Ten Things I Wish More People Knew About the Church

This morning as I sat fiddling on Facebook, unwinding after a long overnight shift, I ran across this picture in my newsfeed, posted by a friend. Now, I've seen dozens of these kinds of things over the last few years, and I generally ignore them. But for some reason today, I felt compelled to respond.

Maybe it's because the author bills this list as "Ten Things I Wish the Church Knew..." Which Church is that? The one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church? The Church that includes dear friends of mine who also happen to be gay or lesbian? The Church that a friend of mine stuck it out in, even through the years when he couldn't be officially rostered because he was in a committed same-sex relationship? The same Church that now recognizes both his gifts for ministry AND the gift of the publicly accountable relationship he and his partner share?

Maybe it's the Church full of little old blue-haired Lutheran ladies, in the backwoods of Minnesota, who told me, in effect, that they didn't think the Jesus they knew would cast anybody out of the Church?

Maybe it's the church full of fumbling, bumbling, stumbling sinners and saints that regularly breaks my heart but has also quite literally saved my life?

I don't know, but for whatever reason, I felt compelled to share this list, which I'm calling, "Ten Things I Wish More People Knew About the Church":

1) We're not all the same.

2) A lot of us actively support completely equal rights for all human beings, including the full inclusion of members of the LGBTQ community.

3) This support can be found among both the clergy and the laity, at the personal, congregational and denominational level in many denominations.

4) This support has cost us dearly. Many of us have been called apostates, heretics and worse, and have people we love dearly who will no longer speak to us, because of this support.

5) Many of our denominations have hemorrhaged members, congregations and funds over the last decade because we even dared to raise the question of the place of gay and lesbian people in the family of God.

6) We have taken this stand of conscience anyway, not because we see any possible benefit to ourselves, our congregations or our denominations, but because we believe with all our hearts it is simply the right thing to do.

7) To say that "it is no longer your personal view when you're bothering someone else with it" seems to imply that it is okay for the church to speak out publicly on questions of social justice as long as we agree with you. But then, the people who disagree with you would say the same thing. Should the church then fall silent? I think Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Corrie Ten Boom, Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Theresa, Father Greg Boyle and thousands of other faithful Christian witnesses who laid it all on the line to fight injustice and suffering in the world would beg to differ. I know I do.

8) Lots of us don't make the Leviticus argument, either for or against. The issue is a lot deeper for a lot of genuinely honest, thoughtful, non-closed-minded and non-bigoted people that you think. Talk to some, and you might see what I mean.

9) Tarring and feathering all Christians because some are homophobic is really not much different than what some Christians do in lambasting all members of the LGBTQ community because some members of that community engage in sexual behavior that is risky and hurtful (and would be equally risky and hurtful if it were engaged in by heterosexuals).

10) Prejudice is prejudice, and it's wrong no matter who holds it. When Jesus forbade judging, that included you, too.

Why Bother?

Every so often, I have one of those moments that make me remember why I keep my Facebook account. It doesn’t happen very often, but every now and then, between all of the political posts designed more to silence discussion than engage issues, rants about sports teams and updates on what people are having to eat at the moment, one of those conversations opens up that really engages an important question. I’ve been blessed to be part of such a conversation in the last couple of days, and it has gotten me thinking enough to dust off this blog for the first time in over three years. The question, distilled down to its essence and stated by my friend Phil, is this: “If grace alone is sufficient for salvation, then why bother with church, or for that matter religion, at all?”

My initial, off the top of my head response, given between slurps of coffee on my way to work, was “Love.” But even as I posted that response, I could hear the voice of my theological mentor and friend Robin Steinke challenging me, as only she can do, to “say more about that.” So, without further ado, here are a couple of reasons why I think church matters, even (especially?) for those of us who stake everything on grace.

1. Worship – It’s important to remember that when we talk about “going to church,” 90% of the time, we’re talking about going to worship. Words matter, and these words matter. We go to worship, because “it is right to give our thanks and praise.” While a lot of other things happen in the course of a worship service, things like confession and the declaration of absolution and sermons and offerings and such, fundamentally we gather together to give God our thanks and praise, to worship God for not only for the really amazing things God has done, but perhaps even more so for who God is. (Prime example: the wise guys in Matthew 2.) We worship, because God is worth it; we worship as an expression of our love and adoration for God.
   
