected employees to make a commitment to the company in return for continuing employment and growth opportunities. No more. Both companies and employees are more straightforward about pursuing their respective interests-fewer guarantees for workers; mobile employees more eager to manage their own careers.

Similarly, a generation ago most pastors could count on a cadre of key congregational members to be in church for regular worship services 90 per cent of the time or more. No longer. These days, even the most committed churchgoers are apt to attend worship in their home congregation three quarters of the time or less. There are lots reasons for this, many of them unavoidable consequences of contemporary life.

Churches obviously must adjust to the fact that the core is shrinking and a lower percentage of regular attendees will be there on any given Sunday. But we should not accept the slippage too easily. While the social environment has made it impossible for many people to attend as faithfully as before, it's also made it easier for those generally inclined to be there to avoid weekly worship for lesser reasons. Truth be told, sometimes it's a pain to go to church and we just would prefer to stay home or do other things. This we should resist.

Root of the problem

At the root of this problem lurk the pragmatic and individualist spirits of the age. We want to know what the personal payoff will be before we will commit to anything. This applies to church as well. If we don't think we'll get something out of it-or if we don't think we have something particular to contribute-then we are apt to succumb to any impulse, no matter how trivial, to simply stay at home or give priority to other pursuits.

Yes, church exists to serve its members. It addresses our need for worship, provides a place for the restoration of souls and a venue for reconciling activities of many sorts. It is indeed a place to give and receive. But sometimes these things happen in ways we don't realize. Just because we have no particular task to perform on a given Sunday is no reason to excuse ourselves from being there. Just because we think we are incapable of receiving on any given Sunday is no reason to be absent either. The fact is, our very presence is a often a witness that can bolster the confidence of others and speak soundless words of encouragement or comfort.

Sometimes we need to just be there. Without suggesting that perfect church attendance is the measure of authentic discipleship, we need to acknowledge that casual attendance patterns do represent a problem. Strong spiritual community is nurtured by faithful attention to regular worship and diminished when participants give it short shrift. When we take a cavalier approach to the value of simply attending, we flirt with acedia (the sin of spiritual slothfulness).

What we need to avoid is the sense that our presence doesn't matter. It does, even if we feel we have nothing to give, and even when we feel we're getting nothing in return. Not all of church is about us, least of all about our feelings. Sometimes we just need to be there, and perhaps not know why. Our presence at church may well be for someone other than ourselves. Why do people attend funerals? Practically speaking, it isn't for the dead person. More often it is simply out of respect. We go because our presence is important to someone, even if we have nothing to say and are relatively untouched personally by the loss.

Presence is important; park it in places that truly matter.

Some things matter more than church-going

Christians expend a lot of time, money and effort getting people to come to church. On the whole, this is a good thing. But it’s not the best thing. Indeed, worship centres that perpetuate the rituals of religion without generating mission are an abomination to God.

This is not a new problem. Humanity has a remarkable ability to corrupt even the best of practices, often with the best of intentions. It was true in the times of Isaiah. The prophet who lived more than seven centuries before Jesus launches his book with a rant denouncing the religious establishment of his day.

It seems that the churches were doing well, if doing well means holding the attention of the populace and organizing their worship services.

But attendance and observance are not the main things God wants to see. Indeed, the first chapter of Isaiah is a sobering read for anyone involved in the worship industry. It is full of harsh language expressing God’s disdain for faith that does not result in lifestyles committed to justice and righteousness. He “takes no pleasure” in their sacrifices; solemn assemblies and festivals have become a burden. He refuses to answer their prayers. He tells the keepers of the faith they have blood on their hands. He calls for a turnaround.

The admonition to Israel in Isaiah’s time is not irrelevant to the Canadian situation at the beginning of the 21st century. Christian churches may be prominent throughout the land and millions attend services on a regular basis, but the behaviour of most members is indistinguishable from their neighbours and our culture pays scant attention to our voice.

A lot of people in our congregations are content to see churches function as drive-through blessing centres, brief rest stops where we seek to cloak our activities and ambitions with divine sanction. Many of our leaders measure success by the number of people in the pews and the size of the offerings. We glorify our sound systems and laud our choirs and bands. We value the eloquence of our preachers more than the truth of their message, the comfort of our buildings more than the fervour of prayers. Our devotion seems more designed to appease God than to please Him.

