Why I Love the Church, Part 2: Mexican New Years

In my last post I talked about the church. It was crazy how people responded with encouraging comments. Who would have dreamed that would happen? And it is so much fun talking about the good things about church for a change. Maybe I should do it more often! So I decided to carry this discussion over into another post—but this one is a little different. Instead of talking about what church does, I want to talk about who church is.

So I go to Mexico a lot. Well, “a lot” might be an understatement! I go all the time. I am there at least a few months of every year—I am about to take my 4th trip for 2007! I really like it down there: I feel welcomed there. Wanted there. Useful there. Now that is not to say that I do not feel that here in the States; I just feel it more intensely down there. If you have ever done any missions you know exactly what I am talking about.

But one of the biggest reasons I go down there so often is because some of my closest friends live there. And I love to spend time with my friends. In fact, there is nothing I love to do more. Maybe write. No. I like to spend time with them more—then write about it later.

Okay, back to church…

When I read 1 Corinthians 11, I see it as being about the class barriers. The rich were not eating with the poor. The Corinthian church just can’t seem to get over the Greco-Roman (or is it American?) tendency to separate according to class. They had not learned the way of Christ. The way of his table.

His table is about equality. Equality in light of the Christ narrative.

But are we any different? If we were honest, we’d most likely say “no.” Our churches are still socio-economically and racially quite segregated. And if the churches themselves aren’t segregated, then the cliques that form within them are.

A blatant over-generalization, I know. But basically right.

But on New Years 2006/2007 almost all of the church with which I work in Mexico got together for huge party. We ate pozole (a traditional Mexican soup made with chicken, veggies, onions, lime, and salsa—it is very good!). We laughed. We sang. We danced. We talked. For hours. The party lasted into the wee hours of the morning when everyone made their tired ways home. A great time was had by all.

But what was so great about that party was not what we did—by party standards, we really didn’t do all that much. I am pretty sure there was no alcohol there, and no one “hooked up” with anyone. What was great was who was there.

When I look at pictures from that night I do not see “young couples,” or “singles.” I do not see “rich people,” or “the poor.” I do not see “elderly” church members or “children.” I do, however, see family. My brothers and sisters in Cuernavaca are all ages, and of all levels of intelligence. They are financially diverse. Each member struggles with a different kind of sin, and each has different strengths. But they are a family—my family. That night we were the body of Christ.

All were there. All ate together. All played together.

Let’s be honest, there were lots of people there that could have been at other parties. Believe it or not, there are more glamorous places on earth than a literally homemade house in the middle of a central Mexican slum. But there we were. We were there with and for one another. Doing nothing but loving one another. Having fun with one another.

Isn’t that what 1 Corinthians 11 is really getting at? I think that Christ was more present that night—in that dinner and party that broke down barriers of all kinds—than he is in so many “Lord’s Supper” moments in our worship services. Is that fair?

Why I Love the Church

So I love the church. There, I said it. Ha! I know it is almost the cardinal sin to speak of church in a favorable manor while being in seminary, but I don’t care. Call me a traitor. A regular Benedict Arnold of the theologically elite. But it is true. I love it. And here is why…

Thursday I got a call. It was one of those calls that I’ll never for the rest of my life forget. I was picking my baggage up in the Atlanta airport after an exhausting week-long mission trip to Ensenada, Mexico with Vaughn Park Church of Christ. As soon as I got my bag, my mother called. She called to tell me that my brother had been rushed to the ER in Nashville to have a spinal tap. They thought he had meningitus.

Needless to say, I was stopped. Horrified. Completely weak. I thought of him. I thought of how much I love him and how much I wanted to be there with him. If you have ever been away from someone you love when something big like that happens, you know how it can be. Horrible. Maybe one of the worst feelings humanity can face.

And what is worse, he was alone. All of his friends were home for the summer. He was just staying by himself in the dorm for a few weeks taking a summer course.

Rushed to the ER. Afraid of a terrible disease. And completely alone.

And what could I do? Nothing. I couldn’t even be with him. I have never felt so weak.

So I called Jon, one of my roommates from FHU who lives in Nashville. I called him and asked him to just be with my brother. To give him the infamous ministry of presence. I simply uttered the words “I need you,” and he was there a few minutes later. He said, “Matt, don’t worry. I am here.”

You know how there are people in your life about whom you say, “If I ever needed them, they’d be here in a second”? Well, he actually did it. He was there for my brother, my family, and me at the drop of a hat.

Within a few moments of his arrival at the hospital, my brother was no longer alone.

That is church.

I think that I saw Christ more in Jon that night than I did in myself on the mission trip I’d just been on. No, I know I did. Jon gave my brother something that cannot really be described, much less haphazardly given—community. Community in the name of Jesus. As part of his body, the church, we have a responsibility to one another. To love one another. To bless one another. To be Christ to one another. And although Jon was just there with my brother, he was there with him. And that is Christ in him.

Christ lives after all in his church.

So Thursday my family saw Christianity. We didn’t just read about it. We didn’t just meditate on it. We saw it. We felt it. We were sustained by it.

