Chapter 14 Rational Borders and Square Corners

It occurs to me that we don't have enough letters in our alphabet to accommodate all of these hurricanes, here on this early day in October -- a month which finds itself nestled squarely in the final chapter of a year that has known much pain.

All the same, it seems on this day, that this concept of a new kind of church is finding solid ground, perhaps even with sure feet, amidst the rubble and the heartache and the despair.

Something is happening, in and out of the moments that make up our day, where the burden of shattered lives and heartbroken humanity is revealed, ever so steadily now, as a weight that we must all share, under one banner. We are becoming the ones who multiply and form the thousands who choose to see through His eyes and realize that it’s not about us anymore, as we deliver a love that knows no boundaries, no prejudice, no bias; a love that doesn’t shrink back from mankind.

Yet, for all that has been accomplished, some attention must be given to that which has gone before us, and specifically, what went wrong there; right about there, where dreams slowly, but surely, became nightmares of our own design; a place worthy of a story, a revealing of some element of truth; perhaps some enlightenment through imagination (or something like that).

So it is then, in a slumbering, backward slanting memory of my own that I find myself now, caught in a semi-conscious realm, where I’m just as much asleep as I think I'm awake.

I’m standing over it, looking down, about to fall back into it, because it seems so restful there. Just like I remember it.

I’m lying on my back, looking up from what some would call a hole.

These walls of dirt and clay comfort as only they can, surrounding me with a steady, reliable temperature -- for I’m deep enough under to not be too hot. Or too cold, for that matter.

I’m just right.

You see, down here, everything is in order. This way of thinking, within these walls, is tried and true. And it works best, as usual, within rational borders and square corners.

Quite frankly, it has for generations, so I don’t see any reason to change.

While I'm here, I leave my messiness behind, because there’s no place for it. I think linearly with parameters and I color inside clean lines. Whatever I bring to the table should fit right into this box. I mean hole. Nothing more, nothing less.

Those around me, down here, act a lot like the people who belong, and they look a lot like me, and of course, the collective others who have yet to come.

Sure, I squint a little, but that’s just because there’s a lack of light. The squinting helps me to look serious and grave (forgive the pun) as I go about the appreciating and the valuing of our community and our commonality.

I’m told not to worry about the light, or the lack thereof, because at night, I can look up at the stars. Not all of them, mind you, just the ones that float overhead from our viewpoint. Of course there are other stars, legend has it, but the ones that are most important are seen best from our perspective.

I do get to enjoy the high noon sun, which is nice. That’s usually when others gather together and make sure everyone is following the rules. Appearances are so much easier to examine in broad daylight. Of course, if it gets too bright, we have certain ways of covering up, because, well, we wouldn’t want too much exposure.

Sure, there are certain things that I miss, like the sunrises, and the sunsets for that matter. I can’t quite get the angle right to experience them from down here. Of course, I have a sense that something unusual is happening just beyond me, because the color surrounding the perimeter of my hole starts to change.

Now, it does get tight from time to time, in this place, so we just dig sideways for more room, because that’s what everyone else is doing. It will all be worth it.

Once we have a bigger hole.

So that we can sit in it.

And hold hands.

And sing, maybe.

And never leave it.

And look at each other and talk about how nice our early grave really is.


Then, I wake up in a cold sweat.

Could it be that the most profound and life changing experiences awaiting us as a church have little to do with safe, predictable choices and the walls which close them in? I wonder, how many of us live cowered in a church corner, clinging to our control within the confines of modern day, Pharisee mandated minutia?

What might happen if, instead, we climbed out of these early graves and became a unified, nondenominational explosion into the community, with a focus less on a sheltered denominational subsistence and more on love in action and anonymous compassion for those who have run out of hope?

Might there be moments of unprecedented wonder just around the corner, the very adventures that would weave the colorful fabric and design of our existence from this day forward?

If it helps you, then imagine it so, for indeed there is a splash of sun expanding the sky and warming the skin.

Walk into the light with me, and join me as we find our eyes drawn to the downtrodden and the underdog. Follow closely with me after the Jesus of our day and together we'll discover that the beat of the Rider has begun to throb in our hearts and his rhythm is slowly finding its syncopation.

No longer are we mere admirers or spiritual spectators from safe distances! We are in fact a new kind of church, eyes wide open, with sure feet, meant to experience and deliver a love that is unconditionally true.