I love the church. I had to start with this admission because there will be a few points through my ramblings where you as
“][ the reader will begin to think that this isn’t the case. At times you will think that instead of a part of this thing called the body of Christ, that I am an outsider. A critic. And on some level you will be right. There will be times, very early on, where you will read the words that I’ve written and assume that I’m angry, even furious with the church. There will be times when I will seem like I used to love the church, but have since been scorned and have become bitter.
So which is it? Do I love the church or hate it? Am I a part of it or an outsider? Friend or Foe? I only know one way to explain my answer to this. And while I usually shun analogies since they are always incomplete and sometimes misleading if we take them too far, this one fits nicely. Unfortunately, it’s cliché. Oh, well. Here we go . . .
The best way to explain the exact nature of my love for the church is baseball. More specifically, the love that I have for the church is almost completely like the love that a fan has for his baseball team. But I don’t mean just any old fan. I mean a paint-your-face, sit-in-the-rain, season-ticket-holding fan. These people love their teams. But does that mean they’re always happy with them? No. Does that mean that they agree with all of the owners’ decisions? Absolutely not. They cheer when they win, cry when they lose, and scream at all the bad calls in between.
The most beautiful picture of this is that of the Boston Red Sox (pre-2004). Up until their World Series victory in 2004 the Red Sox history had been categorized and epitomized by abysmal failure punctuated by close calls and brief glimpses at possible redemption. Doomed to always fall just short of any real achievement due to some ridiculous one-in-a-million stroke of bad luck (otherwise known as “The Curse of the Great Bambino”). To us on the outside this was both a little sad and a little amusing. But to a Red Sox fan, this was painful beyond words. To believe in something so completely and have it turn against you. Or more accurately, to have something you truly love break your heart in the very same moment that it gives your life meaning.
This is my love for the church.
But there is a point where this analogy, like all analogies, breaks down. As a San Francisco Giants fan I have found that I have no control or say-so when it comes to the management of the Giants. No matter how much I want them to trade Barry Bonds for three or four solid team player so we have a shot at a pennant, they will not. There are two reasons that they won’t trade him. Here they are:
- Barry Bonds puts butts in seats because everyone wants to see him hit a home run.
- I have no control over the Giants.
The first reason may be the actual reason they don’t trade him, but the second reason is far more relevant to us here. There was a time not too long ago that I believed that this lack of control applied to me and the church as well. That I have no say-so in this thing called the body of Christ. But that’s not the case. Not at all.
A few years ago when I decided to abandon the idea of being a paid minister I started to question whether or not I could still be a valuable and impacting part of a church without being “staff”. At first I didn’t think there was any way I could make as much of a difference as when I was a paid minister. I mean, how could I? I wasn’t speaking from the stage; I wasn’t determining church policy or planning the programs. But when it comes down to it, are these the things that matter?
I have come to believe that they aren’t. I have come to believe that the church, the true church, exists almost completely independent of the programs we put together. It exists separate from our doctrines and our ministry teams, and oftentimes even our ministers. And it is this church. This underground group of people that exist and move just beneath the veneer of our religious façade, that I love. That I weep for when they fail and cheer for when they win. That I deeply and profoundly desire to come to the surface. That I seek to understand and be a part of. This church is my Red Sox.
