Church (big 'C')

Quote from Max Lucado:

"God has enlisted us in his navy and placed us on his ship. The boat has one purpose—to carry us
safely to the other shore.
This is no cruise ship; it’s a battleship. We aren’t called to a life of leisure; we are called to a life
of service. Each of us has a different task. Some, concerned with those who are drowning, are
snatching people from the water. Others are occupied with the enemy, so they man the cannons
of prayer and worship. Still others devote themselves to the crew, feeding and training the crew
members.
Though different, we are the same. Each can tell of a personal encounter with the captain, for each has received a personal call. He found us among the shanties of the seaport and invited us to
follow him. Our faith was born at the sight of his fondness, and so we went.
We each followed him across the gangplank of his grace onto the same boat. There is one captain
and one destination. Though the battle is fierce, the boat is safe, for our captain is God. The ship
will not sink. For that, there is no concern.
There is concern, however, regarding the disharmony of the crew. When we first boarded we
assumed the crew was made up of others like us. But as we’ve wandered these decks, we’ve
encountered curious converts with curious appearances. Some wear uniforms we’ve never seen,
sporting styles we’ve never witnessed. “Why do you look the way you do?” we ask them.
“Funny,” they reply. “We were about to ask the same of you.”
The variety of dress is not nearly as disturbing as the plethora of opinions. There is a group, for
example, who clusters every morning for serious study. They promote rigid discipline and somber
expressions. “Serving the captain is serious business,” they explain. It’s no coincidence that they
tend to congregate around the stern.
There is another regiment deeply devoted to prayer. Not only do they believe in prayer, they
believe in prayer by kneeling. For that reason you always know where to locate them; they are at
the bow of the ship.
And then there are a few who staunchly believe real wine should be used in the Lord’s Supper.
You’ll find them on the port side.
Still another group has positioned themselves near the engine. They spend hours examining the
nuts and bolts of the boat. They’ve been known to go below deck and not come up for days. They
are occasionally criticized by those who linger on the top deck, feeling the wind in their hair and
the sun on their face. “It’s not what you learn,” those topside argue. “It’s what you feel that
matters.”
And, oh, how we tend to cluster.
Some think once you’re on the boat, you can’t get off. Others say you’d be foolish to go
overboard, but the choice is yours.
Some believe you volunteer for service; others believe you were destined for the service before
the ship was even built.
Some predict a storm of great tribulation will strike before we dock; others say it won’t hit until
we are safely ashore.
There are those who speak to the captain in a personal language. There are those who think
such languages are extinct.
There are those who think the officers should wear robes, there are those who think there
should be no officers at all, and there are those who think we are all officers and should all wear
robes.
And, oh, how we tend to cluster.
And then there is the issue of the weekly meeting at which the captain is thanked and his words
are read. All agree on its importance, but few agree on its nature. Some want it loud, others quiet.
Some want ritual, others spontaneity. Some want to celebrate so they can meditate; others
meditate so they can celebrate. Some want a meeting for those who’ve gone overboard. Others
want to reach those overboard but without going overboard and neglecting those on board.
And, oh, how we tend to cluster.
The consequence is a rocky boat. There is trouble on deck. Fights have broken out. Sailors have
refused to speak to each other. There have even been times when one group refused to acknowledge the presence of others on the ship. Most tragically, some adrift at sea have chosen not to
board the boat because of the quarreling of the sailors."



My pastor read this in church on Sunday. The message was about the Church universal, and what our place should be in it. I liked this analogy, especially because it really hit on some very important but very sensitive topics about the conduct of people in the Church.

I’m not sure why I’ve suddenly been thinking so much about the Church (as opposed to the church, little ‘c’). But it does seem to keep coming up. Even in chapel today, the speaker was a women, a wife of a priest from the Church of Antioch. This is an Eastern Orthodox church tradition. I didn’t necessarily agree with everything she said. And I also felt that she made some rash generalizations about the Western church that made me rather less likely to give her the benefit of the doubt on the things that I didn’t agree with. But on the whole it was a fascinating message. I have little to no experience with the Eastern church. Learning about the importance of art (icons) was particularly interesting.

But the Church universal seems to be on my mind lately. Perhaps, because I've been thinking and praying a lot about my future. Not the medical school part. At the moment I truly feel that that is where God is leading me. But I am also realizing that being a doctor will give me a unique set of skills that I can use almost anywhere in the world, and in many different settings. This opens a lot of doors, and gives a chance to be involved in people's lives that would otherwise be unreachable.

