Best of Cerulean Sanctum

Hidden Messages of American Christianity: The Outstretched Hand

Standard

This is the seventh (and last) in a series of posts covering the hidden messages that sneak into American churches' proclamation of the Gospel. For more background, please refer to this post.

Though today's post addresses what is a hidden message, I don't have any answers for it. I'm throwing it out there because I hear it all the time. I'm hoping that you readers have more insights than I do. (I'm also going to ask readers to bear with me because I sense this post is going to ramble excessively.)

It's one of the most prevalent excuses I encounter in my area of the country for people not attending church. Men who avoid church like the plague cite it more than any other issue for their lack of attendance, Offering platefrom what I've personally heard. The older the commenter gets, the more likely this issue sticks in his craw.

It's money.

No, I'm not talking about folks who are ticked off that the church is preaching budgeting instead of preaching Christ, it's their complaining about the church asking for money. It's as if no other message can get through once the offering plate is passed. The "There they go again shilling for money!" lament is raised and the sermon message is now permitted to go in one ear and out the other.

"Always with the money thing! Why do they need so much money, Martha? The pastor makes twice what I do and I caught a whiff of Chanel No. 5 on his wife when I walked past. How much does that stuff cost? A thousand dollars an ounce? And he's asking for money? How low can you get?"

Now I'm not naive enough to think that the majority of these grumblers aren't using money as an excuse to sleep in on Sunday or to justify their rejection of Christ. But why do I hear this complaint so often if it didn't carry some actual weight?

At one point in my life I attended a well-known Presbyterian church in the toniest suburb in Pittsburgh. The corporate elite of Pittsburgh occupied the pews every Sunday. It had a chauffeur's entrance. The choir (paid) consisted of the leads of the city opera. When industrial meltdowns and financial strife rocked the area in the mid-Eighties, this church was targeted by activists and their Sunday services disrupted for no other reason than wealth. The church I left last year was suburban, middle to upper-class, and rarely asked for money. The pastor had a hard time bringing up the issue. As a result, this huge church was always encountering one cash flow problem after another. My present church is more rural ("penturbian," if you want the exact, trendy word), is lower to middle-class, has a mini-sermon about tithing shared by one of the elders every Sunday, and seems to do a reputable job staying in the black. Not only that, but every time there is a need over and above the regular giving, people always come through with an amount that surprises me.

I'd love to draw some kind of conclusion about these three churches, but there are too many variables. One never asked for money because it was loaded. One rarely asked for money, should have had it in abundance anyway, but didn't. One talks about money every Sunday, doesn't seem to want for it, plus it always has reserves. No matter the case, money plays into every aspect of how each of those three churches operate. That's true with every church, every ministry. But is there a way to downplay the whole issue of money so that those who complain that churches are only out for money have no more ammo for their assault?

It's Christmastime, so we're now under bombardment by Project Angeltree, Chuck Colson's organization. We donated money to them a few years ago to send the kids of prisoners to summer camp. Christian camping being near and dear to my heart, I couldn't say no when my wife suggested it, even though it violated our decision to only give to charities run by people we personally knew. Starting in September, I swear we get letters from Angeltree every week, plus scores of e-mails.

I'm not the type to complain that Christians are always asking for money, but the sheer volume of mail we get from Angeltree makes me uncomfortable. Whatever we gave a few years ago has been more than eaten up from the cost of their mailings to us.

So I can understand how some people have a problem with Christians asking for money. This isn't to say that money is not needed, but the sheer amount of money that some churches and ministries burn through is incredible. To sustain whatever they're doing, more and more money is solicited. But is this hidden message that churches and parachurch organizations are always on the lookout for cash really a message we want to send, even if it is not entirely true in every situation?

Now I can't speak for parachurch organizations, but I wonder if the way we do church today relies too much on money. I think our buildings are too expensive, not only to build, but to maintain. I don't see in Acts that the early Church spent their money on buildings. Nor was there much in the way of expensive programs and church initiatives. Benevolences were turned around and filtered back to the neediest in the community of believers in the early Church, yet the way we collect church monies today often leaves the givers in the dark as to where their money went. And too often, overhead consumes the majority of money rather than benevolences. Shouldn't we be asking if we're handling money for the Kingdom in the best way possible?

