Where Conscience Stops and Community Begins

I was planning to have this post up earlier, but in the wake of the Boston Marathon bombings, I held off for a couple of days.  But this is definitely something I need to get off of my chest.

Across my home state of Washington, in the town of Richland, a controversy is a-brewin' over a florist who refused service to a same-sex couple (who had already been regulars at her shop) when they asked her to do the flowers for their wedding (Washington, of course, legalized same-sex marriage last November).   The state Attorney General has stepped in to issue a $2,000 fine, citing state statutory law that prohibits discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation, and so has the ACLU, who is demanding a public apology be issued to the couple, as well as a $5,000-dollar donation to a local GLBTQ youth organization.

The florist has cited her "relationship with Jesus Christ" as the reason for refusing this couple service, so great chunks of the local Christian community are up in proverbial arms about this "bullying" of the florist.

Please.

This isn't about freedom of religious expression, this is about living in community.

Since a lot of folks opposed to marriage equality cite the slippery slope argument (ie, if we legalize same-sex marriage, what's to stop us from legalizing polygamy?), this logic goes both ways: if business owners are allowed to refuse service on the basis of sexual orientation, what's to stop them from refusing service on the basis of, say, race?

In other words, what were the sit-in's staged in the Jim Crow south during the civil rights movement all about?

If you feel compelled to oppose marriage equality, that's your right--as Volatire said, I may disagree with what you say, but I will defend your right to say it.  I have congregants who I am sure voted against marriage equality in November, and even though I profoundly disagree with them on this, I don't love them any less because they are still my flock and are still part of the body of Christ.

But commerce isn't necessarily free speech.  And it most certainly isn't an expression of worship.

Is commerce an expression of values?  Absolutely.  For instance, I choose not to shop at Wal-Mart because of how they treat their workers and their extreme anti-union policies.  When your dad was a union lawyer for 15-some years, that's how you roll.  And stewardship involves commerce as well, but stewardship involves intangible religious benefits, not an exchange of goods.

But is commerce an expression of  religious worship?  I sure hope not, because I have no desire to proclaim my love of God by purchasing materialistic things with Caesar's coins.

So either we are saying that our expressions of religiosity include the obtaining of goods Jesus tells us not to put our stock in (Matthew 6:19-20), or we must admit that this has nothing to do with religious conscience, and everything to do with what demonstrations like the sit-in's are all about: institutional discrimination, the treatment of one people by another people not quite like them.

And that's what community is all about--it isn't about "you do your thing, I'll do mine," like some would suggest--that the business owner has the right to refuse service because its her revenue being lost.  No, community is about "I've got your back and you've got mine."

There are times when we are individuals and there are times when we are a collective.

I worry that far too often, we err towards the former rather than the latter, and in so doing not have the backs of people who are a part of minorities not our own.  Sometimes, you have to let your own stubbornness play second fiddle to the needs of others (see also: gun rights and the need for less violence in America).

And if I could say anything at all to this florist in Richland, it would be that.

This isn't about you.

This is about us.

Yours in Christ,
Eric

Boston

Dear readers,

I have a couple of blog posts in the pipeline for this week after being gone for the weekend, but for the moment, I humbly ask for prayers for the city and people of Boston in the wake of the marathon bombings that have killed multiple people and left many more injured--in some cases, severely so.  My sister Katherine is currently a graduate student at Boston University (she's safe and fine), and I had the great joy of competing in Boston during my days as a debater, and so the city holds a special place in my life.

In other words, things like these hit home.

In ways that perhaps other things should, but sadly don't.  I'm definitely guilty of this--it's sometimes hard for me to feel the same sort of personal connection to a bombing elsewhere in the world, even though I know the lives of the people there are worth no less than mine.

Empathy matters in moments like these.  The people who died today and were maimed today have parents and siblings and friends and significant others.

They could be us.

And if for no other reason than that, please lift them up to God today.

Yours in Christ,
Eric

"Thus says the LORD: A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping.  Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more." -Jeremiah 31:15

The Rarity of the "Missional" Church

Even though I am formally part of my denomination's Northwest region, I still get the newsletter from my old region in Kansas City emailed to me.  The regional minister there had an interesting column about how several college students he knew went "church shopping" (I mega-loathe that term and everything it implies but have yet to come up with something better) and called up the pastors at a number of local churches to say, "I'm thinking about visiting your church.  What's in it for me?"  As my former regional minister writes, these were some of the answers they received.  Italicized parentheticals represent my own snarky, tongue-in-cheek reactions when I first read this list.

