What Brought You Here?

Maybe I should have matched a more serious picture to this post? It's fine right?

 I expected certain questions when we joined a house church network within the Church of the Nazarene. I was ready to graciously engage, reassure, and set some common worries to rest. I was ready for what I thought could be the questions.

"Isn't that just like small groups? So why can't you just do normal church plus small groups?" 

Yes and no. We still do all the things...communion, singing, a sermon...but in a smaller setting, and with discussion questions and some lasagna or tacos.

"What do you do about....(fill in the blank with something we've come to find necessary in modern church)?"

We're finding our own version and discovering what is and isn't essential. But that's a whole other blog.

"Were you mad about something at your last church?"

Nope. And I think that's a terrible reason to start a home church. Or any church. Because you'll be mad again. I promise.

"Are you a cult?" No. But to be fair I suppose most people don't answer yes to that question.

These are normal questions after centuries of "normal" church. But what I didn't see coming was the most common question from others in the house church movement... 

"What brough you out of the institutional church?"

This question, and the way it was phrased took me a second to process the first time. Because I don't exactly feel like I've walked away from anything. And also because the word "institution" just sounds so District 13 (Hunger Games reference). 

So, I'm not sure if I have the right answer.

I just don't think I've actually "left" anything. And I don't see other ways of engaging in worship as "bad." I like the quote I read recently from a pastor who said, "When the Lord comes back for his Church, he's coming for a bride not a harem!" I see us as a unified part of something much bigger.

We're still part of a large world-wide denomination, which provides accountability, oversight, and resources. It gives us a theological roadmap that can help in settling disagreements and protect against "creative" doctrine. Besides, I haven't lost my love for the congregation I came from or any church of any size or venue that helps others be followers of Jesus. We're thankful for our ability to share resources and supplement what we can offer by sending our congregants to Celebrate Recovery or even youth group and Vacation Bible School at other local churches.

So how do I usually answer this question as to how I ended up at "hippy church"?

My usual, shortest answer is that a few years ago I read Francis Chan's book, Letter's to the Church, and God placed it on my heart that maybe some things could be different about the way we do church in the modern United States. The curiosity grew when my co-worker Ryan, and his friend Trevor decided to start a congregation very much like the one described by Chan, as well as the author of Acts, so we decided to join them!

But that's not the most complete answer. Do you have time for the long answer? Keep reading.

It did start with the Francis Chan book. I don't agree with everything Chan has to say. There are some reformed/fundamentalist lenses there that's just not who I am anymore. But it made me think about some things to the point that they haunted me. And then 2020 happened. I became more aware of what we think of as essential vs. what is truly essential. I became frustrated with how we as Christians as a whole were really bad at loving each other during that time, especially when Jesus said it's what all the other commands boil down to, and it's how we'd be identified as his followers. We publicly tore each other apart on social media and a whole lot of other weird stuff. Conversations about that disillusionment lead to my friend Ryan (the one who co-founded The Table) suggesting I listen to Shane Claiborne's book, The Irresistible Revolution. Claiborne's words matched my heart and suddenly all my jumbled, chaotic thoughts began to take form.  

I began to ask myself some important questions and make some observations:

First, is it sustainable to only dream of building bigger, better buildings to house more and more people in one large mega church?

 These sanctuaries are typically built in suburban areas among middle to upper middle class neighborhoods. And, because the cost of utilities and upkeep for a place this large isn't small, once built, the job of the pastor becomes keeping people happy and entertained enough to stay there. Because if the service becomes boring or uncomfortable and the pews empty out...then what? It's what keeps lead pastors and board members awake at night. And, while we need churches in the suburbs too, how does that same model work out in the inner city where property cost is unreasonable? Or in a part of the world where gatherings need to fly under the radar?

Once again, I need it to be understood that there are wonderful, large churches out there blessing their communities. But we need to know how to multiply and grow out, not just up. The parable of the mustard seed is all about growing the way weeds do, sprouting up and growing out of control all over.

Second, I recognized that there's something intoxicating about standing up in front of a crowd of people hanging on your every word. It's like Frodo's ring. It changes you, and not for the better usually. If it can feel like that in front of a congregation of 100, imagine how that temptation grows stronger in front of 800? I think many of us watched what it did to Bill Hybels, Carl Lentz, and others, and it scared us (rightfully so). Meeting in our homes, in intimate groups keeps us humble by default. It's impossible to not be real with the people who just went digging through your junk drawer for a pen that still works. 

I also noticed, in myself, that I'd been failing to bloom where I was planted or to practice Christian hospitality. In Irresisitible Revolution, Shane Claiborne says that "the more personal property is retained as private space, the more corporate property becomes a necessity" (375). "So, as congregations build larger buildings, gyms, and food courts, we find ourselves less likely to meet in homes, and kitchens, and around dinner tables. We end up centralizing worship in corporate space or "on campus." Hospitality becomes less of a necessity and more of an optional matter or convenient privilege. On the other hand, as members open their homes and yards and share vehicles and recreational spaces, less and less corporate property is necessary." I'm not going to lie. Some days a big children's building, a worship center and a fellowship hall sound really, really nice. But I believe sharing what we have is a vital part of our spiritual formation, and sometimes we need to put ourselves in a position where there is no other option. 

Along those lines, I love how both Chan and Claiborne's communities see benevolence as the main point of the tithe. I won't say that 100% of our tithes pour back into the community to those in need, but with lower property and salary costs than a typical church, a very large portion of our tithes are able to be focused on meeting our community's needs and improving our neighborhoods, which I believe matches more closely what we see in Scripture.

Obviously, I love to talk about this subject, and the decision to be part of this little ancient but also new experiment wasn't made without a lot of thought! But does this mean this is the only type of church I will ever be a part of? Not necessarily. Maybe, but maybe not. I'm still very open to how and where God is working in a variety of ways. And, once again, I think Shane Claiborne captured my thoughts on this so perfectly:

"It is easy to fall in love with the great things, whether we are revolutionaries or church-growth tacticians. But we must never simply fall in love with our vision or our five-year plan.  We must never fall in love with "the revolution" or "the movement." We can easily become so driven by our vision for church growth, community, or social justice that we forget the little things, like caring for those around us. An older charismatic woman told me, "If the devil can't steal your soul, he'll just keep you busy doing meaningless church work" (304). 

Regardless of whether I am in a stadium of thousands, or a living room of 15, I pray I never become a disciple of a method or a program. May I always simply be a disciple of the only one who matters, my Savior, King, and Friend.