Houses That Change the World

So I've been really hitting this thought hard lately... how much do the lives of Western Christians—like me—really reflect the life, heart and presence of Jesus? Or do we just talk a great talk?

The thought hasn’t just come out of thin air. George Barna and others have revealed time and again in their surveys over the last few years that there's no discernable difference between Christians and non-Christians in America. So I’m trying to figure out—why is that? What’s the reason for that?

I was just reading more of Wolfgang Simpson's book, Houses That Change the World. Listen to what he says on p.34 (it's actually his key theme/ proposition of the book):

"The house church is an ideal setting to change values, transfer life and therefore transform lifestyles. An analysis of the western church shows that the congregational model is almost totally ineffective at changing basic values and lifestyles. Many Christians end up with the same lifestyle of people around them, and therefore become indistinguishable from society and lose their prophetic edge. House churches provide a place of radical transformation of values and reordering of life, offering mutual and organic accountability, where redeemed peer pressure is made to function for good, and not for bad."

This resonates with my experience. When I read the New Testament—Paul, Peter, John and others—following Jesus is shown to be more of a way of life, than simply acknowledging certain things or beliefs “to be true.” (The earliest Christians were first called followers of "the Way.") Acknowledging something as “true” (for example, “God exists” or “Jesus is the Christ”) does not have to have any real impact upon one’s life. People can hold certain truths or beliefs “to be true,” but if these truths aren’t embraced as life principles or seen as relevant to living life in the real world, they won’t define who we are deep down in our soul, or shape our character.

The Letter of James reveals that simply “believing that there is one God” in this world is no biggie. He writes, “Even the demons believe that—and shudder.” In other words, even the demons, or any opposing force, can “acknowledge something to be true,” but that doesn’t mean they follow it as a way of life, or embrace it as a life principle. They may believe something is “truth” but they don’t believe IN it.

Maybe this reflects more accurately the condition of Christianity in the West. Instead of being the church, we simply… go to church. It's easier to go to church than to be the church. (It's both, really.) Being the church is harder. In fact, it's impossible really, without being intimately connected to the Source of the church: Jesus himself. Which is why Wolfgang Simpson sees so much value in the house church model, and perhaps why he calls it a "supernatural communal life form" (p. 102).

It may be that the House Church setting provides easier access and intimacy to the “Presence of Jesus” than other forms of church meetings. I like where he's going. I'm wrestling hard on this one.... wondering how this can inform our current western ways of doing church.

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.

Cone-head the Dog

At first it was a funny joke. Our six-month-old puppy, Toast, went in for surgery 10 days ago to be spayed. The vet tied this funny-looking plastic cone around her head to keep her from reaching back and biting out the stitches from her wound. Unlike our last dog, Penny, Toast didn’t seem to mind wearing the cone at all. So we thought, either she’s pretty dense, or laid back. We chose to think: “laid-back.” So we joked around with her and stared to call her “Cone-head.” All in good fun, of course. She didn’t seem to mind her new nick-name at all. But as each of the 10 days of “healing time” passed, with minimal exercise each day, she got feistier and feistier.

This morning it wasn’t funny anymore. (Well, maybe it little.)

Our daughter, who was up visiting us this weekend with her boyfriend, came running into our home office with a sick look on her face. She held up her boyfriend’s cell phone and said, “Toast just ate Jeff’s phone!”

Great. I pictured in my mind the both of them traveling back to Chicago, having to turn the dog over on her belly to punch in a phone number whenever Jeff wanted to call someone… and then cuddling up to the dog’s mouth to be able to shout down her throat so that the little microphone could pick up his voice.

