Churchgoing

A Poem and Reflection over the Breadth of the Body of Christ

Repentance: A Poem

palms up

arms waist high and trembling

reaching out in trepidation

for you see it all

have mercy on me O Lord…

I am a sinner

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Do you ever think about how easy it is to get into a monotonous rhythm in your faith? Choose our direction, get set in our ways, and assume that the way that we’re doing church is the best—maybe even the only—way to do things. Before you come at me about the dangers of flirting with universalism, just don’t. That’s not this conversation.

What I’m referencing is the beauty and diversity of the body of Christ and the ways that the Spirit moves through a variety of communities. The evangelical world took ahold of me back in 1999 through the Acquire the Fire movement (look up Ron Luce if you feel like deconstructing a little bit), and it’s only recently I’ve remembered the exquisiteness of the mainline traditions. Duke has something to do with this for sure. My friend Mindy likes to remind me that Duke is the religious elite, and she’s not wrong. But during my last sojourn out east, I visited outside the usual Duke chapel service.

It started with a short trip out to visit my friend Randy Edwards. Randy is a poet, artist, and Presbyterian pastor who I’ve become friends with over the last few years. (Covid was awful for a lot of reasons, but finding my people all over the world was not one of them.) I am not super acquainted with the Presbyterian church outside of their influence on the classical education movement and fellow Duke students, but the joke in ecclesiastical (fancy word for church, friends) circles is that Presbys are the “Chosen Frozen.” This was not my experience at all. The congregation was spirit-filled and lovely. Randy was deep and dynamic. While hands stayed mostly stationary by sides and movement was reserved to swaying, the Spirit was in the room. It was lovely.

The next weekend, I drove to South Carolina to finally meet Rachel Lawrence in person. (Another lovely side effect of Covid friendships.) Rachel is a delightful romance writer with a heart full of joy and justice. Her family attends a small, Baptist black church in her town. This experience was the polar opposite of the PCA church just a week before. Constant movement. Clapping. Dancing. Frequent, joyful utterances and affirmations as the pastor spoke. At the end of the service, a member of the laity stood up and spoke in tongues as she moved down the aisle.

In both of these churches, I felt nothing but welcome.

The evangelical, non denominational movement has (as a whole) been somewhat disparaging of mainline traditions. Boring. Scary. Old fashioned. But these bodies were none of these things. In fact, they were alive. Flawed and human but moving and willing to be moved. Not carefully curated or manufactured to the point of perfection. In fact, they allowed the Spirit to move in ways that could—to the outside viewer—seem uncomfortable. Animated preaching in a Presbyterian church. A woman completely slain the Spirit, speaking unintelligible tongues. Allowing God to move in a way that seems risky.

Goodness, how myopic I have been. Forgive me, Oh God.

The body of Christ is living and breathing. It’s not in the big movements. We don’t need to jumpstart a revival. The revival is happening. It just isn’t going to be televised or maybe not even streamed online. God is making himself known across the spectrum of churches. The Pentecostal movement is ecumenical (diverse and unified). It doesn’t belong to the evangelicals or the Southern Baptists or the Presbyterians or the Catholics or the Lutherans…it belongs to all of us. We need to open our eyes and see what God is doing elsewhere. Maybe that will help us to take the risk to let God move in our communities as well. The Spirit of God is risky. But oh, it is alive.

Blessings, friends.