This morning, I listened to an amazing message about destiny. Or maybe, it was about the density of destiny - either way, it was a very provocative sermon and one that got me to thinking about some things.
In recent months, I've heard a variety of sermons about serving others. These have come by way of my own church and pastors and pod casts I subscribe to. It seems as though the church in general has begun to dive head first into the "share with me" movement. I think this is a beautiful thing in general, but looking at it closer to home brings grievance to my soul.
No speaking specifically of my own church, but of churches I know and have known I have to say that I find the "be vulnerable with me, share your soul with me" movement somewhat of a flawed double standard. We as the church are reaching out - into our colleges, our communities, to the poor, the orphaned, the widows. We have programs for addicts, for alkies, for the homeless, for single mothers. We feed them, change their oil, distribute school supply and Christmas charity. We meet in coffeehouses and hold a hand when they speak to us, when they share their wounded hearts. We give them rides to church and carry a supply of tissue for those moments when God touches us both. We give - our eyes, our hearts, our ears. We share the intimacy of touch and the gift of our listening. We are changing lives.
And yet, within the doors of the church, there are members who are contriving silent suicides because their souls are so empty. While we ask God to give us His eyes for the community, for the hurting. . .we are so busy seeking the wounded we miss the ones right in front of us. When did we decide that we must build a living house OUTSIDE of the church? At what point did the lost become our most compelling mission? We are so busily seeking these sheep who've never had a shepherd that we are one by one losing the lambs in our own flocks.
The Vineyard church has an amazing outreach to the community where they demonstrate God in practical ways. A cold coke or bottle of water, cleaning a toilet, a pack of gum. These are amazing ways to show the love of God to people. I'll NEVER argue that point, and I think more churches need to take a clue. But I think that we are sacrificing our own people for the hope of winning souls, and I can't imagine that's what Christ had in mind when He sent the disciples out to win the world.
Why are we so afraid of the wounds of those we worship with? What is it about our own hurts that frighten us? I heard from a friend who is a pastor that people do not seek out healing in their own church - they go to another body. I have to wonder why this is. I don't think it's b/c of trust honestly, but I believe that we are so "lost focused" we don't have time for our own, or we don't feel as though there is time for our problems. Why is it so hard for us to seek out the listening ear. . .especially when we've been the ear. Why is it so hard to reach out and touch. . .especially when we've offered our own hands. Why do we look right past the hurt in the eyes of the woman behind us when we "meet and greet" during worship? What is it we are so afraid of?
Walking the walk is the fundamental principle of this faith of ours. But, we must walk within the church as well. What we give so freely to those who are "lost" must given as freely to those we stand next to, worship with, and break bread with.
I heard my pastor speak several weeks ago about a man who took the time to sit and listen to him when he was going through some rough times in his own life. I don't know the whole story, but I didn't hear that the friend had all the answers, or even life changing advice. What I did hear in my pastors words and resonating in his voice was life giving the time was to him. The fact that the friend sat, listened, and heard his brokenness had a powerful effect on him. So much so that years later he still speaks of it.
People aren't looking for the right answers - they're looking for someone who has the time to hear their questions, their fears, their thoughts. And some of those people, they're right here in our own church. They aren't always lost, they aren't always single parents, or addicts or drunks. Sometimes, they're students, businessmen, housewives. Sometimes they're just like me and you.
In recent months, I've heard a variety of sermons about serving others. These have come by way of my own church and pastors and pod casts I subscribe to. It seems as though the church in general has begun to dive head first into the "share with me" movement. I think this is a beautiful thing in general, but looking at it closer to home brings grievance to my soul.
No speaking specifically of my own church, but of churches I know and have known I have to say that I find the "be vulnerable with me, share your soul with me" movement somewhat of a flawed double standard. We as the church are reaching out - into our colleges, our communities, to the poor, the orphaned, the widows. We have programs for addicts, for alkies, for the homeless, for single mothers. We feed them, change their oil, distribute school supply and Christmas charity. We meet in coffeehouses and hold a hand when they speak to us, when they share their wounded hearts. We give them rides to church and carry a supply of tissue for those moments when God touches us both. We give - our eyes, our hearts, our ears. We share the intimacy of touch and the gift of our listening. We are changing lives.
And yet, within the doors of the church, there are members who are contriving silent suicides because their souls are so empty. While we ask God to give us His eyes for the community, for the hurting. . .we are so busy seeking the wounded we miss the ones right in front of us. When did we decide that we must build a living house OUTSIDE of the church? At what point did the lost become our most compelling mission? We are so busily seeking these sheep who've never had a shepherd that we are one by one losing the lambs in our own flocks.
The Vineyard church has an amazing outreach to the community where they demonstrate God in practical ways. A cold coke or bottle of water, cleaning a toilet, a pack of gum. These are amazing ways to show the love of God to people. I'll NEVER argue that point, and I think more churches need to take a clue. But I think that we are sacrificing our own people for the hope of winning souls, and I can't imagine that's what Christ had in mind when He sent the disciples out to win the world.
Why are we so afraid of the wounds of those we worship with? What is it about our own hurts that frighten us? I heard from a friend who is a pastor that people do not seek out healing in their own church - they go to another body. I have to wonder why this is. I don't think it's b/c of trust honestly, but I believe that we are so "lost focused" we don't have time for our own, or we don't feel as though there is time for our problems. Why is it so hard for us to seek out the listening ear. . .especially when we've been the ear. Why is it so hard to reach out and touch. . .especially when we've offered our own hands. Why do we look right past the hurt in the eyes of the woman behind us when we "meet and greet" during worship? What is it we are so afraid of?
Walking the walk is the fundamental principle of this faith of ours. But, we must walk within the church as well. What we give so freely to those who are "lost" must given as freely to those we stand next to, worship with, and break bread with.
I heard my pastor speak several weeks ago about a man who took the time to sit and listen to him when he was going through some rough times in his own life. I don't know the whole story, but I didn't hear that the friend had all the answers, or even life changing advice. What I did hear in my pastors words and resonating in his voice was life giving the time was to him. The fact that the friend sat, listened, and heard his brokenness had a powerful effect on him. So much so that years later he still speaks of it.
People aren't looking for the right answers - they're looking for someone who has the time to hear their questions, their fears, their thoughts. And some of those people, they're right here in our own church. They aren't always lost, they aren't always single parents, or addicts or drunks. Sometimes, they're students, businessmen, housewives. Sometimes they're just like me and you.
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