Imaginary Entities

We deal with a number of people and institutions that don’t really exist. I’m sorry, but it’s true.

Think about the emails that you may have received from Nigerian princesses needing help getting a few million dollars of their money out of a corrupt African economy, and they needs your help and are willing to share their wealth. I hate to be the one to break the news to you, but there is no wealthy Nigerian princess in such dire straits. That’s a hoax.

Or what about Santa Claus? Millions of American kids write self-centered letters to Santa and leave cookies and milk by the Christmas tree every year. But regardless of how “real” he seems to them – or to the toy advertisers who sponsor his TV shows every winter – there is no jolly, overgrown, philanthropic elf with flying reindeer living at the north pole. It just isn’t real.

There is another imaginary entity with whom most of us relate. These groups can be found on a map, and you really can visit their offices or call them on the telephone and they will explain in patient detail how real and how important they are in your life. And unlike Santa Claus or Nigerian princesses, these groups do have legal status under our government (which in my case is American), but they seem to have no legal status under their home government (which is not American). But despite their protestations to the contrary, these, too, are not real.

I’m talking about your church. But then, I’m talking about my church too.

For clarification, I am not talking about the Body of Christ on this planet, or in this community, which Jesus referred to as His Church: His Church has a legal foundation in Heaven, which is its home government. The Church (capital C) was established by Jesus who called it “My church”. He seems pretty proud of it.

The Bible acknowledges (and therefore authorizes) the Church in many places, fifteen in the NKJV. Maybe half of the time, the Book acknowledges “the Church of God” but the rest of the time, it’s talking about the part of the Church in a city. I live in a city called Olympia, so from Heaven’s perspective, there is a “Church of the Olympians” or “the Church of God in Olympia.”

But here comes the challenging part: I’m not convinced there is any heavenly authority behind the autonomous congregation or the Christian denomination. There is no heavenly acknowledgement of “First Baptist” or “the Second Church of the Sunday Brunch” or any other local congregation. From Heaven’s perspective, there are no congregations, no denominations: just His Church. (By way of acknowledgement, there is likewise no heavenly foundation for other “Christian organizations”: missions agencies, or Christian radio stations, or “Evangelistic Associations”.)

I am absolutely not saying that any of these groups are ungodly or unbiblical. Most are not. I am also not saying that such organizations are evil; in fact I am very happily a member of a couple of these imaginary organizations. I am just saying that I’m becoming increasingly convinced that these organizations are not established by God, or by Heavenly authority. (Yes, I’ve heard the stories about God helping someone establish this group or that work; that’s not what I’m talking about here; there are exceptions to every generalization, and I am aware that I’m making generalizations; please read them as such.)

In point of fact, I believe that many churches (and many other Christian groups) are very much good things: they are tools to facilitate the work of Heaven. Human beings have from time to time, over the last couple millennia, looked at the very daunting task laid upon them by Divine mandate. And then they’ve panicked and they have cried out to God and come up with tools to accomplish those goals, and it’s wonderful how God helps us with those tools. People gathered can always accomplish more than individuals scattered.

(Have you ever wondered why there are so many “First Assembly” and “First Methodist” churches, and so few “Second Presbyterian” or more honestly, “Ninth Baptist” churches?)

But when we make the transition from “This congregation is a tool to help us as leaders to shepherd the people of God” to the perspective of “If you’re not part of a local Sunday morning congregation, then you are outside of God’s will,” or worse, “If you’re not part of this congregation….” then we move at least into error and perhaps into heresy. When we declare, either verbally or by our attitude, that “Members of this group are better [or “more spiritual” or “more biblical” or whatever] than Christians who are not members of this group,” then we are in danger of judgment. I’ve even met congregations and denominations that say, “If you’re not part of our group, you’re not even saved.” I’m sorry, but no.

