What If

It's an unseasonably warm November day, and I'm actually outside on the deck.  

 

 

It was about 55 degrees by 9:00am, and so I had no excuse not to go for my morning walk by the lake, as it's a 2 minute drive from where I drop the kids at school.  

We've begun the somewhat arduous task the last couple weeks of physically visiting the churches up here in the mountains.  So that's mostly what I thought about when I walked today.  Our church participation has been, let's call it, remote for the last year since we moved up here.  That can mean, conveniently, so many things.  I watch Dave Gustavsen's sermons online.  We are loosely connected to a church down the mountain, which is a lovely place, but not practical distance-wise.

Not attending church is just such a touchy subject.  I almost want to keep it close to the chest.  Like, close and underneath a bullet proof vest.  I don't need one more thing to argue about or be misunderstood about, and I am entirely at peace about where I'm at with it.

I call the task arduous because it's really fraught with triggers.  There is both so much we want and so much we want to avoid.  There is so much from the last decade that we endured which had no place in a community supposedly centered on love and pursuing God.  I know that no future church will ever be the perfect thing, and I also know full well that it is no future church's responsibility to make up for the past churches' wrongs.  How many red flags, though, do you overlook, and when is enough to draw a firm line, as you deliberate?  Is it possible to avoid pitfalls that you've previously tripped into?

These musings led me to thinking about what it would be like to be part of a church community where the pastor really wanted to pastor, that is, shepherd and guide the people.

What if we visited a church and the pastor's honest-to-God thought at seeing new faces among his/her congregation was "What a privilege it would be for me to care for these souls!"?

What if s/he thought, "What a privilege it would be for this to be the place for that soul to find rest and healing and purpose"?

What if his/her thought wasn't just...

"Oh, good, more kids to expand our children's program."

"Oh, good, another mom to staff our nursery."

"Oh, good, more tithe money to fund our programs and pay our salaries."

"Oh, good, more butts in seats to make our sanctuary look fuller."

"Oh, good, more people to fill in volunteer slots."

"Oh, good, more people to listen to me."

"Oh, good, more followers on social media to impress anyone visiting our pages."

Wouldn't that be amazing, if it were true?  Does that exist anywhere or am I tripped up by my own idealism once again?

Could church be a place of real community, where no one sees me as a skill set, as a warm body, as a number, as a dollar sign, as an annoyance to progress?  Could I be welcomed in with no ulterior motives, given a seat at the table, allowed to tell my stories and use my gifts and ask my questions freely and at my own pace? To be equals, siblings, co-laborers, not cogs in a wheel or levels in a hierarchy?

Wouldn't that be amazing?  

It seems like a dream, a fantasy, just even typing it out.  What if, though, huh?