At the moment the questions that are floating through my head are these:

How can I keep myself from being lumped in with the perceived members of the Church that do not do a good job of representing Christ?

Which of my beliefs are matters of doctrine which are matters of freedom?

Does patriotism get in the way of the work of the Church?

If we have the Answer then why is the Church so ineffective at so many things?

Shouldn’t all Christians feel broken-hearted when looking at the world, because I’m beginning to think God must?

Is it enough for the local church to be concerned with their congregation or do they need to be involved with the larger Church?

Can one person really make a difference in a world filled with so much pain and hurt, but more specifically, can I?

How can I share the Hope I understand through Christ and the natural world with others?

What did Christ mean when he told the the disciples to buy swords, and am I strong enough and brave enough to fight when I have to?

~Laura

Random Thoughts from Lit. Class

A quote by David James Duncan:
When I was thirteen and my brother was dying, a clergyman told me that if I prayed hard enough and with a pure enough heart, I could save my brother’s life. And then my brother died. This left me with serious questions about the pastor who told me those things, and about the purity of my own heart. So to the extent that I had bought the old time religion, I was guilt-ridden—I felt like I had been given an ideal that was impossible to live up to. But the older I grew, the more the ideal seemed like Swiss cheese religion—full of some serious holes. I couldn’t figure out, for instance, how to make God compassionate when all the people on the earth are only given one life and everyone is supposed to accept Jesus… It seemed to me that any God that I would believe in would have to be merciful. I felt that the God of my childhood was not merciful, and became an atheist, at least in terms of that God. I mean, I believe in God devoutly, but if Pat Robertson’s God is God, then I’m an atheist. I make a distinction between God and ‘God’.

David James Duncan wrote a book called the “River Why”. I had to read it for my English lit. class last week. The book takes place in Oregon and is basically about this young man’s spiritual journey as he finds God (or something like God). In general, I liked the book. It preached the normal Pacific Northwest Christianity, obsessed with nature and the natural world, focusing on a loving God without any judgment, a God that can basically become whatever anyone needs him/her to be. I didn’t agree with a lot of the spiritual aspects of the book. But that is really neither here nor there.

On Wednesday, when my professor brought in this interview with Duncan (quoted above) I started to think. In fact, I got so lost in thought that I didn’t bother paying attention for the rest of the class. The quote above made me, once again, wish that there was something else I could call myself besides a “Christian”. Because, very simply, I don’t want to be associated with the clergyman that told Duncan if he prayed hard enough his brother would live, or with Pat Robertson who proclaims that the earthquake in Haiti happened because the Haitian people had sold their souls to the devil.

How often does the Church drive people away by casting judgment, making snap decisions about people, or by petty arguing? And please don’t think that I am not guilty of this as well. I have messed up plenty in the Church, especially while in leadership positions. The thought that I might have driven someone from the Church is a constant in my life.

I have been a part of a church that went through a church-split. I know how devastating it can be. What would a visitor to the church have thought the Sunday when three pastors read resignation letters at my former church? I pray that they would have found somewhere else to worship, a church that was healthy. But what if they didn’t? What if that one event was enough to drive them to leave the Church for good?

Is the Body of Christ really a welcoming place? It should be. Everyone should be welcome regardless of race, political opinions, theology, past mistakes, or sexual orientation. Now, before anyone freaks out… There is a difference between welcoming someone into the Body of Christ as Jesus would, and being tolerant of blatantly unbiblical behavior.* Jesus came to sinners; there is no prerequisite for becoming a Christian. So why do we sometimes act as if people must first clean up their lives and THEN become Christians? We as a body of Christ certainly still have a lot of cleaning-up to do in our lives. Why should we expect others to uphold standards that we ourselves can’t maintain?

The 2nd greatest commandment is to “love your neighbor as yourself”. Is the Church really doing this? The way we treat each other matters to God. And it matters to people outside the Church. If people on the outside look into the Church and see only a squabbling, hypocritical, and judgmental group, then why would they want anything to do with our God?


~Laura

*I’m not in anyway saying that within the church we should accept certain behaviors. However, there is a difference between being judgmental and correcting in a loving manner. This is a difficult thing to do, and I personally think that if we aren’t completely sure (and by that I mean, you need to be able to point to a specific verse) then we have no right to tell someone their actions are wrong. God is the ONLY judge. And once again, I am not trying to say that I am above reproach on any of these matters. Just by writing this I am in some ways being hypocritical. I am a sinner, that is saved by undeserved Grace.