We have one of the largest congregations in the city. You will meet lots of new people here.  (Twenty bucks says this church has a thriving "singles" ministry.)

Our facility and equipment are state of the art. You will be impressed.  (Because it just ain't the Gospel without the newest gizmos and tech toys.)

We have great music and relevant messages to improve your life. (I actually really like this one.  Music matters to a lot of people, and I think one of the biggest challenges the church faces today is remaining relevant.)

We are one of the friendliest churches you will find anywhere.  (Also a response I like.)

We are a Bible-believing church.  (As opposed to...what, exactly?  Does this mean y'all are pro-slavery because the Bible affirms slavery?)

We will help you avoid hell and get to heaven.  (Cool. I dig it.)

We have programs and opportunities for young people that are second to none.  (Like what?  Please explain these, otherwise I'm going to assume you've got some oceanfront property in Arizona too.)

You will find yourself welcomed into a caring community of believers.  (Thumbs-up.)

We will introduce you to Jesus the Christ and his Good News.  (Another great response, though it makes it sound like I'm being fixed up with Jesus at a cocktail party or something.)

We offer lots of opportunities for mission both in the community and throughout the world.   (I think this is the most interesting response of them all...I'll return to it in a bit.)

We will save your soul.  (Humblebrag alert.)

We have strong Biblical preaching.  (WTF is "Biblical" preaching?  Does the Bible itself actually preach?  Is it like the Sorting Hat in Harry Potter?)

In Christ’s Spirit we will help you get your bearings, offer encouragement, and give you what you need for the journey.  ("In Christ's Spirit" would make a fantastic name for a Christian bar.  Note to self: if the parish ministry gig doesn't work out...)

We will show you how to lead happy and successful lives.  (I thought this was church, not a cabal of life coaches.  Paging Joel Osteen...)

We have one of the most beautiful sanctuaries around.  (I love our sanctuary at FCC, but I'd rather someone visit because of what was happening INSIDE the sanctuary rather than because of what it looked like.)

So yeah.  A diversity of answers, which just goes to show how diverse the body of Christ in the world truly is.  In that way, it's actually pretty awesome.  But it's also a little worrying.

Like I note along the way, there are several responses I did like among the ones I made fun of.  But one response stood out--the response about opportunities for mission.

Why?

Because look at how the question got framed--"I'm thinking about visiting your church.  What's in it for me?"

Only one church turned the question on its head and actually talked about giving rather than receiving.

Which is funny, in a sad clown sort of way, because it completely buys into the "church shopping" mentality that we pastors decry behind closed doors (and believe me, we do.  At great length).

Describing your church as "missional" (that is, in grossly oversimplified terms, outwardly-focused rather than inwardly-focused) is currently all the rage for a lot of churches.  But, as this (admittedly small) sample size would indicate...we aren't living that identity, at least not yet.

To my colleagues: when we treat the folks who come to us this way--as people needing to receive rather than also being more than capable of giving back--we are discounting the great scope and scale of their capacities for doing truly kingdom-sized work.

And to my brothers and sisters still searching for a church: lend an ear to their respective sales' pitches.  My personal, heartfelt advice to you would be to look for a church that sees itself not as a bubble, but as a river, flowing into the community that surrounds it, offering the life-giving properties it carries to anyone who asks for it.

Church can be an amazing thing after all.

But only if we let it.

Because, in the end, missional or not, the church is us.

Yours in Christ,
Eric

This Week's Sermon: "We Are Legion" (aka Part IV of IV)

Mark 5:1-9

Jesus and his disciples came to the other side of the lake, to the region of the Gerasenes. 2 As soon as Jesus got out of the boat, a man possessed by an evil spirit came out of the tombs. 3 This man lived among the tombs, and no one was ever strong enough to restrain him, even with a chain. 4 He had been secured many times with leg irons and chains, but he broke the chains and smashed the leg irons. No one was tough enough to control him. 5 Night and day in the tombs and the hills, he would howl and cut himself with stones. 6 When he saw Jesus from far away, he ran and knelt before him, 7 shouting, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? Swear to God that you won’t torture me!” 8 He said this because Jesus had already commanded him, “Unclean spirit, come out of the man!” 9 Jesus asked him, “What is your name?” He responded, “Legion is my name, because we are many.” (CEB)

“We Are Legion,” Mark 5:1-9

If you were there for Good Friday, you knew a small piece of the story of the woman I spoke of to begin my message, Pastor Kate Braestrup, the chaplain of Maine’s state search and rescue.  I return to her memoir Here If You Need Me  today, to retell this particular story.  She writes:

What are the odds of this?  On an ordinary weekday morning, a young woman named Christina left her dorm room at St. Mary’s College in Waterford, Maine.  She was planning to drive to Portland for a dental appointment and then to meet her mother for lunch.

