You Can Never Go Home Again

Last Sunday I went back to the church I grew up in. Walking through the doors and seeing the elevator, I immediately wanted to see the old door guy who used to man it. He was this sweet grinning old man who looked like Jiminy Cricket, minus the top hat & cane.

He wasn't there.

What was there was a fresh coat of paint on the walls, which for some weird irrational reason, made me feel like the history had been erased from the walls. The people were all so friendly. And to no small degree it sort of felt like coming home (two older deacons called me by my father's name) and I have to say I completely enjoyed their equivalent to the "passing of the peace." At the last church we attended this time was limited to hello, hi and an exchange of names with the people next to you. Going Anglican was very cool, seeing people crossing the nave to greet each other was strange and warming to us. It was cool to see how my old church had evolved/devolved to this way of doing things. All in all the community aspects seeing old friends & people how they have grown together through crisis was beautiful to me.

But, the rest of the worship experience left me feeling like an exchange student in another country. It's not that the church has changed so much from when I was there in high school (it has); it's that I have changed so much. As I watched the worship team singing so enthusiastically and the band playing, all I could think was, "I have absolutely nothing in common with these people anymore." I just couldn't get into it anymore. It wasn't just this church, either. I feel this way every time I go to a church where I feel my emotions are being forced a certain way.

Now some could argue that we still share a common faith, but that's only by my standards. I'm not sure they would necessarily agree if my theology was probed more intensely. The sermon itself was an interesting exercise in patience, the sheer length notwithstanding. I had forgotten what sermons that lasted for longer than 20 minutes were like. This was good. it gave me a greater appreciation of the art of the homily. Short. Meditative. Almost Zen-like, in it's less is often more approach. I also was slightly nonplussed by the nonchalance with which they examined the slaying of the Canaanites. The evangelical church has always scooted right over that text, choosing instead the more heroic and awe-inspiring story of Gideon & Joshua, but I've never experienced a church waltz over the issue quite obviously. at the culmination of the sermon, the church echoed "We're going to slay our Midianites."

Now, I assume the pastor was trying to equate "Midianites" & "personal sins" or something, but he'd already distinguished between these two previously (if we are to conquer, we must purify ourselves beforehand). So, at the very least it was a confusing alloy of two different theological ideas and at worst it was an unholy marriage that has ramifications for today. Consider how easily it becomes when we dehumanize the Other we are fighting. That's how the military trains soldiers. the enemy isn't human- they're monsters, they're subhuman, they're dogs. And that's how we get Abu Ghraibs, Hadithas, & Guantanamo Bays. don't misunderstand, I'm not seeing these people are haters. I honestly think the pastor meant it the first way- but the fact he was so unclear and we live in such violent screwed up world, means that to me- you don't play fast and loose with the Canaanite genocide (even if that's not the purpose of the sermon). You don't say, "God kicked Canaanite ass and we're gonna too!" You acknowledge the existence and allow for its troublesome nature. Perhaps spend a few minutes discussing how this has a couple different interpretations and we can't get into them now, but will later (or could during a bible study). Crap, it lasted well over an hour, there had to be a few prophetic moments that could be shaved off to say, "I'm not so sure why God wanted every man, woman, & child dead, and that's troubling to me."

On the other hand, maybe there really weren't any that could.

And that's why I can't go home again.

pax,
jefe

Tree & Branches Redux

Besko & Meli moved last Monday. It sucked. I their move would sadden me, but I was unprepared for the depth of loss I felt when Besko left. Don't worry. This isn't going to be some maudlin, cathartic, over-sentimentalized posting. I won't do that to you.
What I do want to speak to is how I saw God through Besim Seferovic. You might assume that it was in Besko's generosity (at the time this pic was taken, he offered me his watch). It's not. Or you might theorize that it was his love & affection (he constantly left the adults to go play with his grandchildren, esp. his "Jackie"). You'd be wrong. Perhaps, it was the amazing hospitality that he possessed (I never entered his apartment when I wasn't plied with copious amounts of food & beer). It might be that. Just kidding. No, the thing that really broke through the depression & ego was how much it felt like my own father was moving away when Besko left. Paradoxical? Definitely. Depressing? Not now. I was caused to reflect upon St. Paul's epistle to the Romans where he spoke about how we gentiles have been grafted onto the Jewish tree. Now I'm not going to get into the ins & outs of the passage. Suffice it to say that we have a rich heritage and owe much to our Jewish brothers & sisters (much more than we can ever repay them). I began to think about how amazing and beautiful this concept of family is. Besko & Meli have only been here for 10 years or so, but in that short of time they became members of our family. I hadn't realized it until it was too late. It snuck up on me.
It made me think. If God can graft these people into my family, people I never would have anticipated, who else will be in the Family of God? When I was in high school, I would have said only those who were charismatic- and I could have defined that fairly narrowly. Later, I would have broadened it to "born-again", then, evangelical, then it became trinitarian. Now, well, I just don't know. I don't consider myself a universalist-but only because I haven't fond a theology that rationally justifies it. What I do know is that God is too big for the little boxes we often make for Him and His Family. To me Messianic Jews are a no-brainer. What's truly intriguing is something I read last year about Muslims who profess Jesus as Lord & Messiah, but still call themselves Muslims. Truthfully, the word "Muslim" means "One who surrenders to God", so this is more apropos than we realize.
Imagine being at the Great Feast of God and siting down to break bread next to Muslims, Jews, and fellow Christians. Now THAT is what I call a GRAFT! I want to be a part of that kind of tree. Jesus said his Father's house had many rooms. My prayer, my earnest prayer, is that our apartment shares a wall with my Bosnian mom and dad.
Pax,
Jefe