Shouldn't that advise the way our churches are structured and operated? What if a church met in homes rather than an expensive church building? What if the pastoral staff went unpaid (or partially compensated), but was large enough so that one person didn't carry the whole ministry load, each staff member living the life of a genuine "tentmaker"? What if we went beyond tithing and set everything we caretake for the Lord on the table so that anything needed was available to anyone at any time for his or her need? What if the Church functioned to unite giver and receiver personally, rather than having our monies go into an ethereal pool of funds? What if our newfound financial reliance on each other allowed us to step out of the rat race? What if churches didn't ask for money at all?

Most of all, what if the Church handled money so uniquely that it took away any objections by those who believe that Christianity is all about the Benjamins?

I know that Americans are funny about money, but I still hold out hope that one day our churches will look different because we've found a better way to handle it. The house churches in China are destitute compared with the Communist-approved state churches, but somehow they keep growing, effectively making disciples in a way we in America long ago forgot. While there are many mitigating factors in that growth in Chinese house churches, I've got to believe that our attitudes toward money in the American Church are partly to blame for our lack of effectiveness. We've built some fancy churches and installed some expensive programming, but what do we have to show for it?

Is it possible that something better could arise in the American Church if all our money disappeared some day? Maybe if it did, the lost might be able to look beyond the our hidden message of money and to the true heart of the Gospel.

Hidden Messages of American Christianity: “Family Cocooning Session: No Trespassing Allowed!”

Standard

PadlockThis is the sixth in a series of posts covering the hidden messages that sneak into American churches’ proclamation of the Gospel. For more background, please refer to this post.

We had a single mom of young boys over to our home last Sunday. After enjoying her company and the company of her sons, she confessed that more than anything else she wishes there were a man around in her boys’ lives to give them the masculine influence they need.

This last week, I had an anonymous commenter who lamented that many people have no place to spend Christmas day because of broken families, family located distantly, or similar issues. While I was always fortunate in that regard, I know others who have not been. We should all feel their loneliness and do more than talk about it. (No one in the commenter’s church stepped forward, but unbelievers did. What message does that send?)

At a time when so many of our churches are obsessed with Focus on the Family-like “family” ministry, why are so many so lousy at being a family to the family-less?

It’s hard to escape the message. A quick sampling of church Web sites is enough to show that we’re infatuated with family. Somewhere on the homepage of your average church there’s a JPEG of a smiling family of Mom, Dad, big Bro and little Sis (plus that half child for statistical reasons—the ultrasound’s scheduled for next week.) Given the tenor of today’s church messages, there’s a fair chance you’ll see an ad for the upcoming sermon series on how to have a great sex life—with free earplugs provided for the singles, widowed, and divorced. Thousands of times in a given weekend, churches will be trumpeting the family message, all the while failing to understand what it’s doing to those whose families failed, fell prey to death, or never were.

There’s cocooning and then there’s sin. We may very well be teetering toward the latter. Jesus had this to say about family priorities:

Then Peter said in reply, “See, we have left everything and followed you. What then will we have?” Jesus said to them, “Truly, I say to you, in the new world, when the Son of Man will sit on his glorious throne, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel. And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands, for my name’s sake, will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and the last first.
—Matthew 19:27-30 ESV

And…

Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.
—Matthew 10:37 ESV

What is also not worthy is promoting the family message in our churches while failing to meet true Kingdom family needs. Loving Christ more than anyone else means that our attitudes toward family must become like His. And His look radically different:

While he was still speaking to the people, behold, his mother and his brothers stood outside, asking to speak to him. But he replied to the man who told him, “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” And stretching out his hand toward his disciples, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.”
—Matthew 12:46-50 ESV

We’re always thinking about the needs of our own biological families, but Jesus turned that on its head. The single mom I referred to above wants nothing more than the time of a man or two to invest in her sons—not tomorrow, not a year from now should she have a proposal from a boyfriend, but right now. (How about taking them to some ballgames or to the movies?) The unmarried man who lives in Burbank while his folks are in Bangor shouldn’t have to sit alone on Christmas. A Christian family should be making certain he spends that day with them (and have a gift for him, too.) Wouldn’t that young single woman in your church who’s from out of town love to have a home-cooked meal at the table of a Christian family willing to make her a part of theirs?

Are we making any of that happen? Or are we cocooning so brilliantly that no one from the outside can penetrate our perfect little shell? (What message does that send our kids about “outsiders”?)

All families are a gift from God, be that physically formed or spiritually created. Despite our obsession with family, our inability to incorporate the less easily incorporated folks into our physical families means that we may not be doing a good job with those spiritual families. Those on the outside looking in hear the ubiquitous family message, but it sounds to them like, “You’re not invited.”