Is there a benefit from being part of a gathering of believers? Absolutely! Heck yes! But that doesn’t necessarily mean I must be part of a “Sunday morning church” gathering. Whether I’m part of a church congregation, a home church, a “parachurch” group, or whatever, there is much benefit for me to gain from associating with the gathered Church. Christians gathered are God’s plan; Christians isolated are part of the enemy’s plan, like a wolf isolating a particular sheep. My goodness, Christians gathering together is even commanded. Heaven acknowledges no such thing as The Lone Christian (“Hiyo Silver Away!”).

Think of it this way: in the OT, the entire nation of Israel was blessed. Every tribe carried the blessing of the nation. It didn’t matter if you were in a big tribe like Judah, a little tribe like Benjamin, or a special tribe like Levi: if you were a part of a tribe, any tribe, you were part of the blessing. We need to be in a tribe to get all of the blessing God is giving out. Christians must gather together in order to function properly. Don’t let this article be an excuse for you to cut and run!

But that doesn’t mean that the gathering that we call “my church” is any more valid than any other gathering of believers in our city. That’s true whether “my church” is a country church with 50 people, a mega-church with 10,000 people, a denomination with several million adherents, or a Thursday afternoon gathering of four like-minded saints praying together at the coffee shop. We are the church, and wherever we gather with other believers is church, and mine isn’t any more holy, or any more recognized in Heaven, than yours. (I’m not talking about places where the people who you’re hanging out with happen to be believers; I’m talking about us gathering – as believers – for the purpose of being the Church gathered.)

The Book is clear that those who have been redeemed, those who know God through the work of Jesus, are first “the Church” and second are “saints.” (Have you noticed that “saints” is pretty much always plural? Ever wondered why?) We’re still “the Church of Olympia,” not “First Glory Pentecostal Methodist Church.” If I don’t consider the First Glory Methodists as much my brothers and sisters as my own home group leader, then I’m believing in things that Jesus doesn’t believe in, and I’m excluding people that my Father welcomes and loves as much as He loves me. Big mistake!

I probably should point out that I don't aspire to tell the whole story here; sure there are other perspectives on the subject. But over the last several centuries, we've told only one side of the story. My goal is not to find the ideal balance between multiple perspectives and declare it; I don't want these articles to be that long or complicated, and frankly, I don't think I'm qualified to say, “Thus and such is the right balance.” My goal is just to push the pendulum the other way a little bit. “Balanced” is not my goal; maybe “counterbalance” is.

My point is this: a local congregation – as separate from other believers in my area – is not a concept that Heaven has particularly authorized, not a concept that Heaven has mandated or supports. It was at best a tool for Christian leaders to shepherd a flock that’s too big (or too unruly), and at worst, it’s an abuse of Jesus’ beloved fiancé.

This is a big paradigm shift for us, and the implications are significant, but they’re beyond the scope of this conversation. Right now, I just want to wrap my mind around the concept that I am part of this thing called The Kingdom of God. I am part of the Church in Olympia, and we represent Heaven here! My membership in a particular congregation or a home group or any kind of gathering of believers is strictly a convenience to help us – the Church – carry out our responsibilities for expanding the Kingdom.

I’m part of His Church. I like that.

Shepherd or Cowboy?

In Photoshop, there’s a filter that you can apply to a photo that converts it from a nice color photograph to a black and white drawing. I’m using that filter in this entry. I know I’m unnaturally separating an issue with thousands of gradients into extremes, but I’m trying to make a point.

I have friends from New Zealand. They don’t understand our Westerns: the movies that are built around the Old West mean nothing to them. New Zealand doesn’t have cowboys; they have shepherds. And shepherds have as much in common with cowboys as sheep have with cattle: not much.

Nowadays, neither sheep nor cattle have much say in the matter: they’re both mechanically guided through the process of feeding, caring, milking or shearing: it’s all automated.

Back in the day when human beings were the shepherds or the cowboys, not robotic fences, and milking machines, in that day, you learned a lot from watching how the two related to their animals.