A man was waiting in the parking lot—not for her, particularly, but for any one of the two thousand or so female undergraduates that might have appeared in that time and place…He forced her into her vehicle, made her drive him to a remote area, then dragged her into the woods and took her life.

After Christina’s body was found, a state police detective telephoned the offices of the Department of Probation and Parole.  She asked for a list of their clients in the area whose records and profiles suggested a capacity for violent assault.  Probation and parole provided a list of more than three hundred names.

And writing about this horrific tale years later, Pastor Kate reflects on the three hundred names by simply quoting Mark 5:9, when Jesus healed a Gerasene man possessed by them: “’We are Legion,’ the demons sneered, “’for we are many.””

We are Legion, sneered the Gerasene demoniac, for we are many.  Evil is, and can no longer be seen as, a single devil with horns and a pitchfork, or Heath Ledger under Joker makeup with a plan to see the world burn, no, evil has many names, many voices, many faces.

Pastor Kate continues:

Within three days, the murderer was in custody…”Why did they let me out?” the murderer asked Detective Sergeant (Anna) Love.  “They should have kept me in jail, where I couldn’t hurt anyone.”  The Gerasene demoniac sought refuge among the tombs of a graveyard.  Perhaps he, too, sought refuge from his own potential for evil; what harm could he do, what sins could he commit, surrounded by those who were already dead?

Pastor Kate pauses the story here for the moment, and it’s here that I want us to pick up.  Because there is another dimension to the Gerasene demoniac’s self-imposed flight to the graveyard: it is not, as is so often for demons who are sent out, into the desert, where one truly is alone.  This demon is still around a community, it just happens to be a community of the dead.

And that action alone speaks volumes about not only the demon’s nature, but it’s crime as well. 

There’s a specific meaning attached to the demon’s name, Legion.  Today, we know the word ‘legion’ as simply connoting a large group or horde.  But in ancient Israel under Roman authority, it was the basic unit of the Roman military, like a regiment or brigade is today.

So a legion, a brigade of Roman legionnaires, would have represented a group of legionnaires numbering up to 5,000 in all.  These 5,000 would be divided up into centuries of 100, under the command of a centurion, which is how we get the modern meaning of the word “century” today.

But none of that matters right now.  Jesus is still faced with a man whose body has been invaded by so many demons that there are, literally, thousands.  It’s a dramatic standoff.

And it is supposed to be—if we were to continue into the story, we would see, of course, Jesus emerging over the demons by exorcising them from the man and casting them into a herd of thousands of pigs, who then leap en masse over a cliff and drown.  And I wish I could make this sermon about bacon.  But I can’t.

This story has anti-imperialist undertones—the “legion” of demons, representing the Roman military, are cast by Jesus into a herd of ritually unclean animals and killed.  It is the Gospel’s way of saying that the Roman Empire, and its occupation of Israel, was dirty.  Unclean.

But it’s more than that.

It’s more than that to us, today, for whom the idea of a Roman legion is a thing for history books.

For us, a legion can, quite simply mean to us today, a great many of people.

And it is here that the demon’s true crime lies.

The demon tries to claim the name of the multiple, of the plural, of the more than one.

We are Legion, sneered the Gerasene demoniac, for we are many.

And to our modern ears, that line should send chills down our spines.  A demon, what we would tend to associate with evil itself, is claiming to be many.

Evil is many.

And therein is the true sin of the demon, its true delusion, its true lie.  Good can be many as well.

I can imagine that some of y’all sitting there and listening to today’s Scripture text, were maybe thinking to yourselves, “Wow, this really is an unusual passage for Pastor Eric to elect to preach on for the Sunday after Easter.  Is he maybe a few beans short of a full burrito right now?”

And that’s fair.  Not just today, but probably always.  I am always a bean or two short!

But I get it.  The Revised Common Lectionary’s recommended Gospel reading for today is the story of Doubting Thomas needing to actually be able to touch the Risen Christ in order to believe in the Good News—it’s a post-Resurrection tale.  Here, we are rewinding all the way back to closer to the beginning of Jesus’ ministry and picking up there.  It’s an odd one-off.