Yeah, I know that there are churches that huddle the guys up to do oil changes and car repairs for single moms. We need more than that, though. While a mechanic may be nice, a surrogate dad for that mom’s kids is even more needed. And if single people embarrass us so much that we have to shove them into their own little groups to do whatever single people do today (nice temptation, huh?), why can’t we do a better job of incorporating them into our families and looking out for prospective mates? In my bachelor days, I knew plenty of singles who would have loved a bit of help with both.

No, the messages we send are hopelessly hypocritical when it comes to family. Too often we treat single moms and dads with an attitude that they’d be better off if they were married. That may very well be, but what are we doing to make that possible? Are we willing to watch their kids while they engage in a real dating life? If we want them to make a good selection in a mate, it may take a year or two. Ask yourself: If I don’t do it, who will? From what I’ve personally witnessed, there’s no line forming, so you may be the only one.

And who’s to say the elderly widow or widower in our churches can’t become another grandma or grandpa to our kids? God knows that my own family would be delighted to have someone filled with sixty years or more of godly living to replace my deceased parents in my own son’s life. His other set of grandparents are 220 miles away. Can any of us have too many God-fearing family members nearby? If you love the Lord and want to be a part of my family, the house is open!

No one said any of this would be easy. It asks something of us, whether we’re blessed with a nuclear family of 4.5 or we’re single, divorced, widowed—whatever. But if we’re not willing to treat like real family those that fall outside the boundaries of what our rule books say is “real family,” then we have no right to talk about the Church being the family of God because we’re not modeling it.

The early Church made a family for the widows and the orphans. Are we doing the same?

Hidden Messages of American Christianity: “Pastor O’Gill and the Little People”

Standard

Pastor O'Gill and the Little PeopleThis is the fourth in a series of posts covering the hidden messages that sneak into American churches’ proclamation of the Gospel. For more background, please refer to this post.

Ugh. Yeah, that title’s a woefully forced play on the old Disney flick about leprechauns. Hey, I can’t be a fount of creative wit every day, right?

Some “little people” who came out in droves when I asked for a suggestion of other hidden messages in American Christianity. Oddly enough, they were the least likely people to shout out a suggestion, but shout they did. In fact, I was afraid that if I did not post concerning their plight, I might be beaten to death by a shillelagh.

I’m not sure I can quote a Scriptural passage detailing the necessity of introverts for the Church, but neither can I make much case for all the raging extroverts who occupy just about every position of prominence in many churches.

There’s no doubt that I’m a raging extrovert. For most of my life I was deemed “intimidating”: 6’4″ 215 lbs, “Boeing 747 at takeoff” in vocal decibel strength (and nearly as constant as the traffic on Runway #2 at San Francisco International), and an “Oh yeah? Prove it!” kind of attitude. Got something to say that everyone wants said, but no one’s got the testosterone to say it? Ask Dan; he’ll say anything. In fact, we can’t shut the guy up. (Please, someone, anyone, find his off switch! We’re begging!) Now that I’ve crossed forty, I finally learned my lesson. Now I try to listen at least as well as I yammer. Nor does the limelight offer the same temptation it once did.

To the average introverted person, though, Dan circa 1985 was either the kiss of death or an object of awe—in the same way that the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion or an attack of flesh-eating bacteria inspires horrifying, sickening awe. “I…can’t…look…away! And the goggles, they do nothing!” What does this have to do with hidden messages in American Christianity? Well, here’s an exchange that actually occurred recently (in HEAVY paraphrase):

Dan: Some people are intimidated when they walk into a church. And even when they’ve grown accustomed to it, you still need to personally ask them to volunteer for things.

Extrovert #1: Preposterous! Why, no one has to ask me to do anything—I’m just there. And nine times out of ten, I’m leading the whole shebang! Why when I was in Desert Storm—

Extrovert #2 (loudly inserting a word edgewise): Well, in the thirty years I’ve been a member of this church—and that was before any of you were here, I might add—I’ve never heard such a thing!

Introvert #1 (taking his life in his hands): Uh, if I may interrupt, the reason you’ve never heard such a thing is that you’re always talking.

Introvert #2: {Silent nodding.}

Talk to any expert on this subject and they’ll tell you that America is the most extroverted country in the world and the complete converse of the rest of the world. We’re about 75% extroverts and 25% introverts. I think only the Australians approach that level of in-your-faceness.

There are plenty of sources out there that claim that the American church is increasingly becoming Hollywood-lite, a non-stop exercise in entertainment, but this is not the place for me to go down that path. All I can add is that as the need to make ourselves (supposedly) appealing to the world increases, our level of extroversion increases proportionately. A spectacle then, by definition, must be an expression of unrestrained extroversion. Is it any wonder then that today’s churches are noted for their stages rather than their altars?