A shepherd, in the pre-automation world, knows his sheep, and his sheep know him. I’ve heard stories about how in early agrarian societies, when the shepherds would come to town, they’d put all the sheep in the same pen. When it came time to leave, the shepherd would come to the pen and call his sheep; they’d recognize his voice and distinguish it from the other shepherds’ voices, and follow the shepherd out of the mass of other shepherds’ sheep to follow him.

More than that, when the shepherd had called his sheep to himself, the shepherd directed his sheep by leading them, not driving them. He would go before them, and they would follow. It might be too much anthropomorphism to say that they followed out of love, but certainly they had enough experience with him to trust that when they’re with the shepherd, they’re safer and better fed than when they’re not with him.

When it comes time to bed down for the night, the sheep all lay down together, and the shepherd lays down among the sheep, in the midst of them. They keep him warm; if he has wounds, the lanolin in the sheep’s wool worked to protect and heal him. And there’s no question of knowing about what happens during the night, or about discerning when an enemy shows up to stalk the sheep: the shepherd is already there among the flock, and his presence there comforts his sheep and deters the enemies. It’s almost like he’s one of the sheep himself.

The cowboy accomplishes similar function – moving a group of animals from one place to another – but by an entirely different method. Think of the what we see in the cattle drive. There are a thousand misconceptions, but ultimately, the cowboy gets behind the cattle and drives them. He may crack the whip, or shout at them, or whatever, but the cowboy is behind the cattle, driving them away from himself, toward the goal. It’s helpful for the cowboy to know something of the ways that cows work, and he should have some understanding of the trail ahead, but ultimately it’s still a process of “Get behind and push.”

When they settle down for the night, the cowboys gather together by the chuck wagon, tell stories by the fire, and generally make their own community, apart from the animals they are caring for. They’re over here by the fire; the cattle are over there. If something happens during the night, they find out about it in the morning. If there’s enough trouble, they’ll get up, go to the herd, deal with the problem or the interloper, then return to their place by the fire.

American corporate business leadership is very often built on the metaphor of the cowboy. The corporate leader sits in his corner office and directs his managers who cause the people to do the work at hand. He studies his spreadsheet and trend reports, and issues orders to the cattle that do the actual work. When night comes, the managers gather in one place, and the blue-collar workers return home to another neighborhood. When was the last time that you saw the company owner having lunch with the junior mechanic? If it ever does happen, it’s either time for the mechanic’s review, or it’s such an uncommon occurrence that everyone talks about it.

There are a thousand allegorical issues we could look at, but ultimately a cowboy drives his herd and a shepherd leads his flock. A cowboy gets behind and pushes the animals; a shepherd is in front calling for his animals to follow him.

God likes shepherds. The agrarian society had both cattle and sheep; God could have drawn His analogy from either. But He didn’t. He portrays Himself as shepherd. (I can hear it now: “The Lord is my cowboy, I shall not be bored.”) He portrays the leaders of His people as shepherds, and calls His apostles to the shepherd model. It was to shepherds that He announced the birth of His Son. In fact, in the scriptures, the concept of shepherds is used more as a metaphor than it is literally. There isn’t even a word for cowboy in the Bible.

As leaders in the church, we are called to be shepherds. Using that metaphor, we are called to go ahead of the sheep, to know the sheep by name and to call them to ourselves, to devote live in their midst – not separated from them over by the campfire and cook trailer. We are called to draw our warmth from the sheep in the night, and discomfit ourselves for their wellbeing.

OK. That’s the theory. Now how are we doing as leaders of the Lord’s flock? Are we shepherds, or are we cowboys?

When I look at the church in America, I see an awful lot of corporate managers. I see senior cowboys who direct the associate cowboys who do the work of organizing the cattle into their stalls. They declare their vision, and drive the cattle to reach that goal. Then they gather in their staff meetings and cluster around the chuck wagon until the next service. When was the last time that you actually saw the senior pastor being warmed and comforted by the young sheep?