Maybe every dog goes through this stage early on. Just to test you, to see how much you’re really willing to sacrifice to let this dog live with you. Our last dog did the same thing. It was when a good friend of ours came to visit. (It always happens when guests come to visit.) Marcia came upstairs in her bathrobe for coffee and breakfast. As we were laughing and talking Penny suddenly appeared, looking a little sheepish, and came up to Marcia to be petted. “What do you have in your mouth?” she asked sweetly… innocently, as she gently reached down to pet her and remove it from her mouth. Her face turned from smiles to frowns when she realized that she was holding what was left of her prescription glasses. Merlajean and I both looked for a hole in the floor to jump into.

That visit cost us $150 bucks for a new pair of glasses and almost a friendship. I have no idea how much this visit from our daughter and her boyfriend will cost us for a new cell phone. The ironic thing is, of course, Toast tries to spend every waking moment next to Jeff's side. I can’t tell if Toast is simply infatuated with her newfound friend from Chicago, or if she's just rubbing it in because she just got by with chewing up his phone and everyone thinks “she’s just a dumb dog!”

Glow Ropes on the 4th

The woman was a little strange. Both my wife and I thought that. But—we both wanted to see where this would go. And make some money too.

The Craig’s List gig that we applied for was to hand out glow-ropes at a park on the 4th of July just prior to the Fireworks. It was straight commission. $.15 on the dollar. Thousands of people would be coming out. Our group would be the only vendors. For a few hours work we could make a hundred bucks or more. Plus—it would be fun. Beside, what else would be doing on the 4th of July? Why not make a little money?

So we drove out to meet with the operator. She ran her business out of her twin-home. It seemed nice enough… a little smallish, I thought, for a business. After waiting forever at her front door and wondering if she was even home, she greeted us and invited us out on the deck for our “interview.” And, oh by the way, “Would we like a glass of wine?” she asked. She had plenty of wine—good wine, since she often did promotions for wine companies. Why not? I said.

My antennae went up a notch however when she brought out a half-corked, half-full bottle of shiraz with a date of 3-24-08 scratched on the label. It was three months old! I wondered exactly what “good wine” meant in her world. But not wanting to offend her—especially since it was free—I uncorked the bottle and poured out a couple of glasses. One for her and one for me. And we all talked. And laughed. And told our stories. And she told hers. I noticed that her eyes had that reddish, sunken-in-look appearance. Her skin was blotchy looking. I guessed that she struggled with alcoholism, especially since she kept ducking inside the house (to take a swig of some hard stuff?).

We filled out some forms and were told to show up at 5:30 on July 4 to meet the rest of the group and receive our final instructions. That was it. Nice to meet you. See you on July 4th. I guess we made the grade. A puppeteer and a church planter. Hawking glow-ropes at the park on the 4th of July. I was already pumped for it.

Well, it didn’t quite turn out the way we pictured it.

We met our fellow hawkers that night: a 24ish-year-old guy who worked as many gigs as he could, making very good money while still living at home; a 26 year old attractive woman, who was already on her third man, had four kids from three different men, but drove a Lexus crossover (what’s wrong with this picture? I wondered); a 26ish-year-old comedian, hoping to make it to the point where she could sustain herself with her stand-up routines, but working gigs until then; the business woman’s boyfriend, a very successful salesman, he told us (but then why was he living in HER twin home, with free rent?); and my wife and me, the straight couple, who somehow didn’t quite fit in but were trying hard to.

I wore my yellow and white striped "Cat-in-the-Hat" hat and started selling the minute I jumped out of the car. The first 30 minutes I couldn’t keep up. But then, everyone had one. The crowd numbers were down from previous years. There were too many of us selling and too few people in the crowd buying. My wife and I raked in a total of $30. When I added up all our training and working hours, I figured that we each made about $1.83 per hour. Before expenses.

Live and learn I guess. It WAS a blast though. My wife and I laughed and joked with our new friends, the Glow-Rope Hawkers, and with the crowd. We had some great conversations. Interacted with lots of kids. Maybe even brought some joy to their holiday. We came in thinking we would develop relationships with whomever we met and worked with. And bring the presence of Jesus with us. And we did.

Yeah… I’d do it again.