I’m not really sure what God is doing in my life these days. He’s revealing all sorts of new things to me and putting things in my path that all affirm what I’ve been feeling the need to get across to Christians in this country–and across the world.
Dear Church,I don’t mean to hurt your feelings here, Church, because I know you’re all about living up to Jesus’ expectations for you. But sometimes, how can I say it, the word church just doesn’t have that ring to it.
Know what I mean?
Like I kinda want to whisper the word sometimes. Not because I’m ashamed, because well, I know better than to be ashamed. Don’t think I’m not aware of that verse. You know, the one that says we’re not ashamed of the gospel of Christ. I can recite it in my best monotone-KJV-memorizing-Scripture voice, if you want.
I want to whisper the word church because I know that as soon as it leaves my mouth, someone in the room will flinch, inevitably thinking of steeples and crosses and roadway signs sporting interchangeable cheesy sayings. It’s like playing one of those terrible psychological games where I say the word and everyone else says the first thing that comes to their minds. Only when I say “church,” they tell me their reactions with their eyes, with their body language, and yes, sometimes with their mouths. And let’s just say, the “gee, tell me more” reactions are hard to come by.
I want to whisper the word church because sometimes the person in the room who is flinching is me. Because, despite all the amazing, mind-blowing images that come with any institution appointed by Christ himself, the term church has developed some negative connotations even for me. So sometimes I resort to saying it softly, or kind of half-mumbling, half-coughing it out into conversation without pausing to let someone point out that they can’t understand my slurring.
Sometimes I just skirt mentioning the C word altogether. Not to sell my faith short, you understand, but to get around all the assumptions attached to the label. Unfortunately, it is not easy to describe your brand of Christian faith without affiliating yourself with an institutional church.
Simply saying that I’m a Christian would be an immediate giveaway, of course. Christians go to church. Churches are full of Christians. Everyone sees the connection.
I can’t really go around telling people I am “a person of the Way” because that brings to mind cults and stories of churches gone bad, like David Koresh and Jim Jones. And God knows, enough people already think the local Christian churches are cults as is. Heck, it’s our favorite churchy joke to recount how the neighbors heard that people in our “cult” light candles at late-night services and get what they’re sure is garden-variety Crisco oil slapped onto their forehead at various prayer meetings.
I can’t say I’m “an evangelical,” because that is even worse than being a church-going Christian. Evangelicals are those people who preach a rotating list of twelve sermons all written to describe the eternal torment of hell. They are the people who play eerie music as the pastor asks people to raise their hands or “come forward.” Or if they are on TV, maybe they ask you to touch the screen where the static electric charge doubles as the spark of the Holy Spirit.
I can’t say I’m “a conservative,” because then it beckons images of men with three-piece suits and neatly parted, shiny hair who build coalitions to defeat the Democrats, the Smurfs, and billions of other alleged tools of Satan.
I can’t say I’m “religious,” because we’ve all been taught the folly of that. Now everyone say it together: “This is not a religion, it’s a relationship.”
I can’t say I’m “a Jesus Freak,” because although I do know D.C. Talk’s rap by heart, I like people to wait in suspense a while before deciding I’m a freak. I don’t want to tell them right from the beginning. It takes the fun out of it.
I can’t say I’m “spiritual,” because people translate that as a simple “two thumbs up” for Mel Gibson’s Passion movie. Or they figure I subscribe to an online horoscope and watch TV shows about channeling my dead pets. Spirituality is very in, you know. My waitress, drycleaner, dentist, and grocery store cashier all have WWJD bracelets and copies of The Prayer of Jabez to prove it.
The emergent church opts for “Christ follower” which, I have to admit, is the best term I’ve got as well. (But darn it, I don’t want to be pigeonholed as “emergent” either.)
I wish I could land on a self-description that’s new and fresh, something not so stained in people’s minds. The only problem being, of course, that eventually too many Christ followers (myself included) will show their humanness and our new words will be blacklisted from the usable list too.
Maybe instead of worrying about labels, Church, I should be taking the advice of Francis of Assisi: “Preach the gospel at all times. If necessary, use words.”
Maybe I should demonstrate that “going to church” infers something broader than keeping a pew warm in a cross-clad building. Maybe it’s time to rewrite the age-old, folded hands illustration: Here is the church. Here is the steeple. Open the door and see all the people.
Here’s my edited version: Here is the building; it doesn’t need a steeple. Inside is the church … see, the church is the people.
Perhaps I should make it clear that church, at its most basic level, is just a big group of Christians. And then I could point out that Christian was never supposed to be a synonym for “perfect,” “blameless,” or “never hypocritical.” We already have a synonym for that. It’s Christ. The two words sound similar, and look similar on paper—and obviously there’s an inescapable relationship between them—so it’s understandable that people sometimes get confused. But, thank God for us, they are far from identical twins. Mistaking even the best Christian for Christ is like seeing your first Model T and walking away thinking you’ve met Henry Ford.
Maybe we should revamp the newcomer’s orientation. You know, touch on the disillusionment piece. Maybe we should tell potential converts about our various shortcomings upfront.
(Note: We used to call potential converts “seekers,” but apparently the cool term is now “inquirer.” Although I think “inquirer” sounds like someone who buys up those checkout lane magazines about Elvis’s three-headed dragon living in a box of Cheerios. By the way, when it came to vocabulary, Jesus cut right to the chase. He called the unsaved “lost,” and he said it in a way that made the lost sound like the treasure we should all be out looking for. Now that’s cool.)
Regardless of the lingo, maybe we should let potential Christians know that no one in the church keeps all the standards spelled out in the manual all the time. Unfortunately, to my own discredit, I slide here and there, sacrifice a few rules when I’m in a hurry or if it’s convenient. Maybe I should tell them that I strive to perform at my maximum capacity … well, except for when I’m tired, or cranky, or acting in my own self-interest.
Maybe I should point out right from the beginning that there is a reason why Jesus is the head honcho and I am the company gofer. That no matter how many promotions I get, he’s actually the only one who is following procedure all the time. We try to keep up, but we can’t. And the really annoying part? He’s not even following guidelines. He just is that way naturally.
Maybe I should try to help newcomers separate God from me. Hey, a good start on that lesson would be to stop acting like I am God. Stop acting like I know exactly what to say, what to do, how to think, how to live every moment of every day. Stop projecting that I am the ever-so-useful-and-always-accurate judge, jury, and executioner all in one.
Maybe I have to realize that if I want disillusionment to change, the first person who has to change is me.
All I can say is wow.