I’m becoming aware of a movement among the church in my nation that is resisting the cowboy mentality, and I see several expressions of it. I see a blossoming house-church movement. I am learning of a revolution growing, as if it were sheep rebelling against cowboys.

I am hearing of believers by the hundreds beginning to question “the way we’ve always done it” and looking for new and more meaningful ways to connect themselves to God. It almost looks as if the sheep were beginning to reject the cowboy leadership of God’s church and, if they can’t find a shepherd who knows their name, then they’ll shepherd themselves, thank you very much.

I hear cowboys bemoaning the sheep that leave them to seek a shepherd. Having been a pastor, and being a cowboy by nature, I feel for them, the frustration, the confusion. But I wonder if it’s really a problem?

Maybe the problem is that we have shepherds living as cowboys, that we have lost track of the gospel of the Kingdom. We have men and women who should be shepherds picking up their spurs and saddles and whips, becoming cowboys, and the church is dying. How then shall we speak life into this revolution? How shall we change the model within our sphere of influence?

I propose that we start by living as shepherds ourselves. We lead by example. We give ourselves for the sheep that know our voice. We live among the sheep, in relationship with them, comforting them, protecting them, and training them that good shepherds lead by example.

Fixing the Gospel

There’s something wrong with the gospel.

Think about it for a minute: It used to be that when people declared the gospel, it “turned the world upside down.”

I live in North America. I don’t see any part of my homeland turned upside down by the gospel. I see parts of my society being heavily impacted by liberals or by conservatives in politics. I see a self-centeredness infecting a generation, and I see influxes of Islam, Hinduism (in several forms) and Deism, but I don’t see the gospel turning anything upside down.

There’s something wrong with the gospel.

But I hear reports from other continents and they’re amazing. Indonesia has more Muslims than any other nation in our little planet, and more persecution of Christians. It also seems to have more natural disasters than any other planet. But Indonesia is also home to a move of God that really is turning their world upside down. And have you heard the stories from Africa? They boggle my mind. I hear wonders from India, from Mongolia, from South America. The gospel is turning other places upside down.

But North America remains unchanged.

There’s something wrong with the gospel. No, there’s something wrong with our gospel.

I wonder if we preach the wrong gospel. We preach the gospel of salvation. Jesus and the apostles preached the gospel of the Kingdom.

They taught, “The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.” It’s in reach. Then they healed the sick to demonstrate. They cast out demons. Once in a while, they’d raise someone from the dead for variety.

The people they raised from the dead were certainly convinced that the gospel was real. The lives of those-formerly-known-as-lepers were transformed: these former outcasts were suddenly productive members of society and they had a following, a following that was listening to them talk about Jesus.

We preach the gospel of salvation. We have special Easter services where we bait the hook of the gospel of salvation with pop music and a “culturally relevant” message, and we invite the world to come look at our bait. We preach a “You need Jesus” message and everybody closes their eyes while some raise their hands – or not – and we never see them again. Once in a while, someone is changed, but mostly, they’re just immunized from the Gospel of the Kingdom. “I already did that!” they tell the next Christian they encounter.

And North America remains unchanged.

When Jesus modeled the gospel, he went to where the people were. He proclaimed the good news of the Kingdom, and he healed their sick.

Then he taught the boys to do what He did. Go to where they are. Proclaim the Kingdom. Heal the sick.

I have to admit: that this model scares me. It’s much easier to wait for the fish to swim into my church, and to give them a low-fat gospel that requires nothing more than to raise their hand when nobody’s looking. It doesn’t require me to look stupid, though, and so I and my brethren by the millions have chosen this pattern.

We’ve been scared to death by the risk that Jesus has asked of us, and as a result we really are pretty much dead. We’re safe, but we’re not alive. I’m not alive.

And North America remains unchanged.

When Jesus commissioned us as He left, he gave us the same model: Go. Preach. Heal.

(OK, He actually said “heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons and raise the dead,” but it all fits under the general category of “heal.”)

