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July 28, 2013 4:37 pm

Come as you are: the issue of church garb

2 comments
by    in Identity

The church is known to be a liminal experience. Whether we like it or not, there is an “inside” and an “outside” of the church. Now this is something I think should be combated, for two reasons. Firstly, because it means that for some people, what happens in the church stays in the church. Secondly, because it means that some people will just not feel like they can come into church.

On top of the literal threshold of the church, there are many elements which can contribute to this liminal aspect. One of these is what to wear to church. The phrase “Sunday best” has come into standard vocabulary: some people dress up for church. Thankfully, people have also realised that this dressing up often is a barrier to others, and dress code in modern churches has been relaxed. The “Come as you are“, unconditional acceptance of others when they come in, has been taken in by many; and you will now see in many churches people wearing a T-Shirt and shorts, sometimes even with inappropriate flip-flops.

bart

Photo: Francis Bijl, reused under CC license

Casually dressed people are less and less likely to feel out of place in churches: that’s good. Some people are making a conscious effort to dress down and be more welcoming to newcomers and to allow them to come as they are. That’s very good. Some people are starting to internally rebuke those who are still putting on their Sunday best for not understanding the Gospel of free, unconditional grace: that’s less good. Far less good.

Acceptance of others wherever they are does not automatically mean going for whichever attire requires the least effort. It does not mean deliberately going for the most visibly permissive choice, whether it is in terms of worship style, church garb, or even issues of behaviour.

It is usually the case that such an attitude is positive: churches, historically, have been bastions of proper, decent behaviour; and the perspective associated with that adds to the liminal experience of people going to church. But we must be careful that in doing so, we do not increase the liminal experience for those who are used to what might once have been termed decent behaviour.

People who like wearing a tie (or, if they’re cool, a bow tie) may feel out of place in a church where such efforts have been made that everyone wears shorts and T-Shirts. People who are ill at ease with homosexuality may feel out of place in a church where a liberal discourse has dominated all the discussions. In short, the informal crew does not have a monopoly on finding there is a threshold to cross to come into church, and the more traditional people must not be forgotten in our efforts to make the church a place where people are welcome to come as they are.

Of course, this must not come in the way of truth. If people feel that showing up in posh attire makes them better than the informal people, or that it is somehow effective to their salvation; they must be gently reminded of the Gospel of grace. But that can only happen if they can show up in church in that posh attire, or with this mindset, in the first place. Otherwise, they’re just going to discard whatever is told them or go somewhere else.

So, look around you in church. See how much of a mix it is. If you find nobody is wearing formal attire, do it for a while – not for the sake of being different; but for the sake of allowing others to bring themselves more fully into church. If you find nobody is wearing casual clothes, do it for a while. For the same reasons.

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December 23, 2012 1:45 pm

There was no space at the inn… a tale about predestination

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by    in Bible

As Christmas is coming very, very soon, we all tend to look back to stories of Nativity. Jesus was born in a manger, in a stable because there was no space at the inn.

nativity

Photo – Evelyn Simak, reused under CC license

Surprising? Let’s ignore the historical elements for a bit, and go with the culturally overwhelming view: many people had gone back to Bethlehem for the census, and poor Mary and Joseph did not book ahead because, obviously, they had no smartphone to do so (seriously, how did they cope?). Still surprising – and of all the places that God could choose to be born in, why choose that specific time and place?

The easiest interpretation is to go for the poverty argument: Jesus, siding with the poor and coming to dwell with us, should also dwell with the poor. Simples, makes sense. Except he then goes on to receive Kingly gifts… Ah, the contrasts of Christianity! But that is for another post altogether.

So there is still some surprise. Let us, still imagining the inn as an ancient day Travelodge, suppose there was room at the inn. Joseph (or Mary!) would have given some money and stayed at the inn. He would have been entitled to stay. It would have been a contractual relationship: one where he receives shelter in exchange for money.

That they were allowed to stay in the stable is extra-contractual. It comes as a freewill offering of whomever the stable belongs to: in short, Joseph and Mary weren’t entitled to stay the night there, yet they did. Welcoming the Incarnate God was not forced upon anyone; rather, it was the outcome of a free decision.

The situation may be worse, however. See, as I found out while researching for this post, there was (probably) no inn; rather, Luke was talking about a guest room.

The word κατάλυμα, seemingly, refers to a guest room; whereas inns involving payment are referred to with a different word (πανδοχεῖον). A common interpretation is that Joseph, returning to his hometown, had relatives there who could (and should!) lodge them all. So what happened? We’re just told there was no room in the guest room. Admittedly, the possibility remains that Joseph had siblings (we don’t know about them!), and that they also came back, thereby filling up the guest room. But it seems unlikely that it was so full there was no space at all for Joseph and Mary; especially considering the greater need of a pregnant woman (although that may be a modern Western view).

What this means is that Joseph’s relatives (let us assume) came up with an excuse not to welcome them in, and allowed them, possibly grudgingly, to stay downstairs with the animals. After all, Mary had conceived outside of wedlock, and well-to-do villagers could not possibly allow an unmarried pregger in. So they did the very minimum they could do and allowed them to stay at arm’s length, with the animals.

