Final Thoughts on Predictions of the Collapse of "Emerging Church" in 2008: A Personal Analogy
Well, the discussion on the Emergent Village post on predictions of the collapse of "Emerging Church" as a defining label has been both prolific and edifying. Many of the commentators have made me think anew about the issue.
But an interesting sub-current within the commentary was the theme of how we Christians should or should not be conducting ourselves within the conversation. If you read through the 30+ comments, you will sense a dynamic of anger swelling right toward the middle, and then subsiding as a new sense of loving rebuke was introduced, and that tone then prevailing toward the end. And I think that dynamic is a beautiful metaphor for the Christian story as a whole, which also reminds me of another such metaphor, one that I personally experienced a few years ago.
For those who don't know me personally, I'm an attorney (please don't hold that against me). Some years ago, I was representing a client before the Social Security Administration. We had just emerged from a hearing before an administrative law judge where we had succeeded in obtaining disability benefits. I asked my client to wait for me in the lobby while I finalized some paperwork. The pressures of the ordeal, coupled with the realization that she was now officially considered “disabled” by the government of the United States, reached a critical mass: my client began to cry.
I did not notice her crying, consumed as I was with the clerical formalities of formalizing her scarlet letter. One person did notice, though. She was an elderly woman awaiting her turn before the judge, mired in her own stress and fear, but with the love of Christ deeply embedded in her heart. She approached my client, sat down beside her, hugged her, and offered her a shoulder to cry on. Speaking to my client gently, the elderly lady then began to pray with her. By this time I had noticed the scene. My first thought was, “Why is this lady doing this? She obviously has her own issues at a moment like this.” I then watched as my client’s tears of pain turn into tears of hope and joy. As the elderly woman wiped those tears away, I noticed her smile and say a few final words, eliciting genuine nods of acquiescence from my client, and then walk back to her seat beside her husband. She sat there emanating true power, not the power envisioned by by most everyone in the world today. She was emanating the power of love. And I was drawn to it.
I approached the woman and knelt down beside her. I felt like I was kneeling before Jesus Himself. “You are a disciple of the Lord,” I said. “Yes,” she replied, with the same smile with which she had blessed my client moments ago. I bowed my head and confessed my sins to this stranger, to this powerless old woman. I described to her the struggles I was encountering within my own discipleship. And I asked her to pray for me. She did, resting her frail hand atop my head, a short, powerful, beautiful prayer whose words I could not recall today if my life depended on it. Maybe one day I will paint a picture about it.
Just then her husband, who was seated beside her and quietly witnessing this odd scene, intervened. He asked me what church I attended. When I replied, he said I should consider attending their church. He then asked which translation of the Bible I was reading. I was too dumbfounded to respond. He then told me about a wonderful Christian cable television program that I should watch that would really make difference in my life. Finally, he asked whether I would be willing to make a financial contribution to the program. With the same force that I was attracted to the old woman, I was repelled by her husband. I glanced over at the woman. Her countenance had changed from one of light to one of shame. I mumbled an unconvincing excuse as to why I had to go and bid them farewell. As I stood, I whispered to the old woman that I would pray for her as well. She smiled again.
I have come to believe, in no small part by this incident in the waiting room of the administrative hearing office, that the best way to create opportunities to preach the gospel, and to ensure the greatest chance that the seed will fall on good soil, is not to stand on a sidewalk and talk to every passerby, not to hurl words of judgment at an abortion clinic or at a gay rights march, but to act and live in such a way, in such faith, as to get people around you to ask, sometimes in shock, sometimes in anger, sometimes in envy, “Why are you doing this?” You want to tell people that abortion is wrong? Offer to adopt an unwanted baby when your family can barely make ends meet. You want to preach about homosexuality? Befriend a homosexual. Love him or her, even though you believe to the core of your being that they are dehumanizing themselves by their choices.
And when your friends and neighbors, in shock and wonder, ask you, “Why are you doing this?” tell them in your own way, and in whatever context presents itself, “Because Jesus is Lord,” and success, beauty, family, nation, wealth, comfort, the boyfriend that you want to marry, impulse satisfaction, the college you want to get into, coolness, honor … aren’t. And if some don’t ask, “Why are you doing this?” but instead are strangely drawn to the light that you will emanate by doing it, and come to you asking for solace, for love, for prayer, please, please, leave the evangelism at the door.
