How She's Feeling About Church

Lord, help me make sense of it, and give me grace not to judge, but to foster health and growth in your body - your bride - the church.

LAST WEEK - Scene 1

She made her way down to the Sunday School classroom. The one in the basement of the church. The one for ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY PROFESSIONALS. The one she'd been attending for 3 months. She'd come for about 8 weeks straight, but had to miss the last 3. Every week since she'd arrived, she's heard the leaders have talked about relationships and body life and how this place is an oasis for people in Hollywood. Telling their story of the need for community being met in the group. Always asking newcomers "what's your passion?" Breaking people up into small groups to discuss relationships, and how important they are. Giving people, before and after class, opportunities to get to know one another, and share to below the surface talk of what they "do" in the industry.

So far, for her, there are no relationships.

This morning, as she made her way to the basement she wondered if anyone had noticed that she'd been gone. Indeed, would anyone notice if she never came back? For all the talk about relationships, she sensed something deeply dysfunctional. Her heart sensed that this was a group of empty needy people barely hanging on for themselves with little reserves to uphold the others. These people seemed worse off than she was!

She's been assessing the group as an outsider. Learning their ways. Observing the nuances of who's in and who's out. Studying them as a cultural anthropologist might. Earlier she'd sent an email to the leader, and after no response via email, volunteered in class: She made an offer to pray with people before class started, if they needed someone to pray with them. No response. But it was awkward. No one really knows her. No one really knows what she has to offer. Everyone has their stereotype of what a missionary is...and it certainly isn't cutting edge, or innovational, or hip. Nope. A missionary it would seem, is the person who couldn't cut it in their home country, and being a little backward.

She'd introduced herself to the egroup. One person responded. She prayed, and asked the Lord if she should move on. Find another class. Go to another church. Let go of any expectation that she might make some meaningful relationships during this year she was back. She'd returned needing to get spiritual and relational re-charging after 10 years of giving out as a mentor to younger artists and 10 years of being an outsider in another culture.

"Dear God!" she'd prayed after the second week, and every week subsequently, "This can't be where I'm supposed to invest my Sunday mornings for the year. They don't want me. I'm clearly not an "Industry" person. But I am an artist and my heart beats for the same thing as they: I long to see creative people submitting to and walking in the fullness of God's creative Spirit."

The inclination to stick with the class was strong. So she takes this as leading from the Lord. She headed back for week 12. This would be the first week she'd fulfill a new role for the class: making sure that anyone new got their name on the sign-up list and was made to feel welcome and wanted, and get them on the egroup immediately. If this class wants to be a community, she was going to do her part to see that no one else falls through the cracks.

As class got started she recognized everyone in the room. No one was new this week. An unusually small group, granted, but not the smallest she's seen. And still, it was a chance to get to know the leader through his teaching. Find out more of his heart.

And she did.

The leader, it became evident, was discouraged that more weren't there and, under the banner of being transparent, he let us know the size of the group discouraged him. Jesus would have died for the 8 of us, but this leader foolishly admits to wondering if he's wasting his time since no one remembers what he taught about weeks before, or that there's not more there to hear him teach. "Oh this is bad," she thought, and prayed for him. "I recognize that tone and that's burn out talking. He's not ministering out of his fullness. He's trying to pour himself out for us and the cup is empty. He's so caught up in his pain and disappointment that he doesn't even see that he's hurting the spirit of unity and trust he wants to build. He's been kingdom building, and is disappointed at his progress."

She looked around the room and silently thanked God that these 8 souls got out of bed this morning and made it to church. They were all here, like her, looking for a way to connect with other believers and perhaps grow closer to the God and one another through the teaching. They didn't want to hear the leader complaining that more people weren't there.

They WERE there.
There was the filmmaker and his wife,
There's the man living 1200 miles from his wife and daughter so his son can have a crack at being a working actor,
the struggling filmmaker who's just been disillusioned by meetings with a major Christian publisher and a pastor who declined endorsing his films,
the composer who's rejoicing that one of his pieces was played last weekend in a concert in Texas and waiting for the recording since he wasn't able to be present to hear it live,
and She.

She, feeling like an alien, with the cancer of a deep sadness she can't shake. She's still hopeful however (most days). She's coaching some artists through Skype, and refining her niche as a theatre artist as she fills in the gaps of her education. She's not quite sure what the future holds or what direction to take after this year, but for now, she's decided to just dive in where she is.

"Blooming where I'm planted," even if it's temporarily transplanted.

She's learning in this transplantation, that part of the sacrifice of becoming a missionary is to take a relationally lonely road. She didn't think about that when heading out in the prime of life, fully supported, heady with the accolades of being a person of great faith, a spiritual hero to whom people vow they will regularly pray for you. No, she didn't forsee that missionaries will never be an insider in their adopted culture, and that they voluntarily make themselves an outsider to the one they've left. For someone to make a career shift to missions is also making a choice for loneliness. It's a rare friend who will help you feel welcomed back into an abandoned circle. It's only years into it that you begin to learn that except for fellowship you have with other missionaries, you will always, for the rest of your life be somewhat of an outsider in every circle you have.