Rejected, scorned by the ones who should have welcomed him. It’s not a matter of making the positive choice to accept Jesus into the kataluma; it’s a matter of actually refusing to do what we were elected to do, refusing to welcome him into our hearts, minds and souls. That grace may not be irresistible, does not allow us to boast in receiving it, because it is still undeserved and our response is what we ought to do anyway.

Just like Joseph’s relatives, we’d need  an excuse. We find that easily. We say, sometimes, that there is no room for religion, no room for prayer, no room for a relationship in our lives – or that we’re not ready; but that sometime, maybe, we might take the time to look into that. I wonder, what our excuses are sometimes, and whether we make sure there is room nor just in our mind, but also in our heart and soul.

Do we allow Jesus into our stable or do we let him in to our innermost?

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October 14, 2012 11:08 am

A calling to the obvious

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by    in Calling,Notes

Calling to “the ministry” seems fairly narrow from the outside. But think of a “vocation to teach”, for instance. Yes, it is already a specific calling, but from the inside, there is a very wide range of practices included in teaching.

For instance: what level are you called to teach? Will you teach Special Needs? What will you teach? Where? And far more importantly, why do you want to teach?

The job descriptions limit these questions in no small way. Depending on where you are employed, you will end up a maths teacher in charge of 11-12 year-old students, in a school where pastoral care is entirely the prerogative of someone else. I ended up teaching* measure theory to 3rd year undergrads. As part of this job, there is an amount of things I am required to do. It wouldn’t do to let anyone leave the room without a firm grasp on what is countable or not.

But the mistake, spelled out clearly in all books on ministry that I have read, would be to try and fit my calling into a job description. When I was teaching measure theory, I saw my mission as going further than simply getting the kids (yes, 3rd year undergrads are kids) to know how the axiom of choice leads to the existence of non-measurable sets (and, later, to Banach-Tarski paradox). Some see their mission as awakening the kids to the beauty of maths; I saw mine as allowing them to grow at their own pace, and feel at home with these beautiful concepts. And to get them through exams.

The Devil’s Staircase (I knew I could mix maths and theology somehow) – source: Wikipedia user Gargan, reused under CC license

Yet even as I write these words, I am restricting what my vocation was (in the context of undergrad teaching) to an outcome. To “doing” something. But it was far more than that, it was more than a job. It was, very much, creating ties with my students, allowing them to be themselves with me; and that was something that felt very natural (even though not every teacher is doing it).

That’s the issue I get when trying to articulate my calling to ordained ministry. I start by looking at the parts of ordained ministry that are in the job description (attending PCC meetings, giving sermons, leading and presiding worship, pastoral care, etc.). Yes, all that will be part of what I’ll be called to do; but it shouldn’t be my starting point in articulating my ministry. It should be what my calling later slots into.

Where it gets tricky, is that what I am called to is very deeply rooted in me. So much so that it feels natural, to the point that it seems wrong to spell it out. It feels wrong because, surely, everybody would agree with it, and it barely needs pointing out. So how do I identify the nature of my calling? Through conversation. Through discerning what is shared with everyone from what belongs to my calling.

Last Thursday, I engaged in conversation on whether helping the poor should include teaching them how to use the help – whether, to cut a long conversation short, financial support could be given to people without at the same time teaching them that grocery shopping should come before large screen TVs. I was passionately on the side that support should be unconditional (but that the offer to help should also include, as an option, that teaching). Because of many reasons, but mostly because I am passionate about letting people “come as they are”, and about allowing them to grow at their own pace, in an environment that welcomes them.

See, I thought that everybody would see the value in this approach. Because I thought it was self-evident, because I ended up hanging out with people who share this value.  And I thought failures to allow people  to come as they are, especially in the Christian context, were down to practical contingencies, to our fallen nature, and to limits to our own efforts. I was, clearly, wrong in that.

But talking with others about these things, on a side issue, has allowed me to identify this as a key aspect of my calling. Now I can start to reverse the discernment process from trying to see what aspects of the job fit with who I am, to seeing how these aspects of my calling (these things that feel self-evident to me) can be grown in the job descriptions; and why ordained ministry resonates with that and why I then have that calling.

Do you want to learn about measure theory? Let me know! :)

What are you called to? (we all have a calling, whether in the ministry or not!)

How do you discern your calling?

—

*I’m using teaching in a loose sense. I  was leading example classes/seminars.

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5 comments!
September 30, 2012 4:51 pm

The awkward middle

2 comments
by    in Leadership

Churches have to cater for, roughly speaking, two populations: the newcomers, people who have never been to this particular church before; and the established congregaion, who need perhaps more challenging than welcoming. Of course, the picture painted here is very sketchy: it doesn’t consider the nuances of visitors or occasional worshippers. But even taking these into account, there are roughly two groups: the new faces and the familiar faces.

All the churches I’ve been to embrace their mission to welcome all. I remember walking alone into church many times (as a visitor in many cases, but also as a first-time visitor) and every single time, I was introduced to many people, including more often than not the pastor, and feeling that people were taking a genuine interest in me. Tea and coffee after the service was also always appreciated. Especially with biscuits.