We don’t usually go to the people. We don’t go to the fish, we advertise for the fish to come to us. We don’t preach the gospel of the kingdom, most of us, and we don’t heal their sick.

And North America remains unchanged.

The reports I’ve heard out of Africa say that it’s the healing that capture people’s attention. A friend reported that he attended a church service there recently. A man got up and started his message by saying, “For these three days last month I was dead.” He had their complete and undivided attention for the rest of the day.

So I am repenting from my shallowness. I am repenting from preaching the gospel of salvation when I preached anything at all. I’ve started to embarrass myself by asking people if they want prayer. I’m not ready yet for the “Such as I have I give unto you” thing that Peter did, but I can at least pray for people who are sick or unclean, or have demons.

Maybe I’ll take my time before I raise the dead too. Except for me. I think I need to be raised from the dead first.

And maybe North America can be changed.

(If you’re interested, there’s a PowerPoint presentation of some of these thoughts here.)

Getting a Fast Start

I’ve been looking at how Jesus talks about fasting. It’s interesting: it doesn’t seem to have much in common with some of the traditional teaching I’ve been subjected to. I grew up in a Presbyterian church, and they never even acknowledged that fasting existed. I finally met Jesus in a Pentecostal church in the Jesus People days, and they maintained an assumption that fasting equaled holiness, or was at least required for it. We couldn’t talk about it of course, but everybody seemed to know when someone was fasting, and how much they were Suffering for Jesus.

Both perspectives always seemed weird to me. In Matthew 9, Jesus talks about fasting; there’s more teaching in both the New Testament and the Old about fasting, but this is the part I’m looking at today.

First of all, Jesus seems to equate fasting with mourning. So fasting is apparently an appropriate response when we’re in mourning, when we’re grieving. Maybe we’re grieved that Things Aren’t The Way They Should Be. Or maybe we have this great promise from God and our experience isn’t even close. It could be that someone we know and love is going through hell and high water. These sound like mourning experiences, and it sounds like Jesus thinks that fasting is an appropriate response to them.

But then Jesus says that the attendants of the Bridegroom can’t really fast when the Bridegroom is with them. That’s us, of course, but the term is literally 'sons of the wedding hall,' and it denotes both wedding guests and [in American parlance] the groomsmen, the bridegroom’s friends. I figure I fit in one of those categories, though I will quickly admit that my aspiration is to be a friend of the Bridegroom: I want to be Jesus’ friend.

The real point here, however, is that when He’s with us, we don’t fast. By implication, that means that we do fast when we’re not sensing His presence, and we want to. If I want to know His presence better, then depriving my flesh may be a wise move, and in this context, He says “…then they will fast.”

Then Jesus turns left and gets weird again. He seems to be a champion at twisting the subject of discussion, and he does it here. After He says the Bridegroom thing, He immediately talks about patching garments and launches into the classic “new wine” passage. Except that I don’t think this is a new subject. I think He’s still on the same subject, but I am just not making the turn with Him yet.

“Nor do they put new wine into old wineskins, or else the wineskins break, the wine is spilled, and the wineskins are ruined. But they put new wine into new wineskins, and both are preserved.” –Matthew 9:17

Every time this concept of new wine comes up in the gospels, it’s always in this context: this is Jesus’ primary lesson about fasting in the gospels, and it’s always accompanied by the discussion of new wineskins. It almost seems like in Jesus’ mind, one of the places that we need new wineskins the most is in the area of fasting. We need (heck, I need) to bet past the old religious mindsets, and fasting is one of them.

In fact, it seems to me that there are two subjects where we get the most religious: food and money. These are bigger subjects that I want to get into here, but they certainly describe places where I need to get rid of old wineskins and begin to look at them both in the new light of the Kingdom. Yes, fasting is a part of the Kingdom, it isn’t just part of the Old Testament legalism, but it’s part of my new life as a Friend of the Bridegroom, but it’s for a different reason, and it’s following a different model.