But it’s a message that needs to be underlined: in the wake of the Resurrection, in the joy and confusion and fear and madness of the initial news of the empty tomb, it is, I think, crucial to remember that the empty tomb brought the disciples back together again, around it.  The disciples, who had been on the lam, hiding, ever since Jesus’ arrest, have gathered together.

What we do on Sundays is in mirror image to what they do—six days out of the week, we are going about our lives on our own, sometimes swinging by church for a Bible study or a potluck, or hanging out with someone at their home or at Starbuck’s, but in today’s day and age, with the pronounced division of living between household to household, we muddle about on our own.

Except for today.  And we gather together.  And except for last Sunday, when, like the disciples, we gathered around the empty tomb to be asked that soul-searing, mind-boggling, accusatory, reassuring, ridiculous-sounding question, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

And standing in precise mirror image to this gathering is another gathering, of the demons within this man, who do the exact same thing the disciples did…they bring themselves to the land of the dead.  The lonely demoniac, the evil many, seeks spiritual community not in among the living, but among the dead.  Just like us at first, before hearing of the Good News of the Resurrection.

And hearing that Good News changes everything.  The disciples can believe once more.  The church can be born, in the Pentecost story of Acts 2.  So we can worship the Risen Christ today.

It is the greatest reversal possible, and that is why this story made, in my eyes, such a wonderful post-Easter text!  It takes death and evil and isolation and reverses all three for a community who reads this story and sees an agent of evil claiming its name as the many, as the more than one.

And that reversal continues to this day.  Pastor Kate wrote later in her book about what she saw as this murdered girl whose body they discovered, as this girl’s restoration in this world:

It was in the image of those dear and decent men…moving with swift and loving purpose toward her body where it lay between the trees, bearing with them parenthood and friendship, grief and anger, order and care, and bearing beneath their badges their undefended hearts.

“We are Legion,” the demon sneers.  No.  WE are legion.

The reclamation of that name Legion, that name that represents the “many,” that is our post-Resurrection mission as Christians—to reclaim that name on behalf of the many who believe.  Of the many for whom Christ says there is forgiveness for sins.  Of the many who lived and died so that the church could light the world the way it has for two millennia.  Of the many who long to believe in something, anything, greater than themselves.  And of the many that is us, here, today.

We are Legion, sneered the Gerasene demoniac.  No.  You, me, all of us, we are Legion.  Amen.

Rev. Eric Atcheson

Longview, Washington

April 7, 2013

We Are Legion: Part III of IV

Trigger word warning: suicide.

I know I said initially that this was a three-part series of posts.  It will be four instead.

Beginning at the age of 14, I began having increasingly frequent thoughts of suicide.  I became socially withdrawn, flunked out of advanced algebra, and by the time I graduated, I had been suspended from school twice for fighting.

After months of refusing, I eventually caved to my parents' wish to take me to see a psychiatrist.  He was able to immediately diagnose me with major clinical depression, and he put me on a regimen of antidepressants that I have continued in some form or fashion to this day.  Today, I am medicated and I am well, but I still remember how much I underachieved during my teenage years.

I remember it because even on medication, those episodes still return in minor forms.  Depression is like any chronic disease--I cannot be cured of it, I can only manage it.  I will likely be medicated for the rest of my life.

And I'm okay with that.  That's the way it has to be in order for me to function.

But it also isn't something that, for obvious reasons, I ordinarily share with people.

I'm writing about it right now, though, because Matthew Warren, the youngest son of Rick Warren (yes, that Rick Warren, the pastor of Saddleback and Purpose-Driven Life fame, and whom (full disclosure) I have occasionally criticized on the blog) killed himself this weekend after a lifelong battle with mental illness.

Matthew was twenty-seven years old.

It is how old I am.

Believe me, it hit home.  Please pray for Matthew's family, biological and church alike.

I worry that people sometimes rush to judge a suicide because of our own Christian orthodoxy that it constitutes a grave sin.  And I understand the logic behind that--I forget who said it, but suicide is our way of telling God, "Screw you, you can't fire me.  I quit."

We aren't supposed to quit on God.

But if we take a step back, and remember that depression is a mental illness, suicide becomes apparent as the result of terminal depression.  Roughly 3.5% of people in the United States who have depression eventually will commit suicide.  If we were to see depression as the disease that it is, it would be like saying that 3.5% of all cases of this disease become terminal.

Depression is not a moral failing.

It sounds simple, but I'm going to repeat it: Depression. Is. Not. A. Moral. Failing.

It is a disease.