Grace and Peace,
Raffi
But an interesting sub-current within the commentary was the theme of how we Christians should or should not be conducting ourselves within the conversation. If you read through the 30+ comments, you will sense a dynamic of anger swelling right toward the middle, and then subsiding as a new sense of loving rebuke was introduced, and that tone then prevailing toward the end. And I think that dynamic is a beautiful metaphor for the Christian story as a whole, which also reminds me of another such metaphor, one that I personally experienced a few years ago.
For those who don't know me personally, I'm an attorney (please don't hold that against me). Some years ago, I was representing a client before the Social Security Administration. We had just emerged from a hearing before an administrative law judge where we had succeeded in obtaining disability benefits. I asked my client to wait for me in the lobby while I finalized some paperwork. The pressures of the ordeal, coupled with the realization that she was now officially considered “disabled” by the government of the United States, reached a critical mass: my client began to cry.
I did not notice her crying, consumed as I was with the clerical formalities of formalizing her scarlet letter. One person did notice, though. She was an elderly woman awaiting her turn before the judge, mired in her own stress and fear, but with the love of Christ deeply embedded in her heart. She approached my client, sat down beside her, hugged her, and offered her a shoulder to cry on. Speaking to my client gently, the elderly lady then began to pray with her. By this time I had noticed the scene. My first thought was, “Why is this lady doing this? She obviously has her own issues at a moment like this.” I then watched as my client’s tears of pain turn into tears of hope and joy. As the elderly woman wiped those tears away, I noticed her smile and say a few final words, eliciting genuine nods of acquiescence from my client, and then walk back to her seat beside her husband. She sat there emanating true power, not the power envisioned by by most everyone in the world today. She was emanating the power of love. And I was drawn to it.
I approached the woman and knelt down beside her. I felt like I was kneeling before Jesus Himself. “You are a disciple of the Lord,” I said. “Yes,” she replied, with the same smile with which she had blessed my client moments ago. I bowed my head and confessed my sins to this stranger, to this powerless old woman. I described to her the struggles I was encountering within my own discipleship. And I asked her to pray for me. She did, resting her frail hand atop my head, a short, powerful, beautiful prayer whose words I could not recall today if my life depended on it. Maybe one day I will paint a picture about it.
Just then her husband, who was seated beside her and quietly witnessing this odd scene, intervened. He asked me what church I attended. When I replied, he said I should consider attending their church. He then asked which translation of the Bible I was reading. I was too dumbfounded to respond. He then told me about a wonderful Christian cable television program that I should watch that would really make difference in my life. Finally, he asked whether I would be willing to make a financial contribution to the program. With the same force that I was attracted to the old woman, I was repelled by her husband. I glanced over at the woman. Her countenance had changed from one of light to one of shame. I mumbled an unconvincing excuse as to why I had to go and bid them farewell. As I stood, I whispered to the old woman that I would pray for her as well. She smiled again.
I have come to believe, in no small part by this incident in the waiting room of the administrative hearing office, that the best way to create opportunities to preach the gospel, and to ensure the greatest chance that the seed will fall on good soil, is not to stand on a sidewalk and talk to every passerby, not to hurl words of judgment at an abortion clinic or at a gay rights march, but to act and live in such a way, in such faith, as to get people around you to ask, sometimes in shock, sometimes in anger, sometimes in envy, “Why are you doing this?” You want to tell people that abortion is wrong? Offer to adopt an unwanted baby when your family can barely make ends meet. You want to preach about homosexuality? Befriend a homosexual. Love him or her, even though you believe to the core of your being that they are dehumanizing themselves by their choices.
And when your friends and neighbors, in shock and wonder, ask you, “Why are you doing this?” tell them in your own way, and in whatever context presents itself, “Because Jesus is Lord,” and success, beauty, family, nation, wealth, comfort, the boyfriend that you want to marry, impulse satisfaction, the college you want to get into, coolness, honor … aren’t. And if some don’t ask, “Why are you doing this?” but instead are strangely drawn to the light that you will emanate by doing it, and come to you asking for solace, for love, for prayer, please, please, leave the evangelism at the door.
Grace and Peace,
Raffi
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