Dear Church*,
The past few years have been both years that ask questions and years that answer (thank you, Zora Neale Hurston). Along with the whole world, it seems, you have been undergoing a significant transition.
There have been tectonic shifts over the years, rumbling under the surface, knocking down long-standing edifices, shaking the ground beneath your feet. You might have been able to ignore the first few warning vibrations, but I don’t think you can deny the seismic movements that are happening now.
I need to say a difficult thing, as a lifelong churchgoer, as someone who deeply loves the church, as a pastor.
A large part of my vocation as an ordained minister is to pray and discern and see the church as it is, as it could be. It is my job to think about the church, as a whole and in its various iterations, theologically.
So I say this difficult thing so that you don’t have to say it first.
I say these hard things because perhaps in me saying them out loud by myself, it will give you courage to say them out loud with each other.
The difficult thing I want to say is to those with power, those in charge, those who are the movers and shakers in your congregation, in your denomination, in your circles of influence. You likely have gray hair and laugh lines. You have more memories than one room can hold.
In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus gives a curious spin on a pretty straightforward command. He says,
“You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder,’ and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment, and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council, and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire. So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift” (Matthew 5:21-24).
Instead of putting the boundary at murder, Jesus says to not even allow a matter to remain unresolved. In fact, reconciling and repairing the relationship fully—not just saying sorry and expecting automatic forgiveness—is so important that you are to leave your gift at the altar to do just that.
This is impractical advice because do you know what kinds of offerings these people are bringing to the altar? Live pigeons and goats.
With this hyperbolic command, Jesus is communicating the urgency of repentance and repair by saying, it’d be better if your goat wandered off than for you to sacrifice it with unresolved conflict with your brother or sister. It’d be better to have bird shit all over the altar than for you to be divided from another.
In the turning of this classic command, Jesus does two things: he locates himself within tradition. He says, “You have heard that it was said…”
And then he says, “But I say to you…”
In other words, tradition will not have the last word here.
Church, who you are now, today, is what you make of the past.
And who you will be in the future, is what you make of today.
And this day, I invite you to let go of your idealization of the past. Unclench your fists from things that belong in the past.
You have heard that it was said not to make any graven images among you. But I say to you, any time you ask, “Why don’t we do this anymore?” you make a graven image of yesterday.
I wonder if you are scared.
What will happen if you stop obsessing over what was?
If you loosen your grip of control, will you be forgotten? Will you be lost in the sea of change? Will you be left behind?
But come, let us reason together:
Change is not an affront to all the good work you have done. Transitions are not only indictments of the old. Change and transition are the natural processes of life.
Things will continue to change because they always have.
To try to return to a former glory, to the way things were done, to cultural influence, to “old time religion,” to programs whose heyday was decades ago, to whatever image materializes as the answer to bring back what was is a waste of the resources you have left.
And to squander those resources on building a time machine is to rob this church of its future.
You have heard that it was said, do not steal. But I say to you every time you think about holding on to your vision of the church, you have stolen from your neighbor.
We can’t afford nostalgia. It costs too much.
Because let tell me tell you something about theft.
As a church, we are a community of mutuality, of shared goods, of resources passed back and forth.
When you rob from others, you rob from the whole.
You rob from yourselves.
The more you obsess and campaign and protect your pet projects and private images of a church long gone, the more you isolate yourself and scarcify church.
It may seem like you are only trying to preserve yourself, but in reality, you’re killing yourself.
These self-isolation and self-preservation attitudes and behaviors are the antithesis of Christianity.
What if the tides that have changed in the Big C Church and in so many of the Little C churches are not tidal waves of destruction?
What if they are trying to move this boat to better seas, to open seas to allow for more sailing rather crashing into the rocks?
The world of today is very different from the world of 50 years ago. Of even 10 years ago. Of 5 years ago.
And so it must be that things within this institution change drastically in order to adapt.
And some of the best sailors you’ve got here are the ones who don’t have memories of different seas, of sailing in the past. Some of the best sailors are the ones who were born on these waters.
So put down your swords and pick up some oars, and follow their lead.
We will not leave you behind. We are all on the same boat. And we are ready to row with you, to show you which way to sail and how to adjust to these different winds. You will not be lost at sea.
Any voice that tells you that you will be lost or left alone is not the voice of the gospel.
Because the gospel is a message of abundance, not scarcity.
Of enoughness, not competition.
Of letting go in order to be found, not clinging so tightly that you die with frozen fists.
Step down from the captain role and the backseat captain role, and learn from the neighbors you’ve been wanting all along.
Because God would rather have goats and pigeons shitting all over the altar than for you to sit there isolated from your community.
You have heard that it was said—we are the product of what came before.
But I say to you, the future is not written yet.
You still have time to write a different story.
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*Predominantly white, North American, mainline church
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