A Wedding A Week

Do you like weddings? How about one every week... for a lifetime?

I’ve been reading Wolfgang Simpson’s book, Houses That Change the World, the Return of the House Churches. He compares the weekly Sunday morning gathering in a conventional church to a wedding celebration. Listen to what he writes…

“Life in any culture has two aspects, the private and the public, everyday life and the special events—weddings, festivals, funerals, and traditional events…. Everyday life is usually expressed in the family, the basic cell unit of every society and culture. Families are usually very organic, informal, relational and consist of whatever it takes to share lives. Weddings and other functions are extraordinary events, for which everyone duly prepares; they are usually formal, need much organization and are often highly structured.

“Imagine if you had to attend a wedding every weekend. It follows the same basic pattern, has even the same bridegroom and bride; maybe even the food is the same. After some weeks the excitement would wear down. You would know what to expect, and you would know what’s going to happen next. It would still remain a nice thing, a beautiful tradition, but it would feel odd to have the same type of festival every week.

“We need to be careful not to do this with church. Jesus has shown us not only a way to celebrate, but a way to live…. If we allow church to take on only ‘celebration structures,’ we will start celebrating ‘a wedding a week,’ and our behavior will soon be far removed from real life and cease to make sense to ordinary people. It will become an artificial, weekly performance.”

Does any of this ring true for you? The last two lines especially hit me in the gut: "removed from real life"... "weekly performance." Hmmm. It feels to me like Simpson has hit one out of the park. We hire professionals (I've been one of them) who work each week to organize the weekly “wedding celebration” FOR us. We give a lot of money to make the Celebration flashy, creative, lively and interesting. And yet—

And yet, national research studies have revealed that the lives of those who attend these “weekly wedding celebrations” don’t look much different from those who don’t. So maybe we’ve gotten the celebration part of Jesus’ message down, but we’ve missed the equally important “way to live” part. Anyway you slice it there does appear to be a disconnect between what we do each week in the “weekly Celebration,” and real life.

Looking After a Pedophile

Should a church look after a pedophile? How about for $1,000 a day? Would your church do it?

An Australian Church is doing just that, according to the CourierMail website: "A church group is being paid $1000 a day to look after serial pedophile Dennis Ferguson after he was relocated to an isolated area in Queensland.” Police Minister Judy Spence said the 60-year-old was being housed on the church group-owned property after last week being run out of a remote community.

"A well-respected, Christian-based group has agreed to provide support to Ferguson and keep him settled. The group was being paid $1000 a day to provide support to Ferguson and keep him settled.... This is a group experienced in working with prisoners in general and also prisoners who are sex offenders.” Founder of child advocate group, Bravehearts, Hetty Johnston said she understood people did not want Ferguson in their community.

What would you do if your church was asked to look after a local pedophile for $1000 a day?

(You can read the whole article by clicking HERE.)

A Chat in the Woods

She appeared unexpectedly just 40 yards up the trail. My first instinct was to look between the trees to see if she had a dog before Toast could get a glimpse of it and yank me off my bike with one of her sudden lunges. No dog—so I loosened my grip on the leash as we approached.

As the woman in peach came into clear view I noticed that she was slowing down, just like friends do when they prepare to greet each other for a brief chat on the sidewalk. I didn’t know who she was, although I think I had seen her walking on this trail before.

Her eyes lit up and she spoke with a big smile as I braked to a stop. She focused completely on Toast… “Oh, aren’t you a lovely little puppy? What’s your name?” She reached out to pet Toast, which was always agreeable to Toast. I was impressed with how friendly she was, and so plainly delighted at her good fortune. She marveled to me at how well-behaved Toast was. (If she only knew the truth.) “I would love to have a Golden,” she confided. “But it’s only me at home and I work all day. That wouldn’t be good for the dog.”

For the next few minutes we chatted on the trail. Comparing brief notes about life, and kids, and work. Two strangers drawn together almost as if by some Great Design, by means of the animal kingdom. It’s silly, really, that it takes an animal to facilitate social intercourse between two of the same human species.

I climbed back on my bike with Toast at my side. “Thank you for stopping,” she said. Thank you for stopping? It had been a no-brainer for me. She acted like she wanted to stop and pet my dog. (A common occurrence on my neighborhood trails.) So I stopped. Turns out that simple action brought a little delight into her life that day. Toast seems to have a knack for that. And somehow… I think it brings delight to God as well.

Next time I see this woman in peach I’m going to ask her if she’d like to dog-sit for an afternoon.

Gustav at 7:13 a.m.

It’s early morning on Labor Day, 2008, and I have one laptop window open to weather.com, monitoring Gustav, while another is open to my blog… trying to make sense of another hurricane bearing down on Mrs. Float and Mrs. Lachlin in New Orleans.

Gustav is already moving over the Louisiana coast. Nobody wants a repeat of the catastrophe of Labor Day Weekend of 2005. Just like the first time, I find myself glued to the TV—half watching to witness the raw power and fury of nature… half watching in empathy for the people in New Orleans. President Bush has already scuttled his visit to the RNC in St. Paul tonight. The whole RNC has altered its schedule in lieu of Gustav. You can bet John McCain will be showcasing his leadership skills as opportunities present themselves this week. And Obama and company will be close behind.

But I think mostly about Mrs. Float and her father, who have been living in a FEMA trailer in her front yard since Katrina. Her house sat empty when I visited in January (see Jan. 26, 2008 blog). Nothing but open stud walls from one end of the house to the other. My job was to finish the demolition with a small crew and prepare her house for rebuilding. I remember falling through the floor just outside of what used to be the bathroom. The 115+ years-old floor boards were beyond rotten. Fortunately the ground was only three feet underneath so I didn’t fall far, but enough to scrape up my leg with some minor wounds. I thought it was the least I could offer on the altar of sacrifices compared to what others had suffered.

I also think about Mrs. Lachlin (see Jan. 21 blog) and her newly rebuilt house on the east side of the city near Lake Pontchartrain. A large crew of 15 of us from Calvary hauled away the rest of the debris from the final demolition—it took two days. Then we dug in and finished off the inside structure and walls, installed a new roof, and sealed up the whole house from any further damage from the elements so that her bank could issue her a rebuilding loan.

There are thousands of Mrs. Floats and Mrs. Lachlins in New Orleans and Louisiana. I don’t know what they’re thinking or feeling this morning. But I have a little idea… as I remember how I felt as a 14 year old boy whenever a strong wind came up in the late evening, living in a trailer house, in the days and weeks that followed the Tracy Tornado that obliterated our house while we huddled in the basement.