None of this actually counts for anything. According to Isaiah, two things about church-going really do matter. First, we need to “make [our]selves clean;” to stop doing wrong (1:16). Then we need to “learn to do good;” to start doing right (1:17).

Getting clean means admitting we are dirty. This is a much bigger step than it ought to be. Most churchgoers see ourselves as decent, moral people—contributing members of society. This is the image of Christian living many of our churches choose to display. All this is fine and dandy when it’s true. But the cleansing God calls for goes a lot deeper than the benign feel-good impression many of us are inclined to adopt.

The real test of our commitment to God is obedience to His standards of justice and righteousness. The checklist is short but pointed. “Learn to do good,” it begins. What does that involve? “Seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow” (1:17).

Come now, let us argue it out, says the Lord: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be like snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool. If you are willing and obedient, you shall eat the good of the land; but if you refuse and rebel, you shall be devoured by the sword; for the mouth of the Lord has spoken. (Isaiah 1:18-20)

We accept the status quo at our peril. Followers of Christ will demonstrate the truth of the Christian message when more of us stop going through the motions of religious observance and start living out the mission.

The Rock 'n' Roll Preacher comes to Blogger ...

Check out the new Rock 'n' Roll Preacher blog. Also, RocknRollPreacher.com is set to launch this fall.

This Postmodern Pilgrims blog is still active, so registered contributors are still encouraged to post their thoughts. And comments are welcome from all.

The Unchurch ... different kinds of nuts, but still nuts.

Recently, a friend of mine resigned as pastor of a mid-sized Mennonite Brethren church in Alberta. Here's the clincher: he's not only resigning as the pastor of the church in question, but also as the pastor of any church. He's done.

My friend is a great pastor, so his avocational intentions are a loss to the body of Christ. It may not be a total loss, however. He wants to start an "unchurch", which he describes as a home-based, food-centered, communion-celebrating gathering of friends. Sounds refreshing.

Some of you might remember 7-UP's "uncola" commercials from the 1970/80's. 7-UP was a can (bottle) of pop ... just like Coke and Pepsi colas. You could buy it in any drink machine ... just like Coke and Pepsi. It was stocked on every grocery store shelf ... just like Coke and Pepsi. Still, the "uncola" campaign convinced people that 7-UP was a clean, crisp, refreshing alternative to the heavy, syrupy, strip-the-rust-off-a-nail colas.

Of course, 7-UP was still a can of pop ... just like Coke and Pepsi. Like Coke and Pepsi, it was full of sugar and, therefore, high in calories and not very good at quenching thirst.

Which makes me wonder how much the unchurch will really differ from the church. The unchurch will probably lose a lot of institutional baggage. That's good. The unchurch won't be bound by precedent and dead tradition -- nobody will be saying, "We've always done it this way." (At least not right away.) That's good. The unchurch won't be trying to "take the city" for Christ. That's really good.

But the unchurch is just like the church in that it's a gathering of people, noble yet flawed to the core. Sometimes, people rise to the occasion and exceed our expectations. Often, they demonstrate an incredible ability to turn dreams into disasters.

20-somethings are pulling out of traditional churches in record numbers. If they're not leaving church altogether they're moving into house churches, where they hope to find an "unchurch" experience. Something light and refreshing, clean and clear.

George Barna, the U.S. pollster of religion, recently released his research into the house church movement. Here's how Barna sums up the scene:

• Average size of gathering: 20 people (including 7 children in gatherings with kids


• Gatherings including kids: 64%


• Of those, kids meeting with adults for whole session: 41%


• House churches meeting weekly: 80%


• Average length of service: 2 hours


• Include formal teaching: 76%


• Eat as well as meet: 85%

One noteworthy stat: 75% of people who attend a house church have been doing so for only a year or less. So, they're still in the honeymoon phase. Even in this state of newfound bliss, only 59% are satisfied with the spiritual depth of the experience. Only 66% are satisfied with the level of personal connectedness.

God bless house churches, unchurches, and any other innovative approach to church. We need fresh ways of being the body of Christ. But as long as people are involved, it will always be at least a little bit nuts!