All the churches I’ve been to also have a lot of activities going on for their members: lots of ways to serve, midweek groups, community action, etc.: the church is not a continually repeated welcome. A good church spurs individual spiritual growth, and does not start over from scratch every week.

Of course, there is a tension for church leaders between serving newcomers and serving regular faces: how much should they explain, say, the structure of the service? Plug mid-week groups? There’s a danger of boring the regulars with the same information every week, and a danger of newcomers not knowing what to do. There are many practical ways of solving this: print the information – and, first and foremost, encourage the congregation itself to be welcoming to new faces, etc. It shouldn’t all come from the top!

So far, so good: we have churches that manage to cater for two distinct populations fairly well. The problem is: you don’t suddenly change from new face into regular face. There is an awkward middle: one where you haven’t, for instance, decided to get stuck in in that particular church, but no longer get the welcome you did as a “new face”. One where you’re neither an old face nor a new face. My experience is that most churches are in denial about this awkward middle, probably because they don’t know how to address it.

There are churches that outright try to skip the awkward middle by making newcomers sign up to a wealth of activities on their first day. Or at least to the mailing list, which then gets indiscriminately used. For all intents and purposes, once you’re on that list, you are no longer seen as a newcomer. This strategy works with a very limited population: those who (a) know they won’t be going to a different church, and (b) have a passion for church life that is burning enough for them to unreservedly sign up when offered. But there will be a large-ish number who will not want to sign up straight away. I tend to fall in that category. And for us, it is damaging, because we feel a certain guilt at not having signed up when it was first offered, imagine we have missed the train, and end up disengaged with church activities.

There are churches that fall on the other end of the spectrum. The awkward middle is simply an extended newcomer phase, and there is a definite shyness in sharing either opportunities for service or mid-week groups. Transitioning from newcomer to known face becomes, then, frustrating.

As far as I can tell, there is no magic formula that will sort out the issue of the awkward middle for everyone at once – simply because when that awkward middle happens is very much dependent on the individual. But here are a few ideas:

  • most importantly, know and care for all individuals coming to your church. Remember what they tell you, but don’t let that stop you from going and talking to them – there is always more to say! Only ever offer further involvement in the framework of that caring relationship. This means that you should know at least a few things about whom you’re inviting.
  • as a church member, be transparent about your extra activities. Invite newcomers to non-threatening, one-off (even if repeated one-offs!) events: do not call them “small group”, or anything that would suggest that once you go there, you must continue to do so.
  • remember that small groups, or whatever other activity you get involved in, is not an end in itself: community and growth tend to be the purpose. If that is clear,
  • as a church/team leader, make it easy for people to help out “on the day”, without commiting to further service on further weeks. This could be a slot on the rota that is deliberately left empty (help with tea, or with welcome, etc.)
  • periodically ask for help in various specific teams. Do not limit the notices to the “big jobs” held by one person only, and that feel out of reach!

Any other ideas?

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2 comments!
September 23, 2012 7:27 pm

Are you a shoes off church?

4 comments
by    in Leadership

The other day, a friend came over to watch a film. As he got in, he saw a shoe rack, and naturally took off his shoes. Our house doesn’t operate a shoes off policy, but seeing all these led him to, naturally, take his shoes off.

Every place has its own set of rules as to what is acceptable or not. And that’s fine – Biblical, even. But if we’re trying to be welcoming to people wherever they are, we have to also let them feel that they can be themselves. That they can, if they wish to, keep their shoes on – within the limitations we have had to put in place for everyone to be able to enjoy church and fellowship. To do that, we need to make sure that we don’t look like a sanitised, sterile place, where mud is to be kept out at all cost.

That means that churches and chaplaincies alike have to be places where people are comfortable with the more personal aspects of sin, and visibly so. And for that to happen, it means that those at the top should show themselves as people who sometimes struggle (without, of course, exalting sin!) and that the congregation should do the same (without, of course, turning the competition for who’s the holiest into a competition for who’s the most sinful!)

That is important in order to be welcoming – in order to offer people a place where they can embark on their own process of sanctification from the place that they are at, rather than having to double their own efforts to catch up with the rest of the congregation in order to come fully into the church. In order for their whole persons, sins, warts and all, to embark on that process of sanctification, rather than leaving that muddy shoe on the doorstep.

It is also important even for someone like me who already feels welcome in the church or the chaplaincy, because if I leave that muddy shoe on the doorstep and then pray for forgiveness, am washed clean, and then go back out the doors of the church, I will put that muddy shoe back on. Only by taking full stock of my own sin can I feel the liberation of redemption. And I can’t do that if I’ve left my sin at the door of the church – whether willingly or not.

But it feels like, although we know we can come with our muddy shoes, and that anyone is welcome to come and worship, regardless of where they’re at – although we know this really well, we are complacent in how we make that known to others. Our first message should not be “You are forgiven”; it should be “Come as you are.” The exhilarating feeling of forgiveness can only come afterwards.

What are you doing to reassure people they can keep their shoes on, regardless of how muddy they are?

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4 comments!