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?