Including this circle: the Sunday School class she's foisted herself on for the year.

The leader launches into his lesson on the Good Samaritan, and in walks the new pastor. Catches the leader by surprise. This new guy wants to know what's going on around church when he's usually in the pulpit. He finds the leader of this class here, down in his basement classroom, leading his flock on a Sunday morning. Only the flock today is small. And the leader is embarrassed.

He puts his lesson on hold, and suggests that folks in the class introduce themselves to the pastor. The class, not regular attenders of the church's worship services, has by now deduced that this is an important person. He's probably the new Sr. Pastor. A couple of the people take their turn introducing themselves. The young man who's had some hard knocks the past week dares to share it now. It would seem he didn't have close enough friends to turn to, or who'd come alongside him in the midst of it, but someone seems to care now, so he shares. Then She. The leader turns to her and asks,

"And how about you? What has this group meant to you?"

She knows that she can't answer that this class has served to confirm that she's invisible, and not valuable. Being a part of this class has caused her to draw nearer to God in desperation. To learn that her value is only in being his child, loved and valued by him even if virtually ignored by others. No. She can't answer with the full the truth. So she says,

"It's been a place to come to on the weekend to connect with other like-minded artists, and make me feel a little at home."

He is relentless. He probes again, "But what has the class meant for you?"

This man has no idea. He is desperate for more validation of the ministry he's been faithfully slogging away at. He wants her to speak in glowing terms about the deep meaningful relationships she's found here that empower her to go out into the world the rest of the week and be a light in the darkness for Jesus.

She just can't deliver. How can She? He doesn't know much more than her name, if that, so she fumble with repeating herself.

"It is a sweet watering hole where I can offer some, and find some, refreshment every week."

Thankfully he didn't probe. Perhaps if he'd written a script, she would have done an excellent job acting. Never mind. When class was over she went to lunch with and listened more to the young man who's feeling discouraged about his long-term project and being broke, and learning that no one seems to care about his work.


THIS WEEK - Scene 2

The class is full of people. Three guests, and almost 2 dozen of the 'regulars.' The group is buzzing with people meeting and catching up with one another. It's the most vibrant morning she's ever seen here. Part of it is because she now knows the names of many and recognizes the faces of most. It takes an investment of time to reap relationships. The seeds planted in August are starting to sprout in November. It was a short night last night. The deep sadness had her exhausting the contents of another Kleenex box at 2am. But it's nice to not be a complete stranger anymore.

The class settles for the lesson, and meets the new people. The question gets asked and the newcomer is pleasantly off guard, "What's your passion?" A few people share their highs and lows. And then she begins to listen to what will definitely be the low of her week.

Oh, she's had some lows this week. She's had the Tuesday of tears. That's when she called someone to ask about a reference for a pediatrician, and instead broke down over the phone as she counseled and cared and prayed for her about this deep sadness in her soul and her sense that God is not near. Oh yes, it's clear that he is guiding because she'd only met this woman and between tears over vacuuming, and pulling it together, and tears over the sad play she'd just read, and pulling it together, she knew she needed to call her. He may not seem near, but he is guiding. This very woman had prayed for her, a virtual stranger, earlier that morning. She'd prayed that her family would all be okay in this transition back to USA.

Another few lows were a half dozen failed attempts to meet with or get together with others. Either the timing is just bad. Or she's a total loser. She keeps choosing to believe the timing is bad, though the voice of defeat and rejection still whispers...

But what happened in class today wins the prize. The lowest of the lows:

The leader shared with the group his version of Scene 1 above. In his version, he'd been abandoned by nearly everyone as he suffered shameful defeat in the face of the new pastor.

One of the regulars chimed in,

"You could've just told him that you've been so successful that all of the class was out in the world shining their light for Jesus -- 'cause we were all working in Hollywood on a secular set last week!"

"It was, and I'm not joking," he said, "just about all first-time visitors who were there."

He went on to describe what to him was an embarrassing experience the week before when all he could show to the pastor was the strangest group of.... She looked around the room and could see that 5 of the 7 of us from last week were all sitting among the larger crowd today. The composer, the two filmmakers and the wife, and She. Actually to do the math, the not-so "first time visitors" from last week made up 1/8 of the group he was sharing with today.

She fulfilled her job today of collecting the names and contact info for our guests. She had to leave early today, so she folded up and put in a safe place the precious names.

There were first timers here THIS week: Gloria, Nancy, Patricia, Eric and Nina.

When the crowd had been broken up in small groups discussing and learning about intimate relationships and real caring fellowship, and true body life; she went up front and said goodbye to the leader. He took the clip board from her with a smile **hug hug,** an industry standard "Thaaanks for your help." It came with the split-second of eye contact before he'd turned away to review the notes for his lesson. The lesson that this week he was having the chance to give to the people who really mattered.

Well, the people who really mattered and the 4 others from last week who, he'd made perfectly clear, do not.