When Pastor O’Gill stands up and tells the congregation to “Meet and greet your neighbor” or to “Pass the peace,” I’m certain a few hardcore introverts are wondering if they’re lucky enough to be in a church that has one of those “defibrillators for dummies” that are cropping up here and there. Worse yet, be the introverted visitors who are asked to stand up and introduce themselves to the gawk-eyed regulars! O’Gill then offers that church life revolves around small groups where real sharing (an introvert’s worst nightmare) occurs. And lastly, one of the worship committee gets up to say that there’s a lack of Scripture readers who can be called upon at a moment’s notice to read the weekly passages during the service. Oh, thank goodness. All the extroverts raised their hands—another bullet dodged.

(Megachurches are an odd thing for introverts, though. So big that the agoraphobia kicks in or so big that one can get lost in the crowd, get in and get out, with no one hurt? No way to tell. Maybe a little of both.)

Still, somewhere between the blare of a John Eldredge-inspired movie clip on the massive stage-flanking screens and the plethora of people clapping and raising their hands up for God (and everyone else) to see, introverts have got to be wondering if the message of the Church is “Next week, we’re gonna make you dance in the aisles, too.” And this is an Episcopal church!

Yeah, the tone of this post is a little lighter, but that’s only because I’m coming from that grossly overcompensated for extroverted side of the church. I can live in that world, though the spectacle of it sometimes makes even me a little queasy. Yet no matter how you look at it, nearly everything the Church does in 2005 is geared to people who talk first and ask questions later. Quiet is anathema in our sanctuaries on Sunday, as if reflection before the Lord is a diabolical plot hatched up by monks—Roman Catholic monks.

Not all people do relational well. While women outperform on the interpersonal side of things—the side that points to some level of extroversion—men don’t like all that hugging and chatting. When we see that churches today are about 62/38 female to male with that ratio growing more disproportionate, could it have something to do with the fact that extroversion and feelings are hailed by the American Church of 2005 while introversion and thinking are dwindling away in the message? In addition, the extroverted, anti-intellectual way we conduct many of our churches may be contributing to the dearth of Christian intellectuals today (who are typically men whether we like it or not.)

Let’s look at this another way. What’s the scariest possible Christian church denomination for an introvert? Pentecostals. Most comfortable is an old school Presbyterian or Episcopal church. To an introvert, there’s probably people ready to speak in tongues or hankering to jump a pew in that Pentecostal frenzy, whereas in the Episcopal church they may even let you sit in the narthex instead of the sanctuary if you ask meekly enough. Yet what is the trend in many of those old school churches? Well, no worse words could be heard than the pastor proclaiming from the pulpit, “Next week we begin our new contemporary praise and worship service. We permit you to raise your in hands worship, too.” Where can a true introvert go?

I hear the Orthodox Church is growing….

In all seriousness, while the message may be that we want all people to join in the community of saints, our delivery, and the message we’re proclaiming—even if we say it nicely—is that only extroverts need apply. We don’t know how to reach the introverts in our churches. We may have droned on so long that they may actually have had something to say that is vitally important to the health and welfare of the congregation, but we missed it amid the noise.

I’m not an introvert. I understand, however, that some of the pillars of our churches are those people who serve unseen. They’re not the glamour boys who hog the spiritual spotlight, but they’re the old men who have an intercessory prayer ministry only they know about, a ministry that has prayed over every person in the church at least once. They’re the folks who may be the only one sitting at the hospital bed, lending quiet comfort to the ill. No one notices them come in or leave, but they were there. Perhaps they, too, prayed powerful prayers that shook the gates of heaven.

We extroverts, the majority, are sending the wrong message in the church to people who are introverts. We need to step back and see if there are betters means for incorporating the types of spiritual exercises that appeal to introverts. We have to understand how the ways in which introverts can minister can benefit us all in the Church. We may have to stop assuming that because we gave a blanket greeting to a small collection of people on Sunday, we sufficiently greeted the introverts. We need to stop talking for a second and start listening. God sometimes speaks in whispers, so even He has an introverted side, too.

As much as this post has been a defense of introverts and the necessary ministry they bring, as an extrovert I must ask this of introverts: Meet us halfway. We’ll promise to tone down the frantic extroverted message we’re shilling if you’re willing to understand that community only works if you’re actively involved in the life of the church on all levels.

Deal?