Cruising

Reggie McNeal uses airports to describe what churches are supposed to be. Airports connect people to their final destination. They get it wrong when they think they are the final destination.

That got me thinking about it some more and I think I would add that a lot of churches think they are cruise ships. I know there are some of you who would argue that the ports of call on a cruise make all the difference in the world, but they really don't. What you really care about is what amenities the cruise ship has. You couldn't care less that the cruise ship isn't preparing you at all for your destination. It is the destination.

For disclosure sake I should mention that I have never been on a cruise. I'm more of a resort person. But I've heard you talk. You talk about service, swimming pools, shows, sports, and above all you talk about food. I wonder what percentage of passengers actually ever get off the boat. I wonder if cruise ships could simply sail over the horizon and turn in circles for a week and still keep everybody happy.

Churches get caught up in that too. We really only talk about a destination because it seems we should. We have to have something to put in our mission statement, after all. Instead we want to make sure everyone is entertained, having fun, and well fed. We really like it if they have a great program for our kids. That way we can be free of some of our parental responsibilities to have even more fun. We know that we are supposed to be on a journey of some kind so we like the idea of a cruise. We even make a port call every now and then to soothe our consciences a bit. Then it is back to the good life.

We need to get back to being connectors. We need to help people get to their calling in life. We need to be the best airports we can be but we can never lose sight of the fact that we are not the destination.

Fight

I really don't like ruining Christmas but I am a little concerned I may do just that with my sermon this Sunday. Christmas is one of those times of year when people take in the glittering lights, the piles of gifts, and, if they dig deep enough, an image of Mary & Joseph hunched over a beautiful baby Jesus laying in a manger. (It's usually a lily white baby Jesus too, but that's another topic.) These images make us want to sit back and say, "Awww, how precious."

In actuality that baby in a manger is the result of a decision to take up a fight, to get down and dirty with the gloves off, to go ahead and accept a battering, bruising, and bloody fight. The way I see it, God had a decision to make about this 3rd planet from the sun. Seeing the mess it was in, the simply thing to do would have been to obliterate it. It was hardly worth saving. Instead God decided redemption would be the better way so he entered the fight in the only way it would work, as a vulnerable baby born in a barn located in an insignificant town.

When I connect that baby in a manger with the God making that decision about this planet it changes things. That baby suddenly doesn't seem so warm and cuddly. It represents a gauntlet thrown down to Satan. It says God loves this world enough to fight for it and he has arrived, ready for battle. It's not a publicity stunt either. Otherwise God would have arrived with pomp and circumstances befitting a champion, and not in a lowly manger. He's not hiding behind 10,000 angels because he can't win the prize that way. He arrives naked with no gimmicks. This is serious. This is a battle. This is God confronting the enemy.

I hope I don't ruin Christmas for people by connecting the baby Jesus to a battle. (I know some people get tired of all the military talk we use all the time. But if we learned to fight like Jesus that wouldn't be a problem.) I hate to take away your "Awww" moment. But I do hope we'll learn to love enough to fight. Love our families, love our friends, and love our church communities enough to fight for them. Love others enough to fight for them. And love God enough to fight for him with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength.

Outdoors

Every now and then I get this urge to be outdoors. I get tired of my office. Tired of sitting behind a desk all day. Tired of not getting out there and enjoying God’s creation.

A friend sent my kids a subscription to a back packing magazine. They live in the southwest of the USA where they are surrounded by opportunities to take a hike. I thumbed through the mag and felt a strong urge to be anywhere but here.

I hate camping because whenever someone tried to take me camping I could never see the point of it. I guess I should qualify that by saying I don’t see the point of camping unless it is on the way to somewhere or to do something. Camping on a fishing or hunting trip I’m fine. Camping while climbing a mountain or hiking a trail, no problem. But camping just to sit around and swat mosquitoes, no thanks.

I grew up in Africa where I spent a lot of time outdoors. We climbed a few mountains but mostly we went hunting. I went to a boarding school that was surrounded by mountains, jungle, and grassland which provided ample opportunity to “get out there” and we took full advantage.

Planning a camping trip in those days began by gathering everything we thought we would need to stay warm, safe, and comfortable. We would place the huge mass of gear in the middle of an old army surplus sleeping bag liner and roll it up as tight as we could. After tying it all together we would balance it precariously on the back of a motorcycle, which took a lot more tying, and off we would go.

The word “road” had a lot of different meanings there. It could mean anything from asphalt to a track that was at least wide enough to squeeze a vehicle through. The latter would usually lead to a small village where a vehicle would maybe show up twice a year. From there we would take our motorcycles on footpaths that led farther out to the farms of the villagers. After going as far as we could it would be time to abandon the motorcycles and start hiking.

We would untie our gear from our motorcycles and throw it over our shoulders. I’m not sure we even knew what a backpack was in those days. We usually made it about 200 yards before we would realize we brought way too much junk. We would leave everything behind except for a pot of uncooked rice, salt, matches, canteen, and a tree hammock. We’d pick up the rest on the way back.

Those camps were never comfortable. We would always have good food (hunting is different there) but the hammocks would only be comfortable for a few hours and we were never warm enough no matter how big we made the fire. We never let that dampen our spirits though because the camp wasn’t the focus of the trip. It was the hunt, or the climb, or the hike. We wouldn’t have endured the hardship just to camp.

I lost a lot of my appetite for the outdoors over the years. I went hunting here in the US a few times but I never got away from the sounds of cars on a highway somewhere near by. Somehow that ruined it. I knew there were places I could go but I never went. I read Bryson’s book about his hike on the Appalachian Trail and thought it sounded great. But it was too far away.

My kid’s magazine has an article highlighting hiking opportunities in various regions of the USA. I eagerly turned to the Midwest section only to find that the nearest one is several hundred miles away. That kind of puts a damper on things.

Of course there are hiking trails in Indiana and I would probably be surprised if I took the time to check them out. For some reason I keep picturing myself trudging along the border of a bean field from one small woodlot to the next. But I’m sure there are nice trails available. It’s just that the thought of hiking in Indiana is not very motivating.

For now I’ll just think about it. I’ll picture myself alone on a trail stopping to take in an inspiring overlook. I’ll imagine the wind rustling in the trees and the sounds of the wildlife playing in their world. At least this way I can leave out the mosquitoes, chiggers, ticks, and thistle out of the picture.