My wife, according to most definitions, is still an immigrant from South America. By moving here almost ten years ago, she chose (mostly unwillingly) to experience grief through the loss of family, a common culture and shared history, familiar spirituality, and life-long friends–all this, most of the time, she endured alone. North American folks seem to lose sight very easily of the grieving process which immigrants often know very well. We grieve, but we do it privately, for different reasons, and without showing much (if any) emotion.
Now, almost ten years into my wife’s immigration journey, she still speaks with clarity and loving urgency from her identity, even though years of loneliness and homesickness has made it difficult to say much. I’m proud of her. In fact, I want to be like her. My lament, at least for the time being, isn’t one externalized by foreign borders and geographical distance but by the experience of displacement inside my own household, my own culture so to speak. As a friend recently told me, we are an overeducated people without bearings, without visible signs of “kingdom come.” In other words, we’ve been educated right out of naivete and now experience deep suspicion and grief as a result of our displacement and detachment. We’re all part of failed and dying relationships, institutions, and structures which may no longer serve us and, perhaps, no longer want to claim us as their members. We are new immigrants into a philosophical, economic, moral and religious collapse. We recognize ourselves as a people without direction: lost. We are loosely connected almost everywhere globally and yet also experience profound meaninglessness and worry. We’re not sure what to re-make or what to tear down among the ruins of empire. We see the spirit in the ash, in the margins, in the weak, and somehow still struggle to convince ourselves that it’s wise to be here.
I’ve written this essay–a rough sketch indeed–as my lament, but also it is my document of hope. The same God that invites my sorrow also brings us joy. And this work of imagination, for me at least, is an outline of that manifest. I may get sidetracked here and there, but I’m confident the loose ends will get rounded out, though they will likely also leave us pondering the questions (just as they should!). The next few paragraphs will be both descriptive and prescriptive, about both small (and even smaller) notations for a new kind of Christian faith collective. The language many folks are using to talk about this–intentional community or a new monasticism–seems to describe well the particular embodiment I’m hoping for. The adventure begins today!
What’s the overall vision?
The church that I go to is understood mostly (primarily?) as a place for a relatively large amount of people to gather (+ or - 150 people) on a Sunday morning. Its primary purpose is to facilitate spiritual growth through weekly large-group gatherings, mixed in with a few small groups and/or midweek activities. This form of being church belongs squarely within the rhythms and passions of a common life lived day-to-day, rooted in a particular community, household, neighborhood, and place. The stuff we commonly take for granted as being essential to “church,” on the other hand, ought to get peripheral attention (in terms of time, money, and energy spent) in favor of more integral forms of being prophetic signs and witnesses.
(Speaking of neighborhood, a friend of mine, David, who is an architect working within the new urbanism movement, made a funny (if not sarcastic) remark the other day. He noted that the biggest church in our city goes by the name Neighborhood Church, and yet it is surrounded almost entirely by industrial buildings, a freeway, and big box retail/fast food. Wouldn’t it be more compelling, for both the skeptics and the already-convinced, if our names cohered with our places? “Fellowship” is another word that gets thrown around (in abstraction and marketing) too often. Language matters, don’t you think?)
What I’m about to say now might get easily dismissed, like a politician’s promise for “change.” The apparent absurdity and highfalutin’ theological/ecclesiastical ideas could be oft-putting. (At this point, the audiences may thin.) Alright, here’s the scary thought: I think we ought to let those large gathering places (what we tend to call church) to stand as they are but to fundamentally change their mission. I think we ought to invite smaller intentional communities, which tend to sound better in theory anyway, to emerge out of isolation and into the collective praxis and conversation of Evangelicalism. We should enjoy the large gathering, yes, but it should be a much smaller part of our theology and economic practice.
This might mean fewer large-gathering venues will be needed for the body of Christ in a given city. Many churches, as a result, could reasonably scale down their day-to-day bottom line, put unused or costly buildings to the collaborative use and expense of multiple communities. Perhaps, if this became all our intention, we could witness and experience the kind of Christian unity we have all heard exists when denominations and churches take seriously a theology of neighborhood rather than mere event and “consumer satisfaction.” Many churches might learn to share their resources and operate with more thrift. We might see local neighboring bodies invite each other to join in common liturgy/worship. The large gathering still has space within the ecology of church, but its space is profoundly changed.
A Few Specifics
I would like to suggest some very concrete changes in the way we, my tribe (as well as many other evangelical communities), order their Sunday morning worship. First, reorder the seating (setting them in the round or in subgroups of smaller cohorts) for the purpose of fostering a deeper interaction. Second, offset “the stage” as the focal point in the room in order to decentralize our attention off of “celebrities” and onto the community, that is, onto Christ’s broken body. Third, invite member participation, storytelling, and artistic expression throughout the liturgy or worship service using both prepared and open-ended invitations. Lastly (and I guess the possibilities are actually endless), take us out-of-doors, around tables to share a meal, entice us with parties, community work, and learning relationships. Ok, maybe that last one is too much to ask…
Living as a Christian Alternative
Christian intentional communities, no matter the size, ought to engage in practices of place, practices of body, and practices of resurrection:
- Practices of place could include the following: living in close proximity to other members in the community and/or co-housing; using slower-human-scale-machinery such as bicycles and buses for transportation as the preferred choice; using solar-energy-transportation such as walking in order to better know (i.e., pay attention to) and love a place; supporting local economies that honor God’s creation and neighborhood; co-producing entertainments and artistic expressions that provoke the prophetic imagination of peoplehood and places; and, lastly (though more could be said), activating ourselves for the sake of the weakest and most marginalized (dare I say, even our enemies) and integrating the life of place with the life of community (which naturally includes both human culture and nature, politics and economy, etc.).
- Practices of body could include the following: interacting with spiritual disciplines (such as prayer, journaling, silence, solitude, celebration, fasting, service, and study, etc.); exercising and working with our bodies (both individually and communally); seeking collective spiritual direction and transformative rituals (i.e., baptism, stations of the cross, the Eucharist, etc.); making space for healing, reconciliation, and forgiveness as biblical signs to this crazy upside-down world that Jesus proclaimed.
- Practices of resurrection could include the following: subverting violence (in its many insidious forms) with enemy-love and prophetic imagination/performances; planting gardens and throwing parties in order to seed hope and lasting goodness in the community; encouraging families/communities (particularly the elderly) to educate their young; bringing hospitality to displaced “others” (whoever they may be: elders, homeless folks, immigrants, radicals, orphans, etc). In general, put into practice the Sermon on the Mount and Luke 4.
Conclusion
These three praxis, drawn out in the community, could take shape in conversations by the coffee table as well as in study/learning groups, in promises and vows we make to one another and (as Ghandi put it) “experiments in truth,” in cross-cultural and out-door adventures, and, without a doubt, in mission to God’s beloved creation. These explanations and categories have framed my thinking, and yet I realize their limitations and my own ignorance. The fact that they overlap and intersect is taken for granted. The fact that you could make other choices about what to say/do in a particular category is also evident. The fact that they are incomplete and in need of community discernment and revision has halted me in my steps more than a few times. In other words, the specifics are still yet to come (not just borne in words and imagination but in day-to-day community life) and are evolving.
Now that I’ve said so much, I wonder what the reader thinks…Agree/disagree with my assessment of things? Want to try creating something new with me? 
The Look of My Church [Part 1]
The Look of My Church [Part 2]
The Look of My Church [Part 2.5]
