We haven't joined the mega church. But we still go there. Call it a senseless, fatal attraction. I desire its demise, or at least a general overhaul of everything it is; it seeks to assimilate us and our young. And I say "it" because, as with most institutions, this thing is bigger than people. It looms large over and above the collective of individual souls that are associated with the denomination/building/organization. And, as with most institutions, this is a dangerous scenario. When we hear about the "Body of Christ" we think of something greater and more able than any one individual, and we are often willing to hope that this body an even transcend the collective of individuals, that it can become something greater, something more, something powerfully spiritual. And I believe that sometimes it does.
But the flip side of this is that, more often than not, the institution begins to become something more than the collective in terms of its power, but something very much less than the collective in terms of its spiritual discernment, compassion, and mercy. Imagine if the Pharisees had a well-managed childcare, fair-trade coffee and someone paid to manage graphic design...kinda like that. The system itself, the rules, the traditions, the regulations, the policies that govern the day-to-day running of the joint, take over. Heck, the money takes over, the desire for a good image, the longing to increase "numbers", the ensuing marketing campaigns. The thing runs itself, and the humanity gets sucked right out of it. And it becomes less. And you can feel that lack. It's enough to make you want to overturn tables and rage against the status quo...but of course, you're not exactly the Messiah and you'd probably bring your own self-interestedness into it and mess it all up...or maybe that's just me.
It's funny, because I get the sneaking suspicion that many in the church spiritual leadership feel exactly the same way. Maybe it's because I catch them sneaking moderately progressive theologians like Brueggeman, and N.T. Wright, and Campolo into their sermons. Maybe it's the subtle way they manage to almost say as much on the simulcast screens that I watch as I sip my coffee and settle into my uncomfortable chair. Maybe it's the look in their eyes as they cautiously navigate criticism by those who are heavily invested in the power structure of the institution, i.e. those with the power to end pastoral careers. Or maybe I'm delusional. Regardless, based on what they say, they're attracting a certain demographic of intelligent, critical, unconventional individuals, and they don't seem too upset by that. They seem--dare I say--glad that we are there.
But the thing is, the newbies they're attracting aren't always joining up. We're not a generation that likes to fully submit to much, and swearing that we'll submit to a board of governing elders is, well, just a boldfaced lie. Add to this our--often fully warranted--wariness of alarmingly large institutions and you're going to get lots of young, vibrant, excited people that show up for a while, refuse to sign on the line (we think we'll lose our souls...I'm not saying that's rational, by the way), and then leave when we either:
A) Do what we do as a generation and become unsatisfied with anything's ability to fulfill us and shop around for something different (after all, we're very used to being marketed to at every turn).
B) Are rejected/feel rejected in any number of dehumanizing ways for violating often-superficial social mores, despite the fact that every sermon, every song, every message we hear speaks boldly to the opposite of the praxis of legalistic judgement and boundary-protection.
C) Become infuriated watching spiritually vulnerable person after spiritually vulnerable person be cast out or driven off in this way while we become ever more deeply complicit in this creation of outcasts by our mere presence and our cacophonous silence.
Even if we did join the church, this doesn't mean we'd be able to affect much change. After all, we don't control the purse-strings and we probably won't for a very long time (if ever). Most of us still live in our parents' basements. Plus this thing is bigger than us anyway...bigger than all of us. It has the power to reject without compassion, to judge without mercy and to exert itself relentlessly in the name of God while doing the very things that Jesus was not-so-subtly against. The bizarre thing--the thing I really don't understand--is that I am still somehow drawn to it. At least, I'm drawn to the people inside of it. The people that seem to be thinking and loving and existing as people within it.
It's not the "it", it's the "them" that gets my attention. It's the "them" that draws me inexplicably to the periphery and sometimes--oddly--to the center of this giant, bureaucratic thing. And "they" are lovely, and broken, and scared, and striving, and power hungry, and rejected, and self-righteous, and desolate, and vulnerable, and self-absorbed, and selfless, and legalistic, and compassionate, and infuriating and funny and--here's the really crucial part--longing. They are longing. Me too. Because we're people. And we happen to be people who recognize that we're not whole, that we need something more.
I fear many of us (unconsciously) hope to find this something more in it. But lots of us know we won't. Because we're people. And "it" doesn't care about that. But maybe we'll find something more in us as the Body of Christ. Because we care that we're human. And God cares. And God will deal with Pharisees, and turn tables, and endure the wrath of the institution to save our precious humanity. And maybe sometimes we should too. Even if we're not members.