2. Community – Right about now you may be asking, "Okay, granted, but if that’s the case, why not worship on the golf course, or on the lake, or at the Church of the Holy Mattress?" Well, this may come as a shock, but I don’t think it’s the worst thing in the world if every once in a while we spend our Sunday mornings in one of those places. As somebody famous once said, “the Sabbath was made for humanity, and not humanity for the Sabbath.” (Mark 2:27) But, it is important that our worship take place in church on a regular basis, too. Why? Because we need each other. As somebody else famous once said, “it is not good for a human to be alone.” We were created as relational, communal beings; in fact, I’d go so far as to say that part of what it means for us to be created “in the image of God” is that we are created for relationship. Martin Luther is supposed to have said that while denying the doctrine of the Trinity might put one’s salvation at risk, trying to comprehend the doctrine of the Trinity might put one’s sanity at risk. Be that as it may, if the doctrine of the Trinity doesn’t mean anything else, it means that God’s fundamental nature is one of relationship, a relationship, in the words of Episcopal bishop and theologian Mark Dwyer of “Father, Son and Holy Spirit in perfect, self-giving, self-receiving love.” Like it or not, we need each other, and it is built into us as human critters to live in community with one another and with God.
3. The external Word – I was born and raised Lutheran, and I just don’t quite know how to be anything else. (No doubt this stems largely from a profound lack of imagination on my part, but whatever.) As Lutherans, we believe that the phrase “Word of God” has a threefold meaning: 1) Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh, 2) the proclaimed Word, the Word made real for us through the voices of others and 3) the written Word of God contained in the Holy Scriptures. We also believe that this Word is external to us, that it comes to us from outside of us. (This is, for example, why Lutherans are somewhat skeptical of private revelation.) If I’m doing all of my worship by myself at the beach or the lake, I’m not putting myself in the way of this external Word. But if I’m willing to go sit in a hot, non-air-conditioned sanctuary on a hard, uncomfortable pew between a couple of gossipy little old ladies and some flat-out, stiff-necked, holier-than-thou Pharisees, singing hymns I don’t like and listening to a boring, predictable, three-points-and-a-poem sermon, I’ve got a really good chance of getting smacked with this Word even when I least expect it. I hear the Law, convicting me of my sin and driving me to my knees, and I hear the Gospel, reminding me that my sins were forgiven before I even knew they needed forgiving and inviting me to live a new life of love and service to God and neighbor, on this side of the grave as much as on the other. And here’s the really cool part: I never know when it’s gonna happen. It may be one line in that boring, predictable sermon or one verse in some tired old hymn that I hear in a way I never heard it before. It may be something I overhear one of those gossipy little old ladies say, or it might be one of those stiff-necked Pharisees saying they’re glad I’m there, no matter where I’ve been before. I don’t know where or when or how it will happen, but I’ve been promised that if I show up, it will happen (cf. Matthew 18:20), and it has happened often enough that I’ve come to trust that promise.
4. Taking my medicine – The church is absolutely infested with sinners. Which is why I need to be there, ‘cause I are one. To quote another famous person (this time it’s either Abigail Adams, Martin Luther or one of a handful of other folks, depending on who you believe), “the church is not a museum for the saints, but a hospital for sinners.” Whoever said it, I think it’s true. And hanging out on the ward in community with the other sinners, taking regular doses of the External Word, keeps me centered and grounded. Quoting Tom Cochrane here, “life is a highway.” (That song will now be stuck in your head the rest of the day. I’m sorry or you’re welcome, whichever is more appropriate for you.) On either side of the highway is a ditch. Being a beloved child of God who is at the same time a sinner, I can take that belovedness thing to mean that I can do whatever I want with my life and it doesn’t matter. That’s when I start veering towards the ditch labeled “Selfishness and Self-Centeredness”. And when the consequences pile up, as they inevitably do, and the wheels start to come off and my whole life starts to look like the crash scene at the end of The Blues Brothers, it’s very easy for me to grab the steering wheel, over-correct and veer off into the ditch on the other side of the road, the one marked “Hopelessness and Despair”. When I’m pinned in the mangled wreck, upside down in that ditch, it’s real easy for me to forget the whole beloved child of God thing, to forget grace and forgiveness and all of the other stuff I believe even to the core of my being. That’s when I need some other gossipy, stiff-necked, fallible, sinful, beloved child of God to say again those life-giving, life-saving words: “…in the name of Jesus Christ, your sins are forgiven.” “…I therefore declare to you the entire forgiveness of all your sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” “Bob, you’re an idiot, but Jesus loves you, and so do I, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” When the whole rest of the world and (especially) all of the little voices in the back of my head are telling me I’m hopeless, I need my sisters and brothers to remind me that that is a lie, and that there is hope, and that I am loved unconditionally and forever. It’s one thing to know it, but it’s another to hear it, and to feel it, and to have it made real for me by other sinners who’ve been in that ditch, too.

I have all kinds of issues with the church and with organized religion. (Personally, I think Jesus was more into disorganized religion anyway, but that’s another topic for another day.) The church regularly makes my head hurt, my stomach churn and my heart ache. Being part of the church is sometimes a lot like being one of the passengers on Noah’s ark: if it wasn’t for the storm outside, you’d never be able to stand the smell inside. But it’s the only place I know where a sinner like me can get the medicine I need. It’s the only place I know where, on a good day, I can be reminded both that I am a sinner and that I am a saint, because God says so. And every so often, I can catch a glimpse of what I think heaven is going to be like: gossipy little old ladies and holier-than-thou hypocrites, arm in arm with punks and prostitutes, belting out tired old hymns of worship and praise and adoration and love for this amazing God who just won’t stop loving us no matter what. So maybe that word that popped into my head this morning really wasn’t too far off the mark. It really is all about love after all.