I have always understood why folks might call depression a "demon," as though another's personal demon might be addiction or substance abuse, but I have recently begun to shy away from the urge to do that.  My depression isn't a demon, and the minute I say that it is, I am saying that having it is somehow wrong or somehow a moral weakness of mine.

And it isn't.

Because of how we normally associate demons with evil, saying someone's mental illness is a demon of their's implies an evil within that person which the person may or may not have control over.

And that's harmful.  It puts an unfair burden on the person suffering from mental illness, and it lends an inauthentic identity to the disease itself.

My depression is not a demon I have to be exorcised of, it is a disease I have to live with.

But for however long well-meaning people still put the words "depression" or "mental illness" in the same breath as words like "demon," we're going to have people engaging in extremely private battles with their illnesses and, in some cases, ultimately losing.

Read through the statement Rick Warren made again (in the CNN link above).  He wrote, in part, "But only those closest knew that he (Matthew) struggled from birth with mental illness, dark holes of depression, and even suicidal thoughts."

I'm not suggesting that making personal struggles with mental illness more public is the way to go--as a PK (pastor's kid), Matthew likely already had more burdens growing up than your average boy.  And it is saddening that, based on Rick's statement, Matthew had been receiving treatment and it had ultimately failed.

What I am suggesting, though, is that maybe people might one day feel more free to explain their depression to people if they wish, rather than suffering mostly in private.

After all, a big part of what helps heal a person is the other people around them--medical staff, family, friends, and fellow patients.

In Mark 5, the Gerasene Demoniac confronts Jesus and the demon says, through the possessed man, "We are Legion, for we are many."

Far too often, the inverse is true of the people who suffer from these so-called "demons:" We are depressed, and so we are lonely.  And it is so for this man, the demoniac--he has gone into self-imposed exile in a graveyard, surrounded only by the dead.

We become lonely through a variety of ways, which has been in part the thrust of this weeklong blog series: we divide up one another.  I wrote about how we divide up the church, and then about how we divide up God's word.

We need not, should not, and cannot divide up ourselves.

For depression is, for better and for worse, not a demon.  It is a disease.

And like many other diseases, it can kill.  Even, sometimes, with treatment.

But also like many other diseases, it can be whipped.  It is possible.

If you are depressed, please, please, please do not be afraid to seek help.  Your family practice doctor can almost certainly refer you to a psychiatrist or psychologist, and many churches and pastors should also be able to refer you to mental health specialists.

If you are actively considering suicide, there are hotlines you can call.  The National Suicide Prevent Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255.  It is toll-free and staffed 24/7.

We are Legion, sneered the Gerasene Demoniac, for we are many.

But we--the people who see and understand and live with mental illness every day--we are legion too, for we are many.

And with help, we can be the many who control our illnesses, instead of letting them control us.

So do not be afraid to seek help.  It is there for you if you ask for it.

My hope and prayer is that if I, and others like me, can be more open and courageous about mental illness, you--whoever you are--might feel courageous enough to make that life-saving request.

Yours in Christ, from someone who cares for you,
Eric

Dedicated to the men and women I met during my brief time as the intern chaplain of the inpatient psychiatric ward of California Pacific Medical Center in San Francisco.  I still remember seeing the scars on your wrists and your necks.  I still remember listening to your stories.  I still remember hearing your fear.  And I hope and pray that that fear has, like our time together, receded into the sea of years-ago memories.

We Are Legion: Part II of III

(Note: This post is part two of a three-part series this week.  The third post will be my sermon this Sunday, while part one can be found here. -E.A.)

All translation is interpretation.

I remember my Bible professor's words pretty clearly, even though my attention span for classes waxed and waned seemingly by the minute then.

All translation is interpretation.

How we decide to translate Scripture says a lot about the suppositions we already hold about Scripture.  Take, for instance, the Revised Standard Version--long the go-to translation here at FCC.  A hardline conservative pastor famously burned a RSV Bible from the pulpit in his church, claiming it was from the devil, when the translation first came out.

Today, it feels like there are as many translations as there are denominations these days.

Just as the church as become a religious equivalent of Baskin-Robbins' 31 flavors, so too has God's Word been given that 31 flavors treatment as well.

Don't care for so-called "liberal" translations (whatever that means)?  No problem, stick to the New American Standard Bible or the original New International Version.

Don't get why translations have to be so stodgy with their word choice?  Well, here's The Voice or the Common English Bible for you.

Feel the Bible should read poetically?  The King James Version sounds right up your alley.

And so on.