Luckily, the results came back negative. My brother does not have meningitus. Soli Deo Gloria. Just a really bad infection. So I saw God in more ways than I can count that day. But mostly through Jon. And that because of church.

We, in the church, truly are the most blessed of all people. May we never forget that.

This is my prayer tonight.

God, thank you for Jesus. Thank you for his body, the church. For through it he is alive and well.

In spite of us—our weaknesses and failures—we have him alive in us.

Thank you. For this we worship you.

You are beautiful. You are worthy of praise. You are compassion. You are love. You are holy. You sustain the weak. Heal the sick. You are the one I saw yesterday. And today. And will tomorrow.

Jesus Should Have Been A Senator

I, like so many of you, recently watched Jesus Camp. I can safely say that it was the scariest movie I have ever seen. I am not, in any way, kidding about that. It frightened me. It frightened me because it presented a worldview that goes against my core Christian beliefs. To even imagine what America would be like if it were to fall into the hands of people like the (militant) right-wing fundamentalist Evangelicals like Becky Fischer, or anyone like her, is frightening to me.

One of the many things that has struck me as particularly disturbing is how extremely political the people documented in this movie are. They have mixed their religion and their politics so much that you can’t tell where one ends and one begins. They were brainwashing these poor children with ideas they do not even understand—and most of these ideas had to do with “reclaiming” America for Christ. I found it appalling.

They kept bringing up government over and over again to these kids with regard to their Christian responsibility. To be faithful Christians, they were encouraged to be senators, congressmen, and the like.

Politicians.

They told the kids to be politicians in order to be faithful to Jesus! Government is to be their primary responsibility! Where did they get that from? Certainly not the NT.

I am a Christian. But I found that profoundly distorted view of Christianity disgusting.

What does it mean, exactly, to “reclaim” America for Christ? That makes it sound as though we were, at one point, a Christian nation. My question is: What point in our history was the Christian part?

If it were not so fundamentally disturbing, the irony would be hilarious.

Jesus was not a politician. That is about all I know.

Plagiarized Musings for a 10 Minute Discussion

So I know that God is good and all… I know he is, right? He is good to all of those people who are good to him—or so they want you to think! I am a Christian, have been for some time now. But I have a confession to make: I have a hard time buying it sometimes. And recently I almost “fell.” Let me explain…

But before I begin, you need to know something about me: I have a problem with lust. I really do. I mean, I live on a college campus. What do you expect?! And it has been a real spiritual battle for me.

And so the other day I met my old high school friend Russell at a coffee shop in downtown Nashville to just catch up on each other’s lives. I rambled a little about school and work, as I normally do. But he began to tell me all about his most recent relationships—some of which were sexual in nature.

And immediately I began to feel foolish. That is the word. Foolish.

I felt foolish because I hadn’t had any experiences like that to share with him. I felt almost weak compared to him—even though I am doing what I am “supposed” to be doing.

But mostly, you want to know what I felt? Jealous. I was jealous. After all, we are both the same age. But here I am working at a church and going to seminary—spending my days and nights in a library, and he is out on Broadway every weekend.

And it isn’t just him. There are so many of our mutual friends (both male and female) at Belmont that are doing the same things. And they just seem to have it made. They date around with lots of people, and none of them worry about these “rules” of sexual purity this religion puts on me. They seem happier and more at ease with their positions in life as a result.

And they just don’t get it when I tell them that I am not sleeping with my girlfriend for religious reasons. Like the other day when I was at Russell’s house talking to his roomate Brian. He asked, in passing, how often we had sex. And I told him that we were waiting. He laughed at me—and then he called me a monk!

Again…foolish. It was funny and joking, but hurtful.

So, I guess the main purpose of this blog is to ask the question: Is this even worth it? Have I been basically wasting my time? I think I may have. Is this really doing anything good for me? And what makes it harder is that I know Russell and Brian have it easier than I do.

But saying that is a little strange to me. It is, isn’t it? It goes against all I have become—with respect to relationship with God and Christianity. I know this is a little internal dialogue “vomitted” out on the internet—but bear with me!

This was huge: I went to worship last night. I just sat down, discouraged about the conversation with Russell. The teacher got up and gave a lesson on the blessing of relationship with God. It was so incredibly thought-provoking. It got me thinking about the reality of Russell and Brian’s lives.

And truthfully, I am not so sure they have it all that great. Neither one of them have a church home. Their only friends are the guys they party with. There have a few people they hang out with at work, but it is nothing really deep. And I think they miss that. In fact, I know they do.

So I have to keep telling myself that. I have to constantly remind myself of the reality that they might not have everything I think I want. Is that fair? I am sure that I have some things in my life that they wish they had—like a deep spiritual life full of prayer and meditation.

God is my strength. I have messed up in this struggle of mine…I am not going to lie. But he lifts me up. I know he does. And that makes it all worth it.

So, I guess God really is good. Right? He is here with me. In this very moment he is helping me with this struggle of mine. And I trust that enough to where it makes a difference in the way I feel about faith most of the time—even when I almost “fall.”

Is this making sense? Questions, comments, statements, declarations?