I think my daughter's dance studio might look a little bit like Jesus. In fact, I think it might look more like Jesus than my church. Oh, I know it's not a perfect analogy. The dance studio isn't a suffering messiah, isn't resurrected, isn't the first-born from the dead. But in the ways that we're called to embody the love of God in the world, well, it does a pretty decent job.
I've always suspected that the community it created was in many ways as "authentic" and "intentional" as those ideal Christian communities some of us postmodern Christians are so fond of discussing. Sure, there are mean people, gossip, and general imperfections, but for the most part, when it comes down to it, there's a lot more acceptance, sharing, and compassion. . When someone get sick or faces a crisis, everyone chips in to make meals and offer support. Older kids look out for younger kids. People feel responsible for each other. And everyone gets to be part of the family...even noisy little siblings and kids who aren't a part of the competition team.
The other day, I walked into the studio office and overheard the one of ladies in charge passionately setting forth her philosophy that, if nothing else (and I'm paraphrasing here, because I have an imperfect memory and it would have been weird if I had been taking notes), "This should be a place where every child walks in the door and knows that he or she is loved and accepted. Every child knows that no matter who they are or how they're treated anywhere else, they have a place here." Let the little children come. And that's exactly what happens. My daughter's classes contain children with disabilities, kids who have never danced before, kids who have been bullied, and kids who might tend to be the bullies. And they're all working on something bigger together, learning that they belong and that they are loved (no matter what)...and learning to love in the process.
I wish I could overhear something like this at church. But most churches seem much more interested in deciding who to keep out. There isn't a "no matter what" clause. It's like we're afraid if we embrace people like Jesus did, things might just dissolve into anarchy. It's like we say that if we love and welcome every person touched by sin or brokenness (all of us), we'll have to give up the things we believe and care about, like radical love is somehow a threat to our community and our faith. But of course it's not. Radical love is our faith. Mercy, compassion, sacrifice, helping each and every one of ourselves follow faithfully in the Way of the One who loved to the point of death is our religion. And if we forget that and focus instead on rules, regulations, committees, and how we look in the eyes of others, we might as well stop going to church altogether. Because that's when church stops looking a darned thing like it's following Jesus.
I'm not saying that behavior isn't important. I'm just saying we have it backwards. In order to create seemingly perfect communities where everyone is behaving the "right" way, the church has a set of beliefs potential members must claim they accept (this may involve not thinking very hard, lying, or painful cognitive dissonance on the part of the "believers"). Then there are the rules and regulations to be followed and the requirements to be met. These keep the church looking/feeling holy and perfect. Those who can't/won't adhere to these rules or meet these requirements are either cast out or relegated to the periphery. Of course, not every sin or blemish is on the list. Usually, the ones that are enforced are the ones that make the majority squeamish. Because, of course, if we enforced all the laws of holiness, there would be no one left. Once uniformity has been achieved, the church seems perfect. Seems perfect. It looks like everyone is behaving, because not everyone is present...and "behaving" is narrowly defined. People don't have to grow in faith or love because, theoretically, they already achieved it before they ever gained full admittance.
The reverse of this process goes like this: You are embraced. You are loved. You buy into the idea that love is the way things should go. You invest in the community of people who also want this. The community is messy and full of real people--all kinds of real people--and so everybody grows, everybody sacrifices, and everybody learns to love well. Good behavior (when it happens) is the product of love, and grows into more love.
In my daughter's gymnastics class is a little girl with Down's Syndrome. She is, of course, a bit different than the other kids in terms of her sense of boundaries and the way she socializes. I watch my daughter, who is kind of young to totally understand this and who really loves her rules and regulations, struggle as her patience is tried when this girl interacts with her in unexpected ways. But my daughters knows that in that place everyone belongs and everyone is loved (my rule loving daughter, the girl with Down's Syndrome, my tantrum throwing younger daughter, the little kid who shoves her fingers up other kids' nostrils...everybody). So then I watch her learning to be patient and compassionate. I watch her work on growing in love and self-control. And watching that is way more amazing than watching her work on cartwheels.
Does this method make for a sleek dance studio where no one's toes are ever sickled, the office runs like clockwork and every dance is exactly right? Nope. Does this method make for a very shiny-looking, perfect, efficiently-run, impressive church? Nope. This method looks messy and disorganized and real.* Kind of like Jesus' followers. But the Spirit moves through this. And you can tell. You really can. There's a sense of heart, a passion, a life that comes through that's more enthralling than any set of fouette turns (although her studio has plenty of those, too).
*This is not meant to imply in any way that this is how the dancers look...just how the process looks.
We need to stop worrying first about how we look. We need to stop trying to create the perfect institution, the perfect business, the perfect group of people. We need to follow Jesus' command to love one another. We need to give life and have life to the full. It's not shiny, or sleek or exclusive. It's not uniform, or efficient, or highly marketable. It's messy and ragtag and beautifully life-giving. And if my daughter's dance studio can do it, then the church should be able to do it, too.