I'm not saying we shouldn't strive to translate Scripture the best way we know how, with modern methods and scholarship--in fact, I have all of the above translations sitting on my shelf right now.  But this also partially proves my point: after the translations are all made, we--and I--tend choose the version of God's sacred word that most comports with who we already are.

How is this not a form of idolatry?

I'm not saying we shouldn't discern a valuable translation from the chaff out there--I have to consciously prevent myself from rolling my eyes every time I see a pastor preach from The Message.

What I'm saying is that even if you feel comfortable in church (and you should, while at the same time pushing outside your comfort zones), you should not be picking a Bible based on comfort level.

The Bible is meant to challenge as well as comfort.  It is meant to confront as well as to calm, and to criticize as well as to contain.

After all, another maxim I remember from my Bible professors is this (roughly paraphrased): the minute you're comfortable with everything that is in the Bible, you don't get it.  At all.

I had to admit as much in our Bible study last night, when, as we were going chapter-by-chapter through Luke's Gospel, we hit Luke 11 and the harsh teachings of Jesus that stem from witnessing an exorcism.

It's tough stuff, there's no way around it.

And it has to be that way.

When we try to use translations to blunt the edge, we are doing ourselves a disservice.

One such exorcism that the Gospels document is that of the Gerasene demoniac--the one who I note in my previous post said, "We are Legion, for we are many."

Last week, I talked about one way--worship style--we divide up the church, that we keep the church from being Legion, from being "many."

Could it be that we are doing the same thing to Scripture?  That we are making it more for the few like us, so that it appeals more to us, than for the many and have it challenge us even more?

Yours in Christ,
Eric

We Are Legion, Part I of III

I have been holding this series of posts in for a while now, and I think it all came to a head at Easter Sunday earlier this week.  So, here goes--one today, another later this week, and finally, my sermon on Sunday, all on the nature of Christian community.

Truth be told, our Easter service was a bit of a comedy of errors, including this particular gem committed by yours truly: inviting everyone to stay for coffee and cookies afterwards while we set up for our egg hunt, only to try to turn "coffee" and "cookies" into one word and very nearly saying a rather naughty word that you never, ever say in church.

Thankfully, in the receiving line afterwards, a congregant saved me--he said, "I thought you were going to tell us to stay for cocktails!"  I liked that line so much I kept it.

So yeah.  It didn't quite go off without a hitch.  But considering this was my first Easter preaching without worrying about getting sick in front of everyone from the norovirus, I'm chalking it up as progress.

Really, it's just church's version of Murphy's Law--anything that can go wrong, will.  And as a corollary to that, it will often go wrong in the most spectacularly public setting.  Like an Easter worship.

And I think that maxim is especially true for our style of blended worship.  While we have largely jettisoned the use of our organ, piano, and hymnals (from the 1970's) in worship, our praise team utilizes a highly diverse repertoire of old-timey hymns and newer praise material.  I preach using an iPad and a hands-free mic, but I also do so while wearing a robe and stole.

It's a very Disciples way of worshiping I think--our denomination tries to include a variety of theological perspectives, and it would make sense for us to do the same with our style as well as our substance.

But it also means we avoid cases like this, with separate and very different (in style, at least) worship services.  In those services, because you are specializing, you can focus and hone in more on doing one thing well, as opposed to experimenting with different things.  But it also comes with the corollary effect--for good and for bad--of dividing up the congregation.

We at FCC are too small for a second service, and honestly, I'm not going to push for one until we are ready.  There is something pretty awesome about having the intergenerational fellowship that happens at our church between some of the old-timers who have been stalwarts here for decades and some of our newer folk who have helped breathe new life into a historic parish.

In other words--we aren't in the business of trying to corner a demographic.

And I think that's the way Jesus would want us to go about it.  After all, women as well as men followed Him.  Zealots as well as tax collectors.  Fishermen as well as carpenters.  Gentiles as well as Jews.

So why not young as well as old?

Why not a legion instead of merely a demographic?

The Gerasene Demoniac of Mark 5--which I will preach on this Sunday--says his Legion, for he is many.

Let the church be Legion instead.  Let us be many.

Yours in Christ,
Eric

PS: I just learned about this while putting this post to bed.  Please pray for my alma mater, Lewis & Clark College, and our community as we grieve the murder of 19-year-old student Jacob Valdiviezo, who was shot and killed in San Francisco after being apparently mistaken for a gang member.  Please also pray for the victims of gun violence everywhere--their right to live should supercede our right to own guns.