"Plenty of us take an hour here or there and call it Sabbath, which is like driving five miles to town and calling it Europe." (Barbara Brown Taylor, Christian Century, May 31, 2005)
Thus the heavens and the earth were completed, and all their hosts. And by the seventh day God completed His work which He had done; and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had done. Then God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, because in it He rested from all His work which God had created and made. (Genesis 2:2)
This week, my parents came to town. Our Sabbath consisted of visiting and cooking and cleaning and, most importantly, no work on the kitchen project for the whole weekend. Our oldest boy enjoyed shooting his grandfather's twenty-two. The youngest showed off his new reading skills to his grandmother. Our middle son busied himself drawing pictures for both Grandpa and GG to take home to Wyoming.
But mostly, there was good food and long visits. In the evenings, we stayed up late and visited. Often, the visits were about my parents little church. Their former pastor retired. As a result, some congregants have taken the opportunity to move their membership to the bustling Baptists on the other side of the traffic light. The remaining members can't really afford to hire a new parson...at least not full time and not at this time. In the interim, my parents have been filling in; visiting the sick, preaching to the faithful, and even remodeling the manse. They have been helping out to the point of wearing out. They need a break, but if they stop can the church is to survive?
I remember hearing a message at a large church that I was attending a while back. In that message the pastor said sardonically, "What if all the churches in North America were to close there doors and there were no pastors preaching about the pride of Judah? Surely," he continued, "An entire generation would grow up without the good news." I remember wondering about that statement. If the church in North America were to take a break, would our faith survive?
Yesterday, I joined a friend for lunch. He is a successful businessman and family man and a strong Christian. He is also an ecclesiastical transient. "Why is it," he asked, "that every church I have ever been too...large or small...modern or traditional...is exactly the same? They are filled with good people doing good things but when I read the Bible, I read about some not so perfect people who changed the world."
And it sounded like something more than survival. "What is it that we are missing," I asked, "miracles?"
"No," my buddy blurbed between bites of his Philly cheese steak, "Miracles happen in secret so that they can't be sold. No. We have forgotten how to play. Where's the joy in our grown-up faith?"
Could he be right? After all, the Biblical word translated as "rest" in Genesis 2:2-3 is menuhot. This is also the word translated as "still" or "quiet" in Psalm 23:2. Even this, though, doesn't capture the depth of meaning. Menuhot means tranquility, peace, and happiness. God wasn't finished creating the world until God celebrated it with menuhot. God "finished" what was made with joy!
So maybe, just maybe, my buddy is right. Maybe, just maybe, it would be good for my parents to stop trying to save the church if it doesn't bring them joy. I'm sure the church will be just fine. And maybe, just maybe, it would be good for the North American church to stop preaching Jesus if they can't do it out of a spirit of menuhot. Not only would faith in North America survive, it might actually become something closer to the Author's original intent.
I am convinced that God's kingdom is unfolding all around us and usually through children who make sticks into scepters and wagons into rocket ships. Our Savior came not as an acerbic ascetic, but one accused of eating and drinking just a little too much. Our King didn't overturn the Roman occupiers, he turned water into wine and made the lame to dance and the mute to sing. When Jesus came to town, the tax collectors partied, common-folk sang praises to their king, and demons dove into the sea.
In a world full of heartbreak and disappointment, shouldn't menuhot still be our marching orders? In a fallen world, isn't mirth still the miracle? Let's not settle for a five-mile drive to town when our gamboling God invites us to join Him in an all-expense paid trip to Europe. Let's not settle for a solemn piety when our Savior invites us to a joyful feast.
Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.
Photo from www.freeimages.com #1371446
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