BRINGING CHURCH BACK to the TABLE
Jeremiah 29:1, 4-8a; Luke 10:1-12
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Without trying to sound defensive,
it almost feels like I need to make the case again,
for what we’re trying to do in this worship series,
and why it might be important.
Because bringing church back to the table
feels a little bit like swimming upstream,
or going against the grain.
Here’s my case . . .
when it comes to the core practices of the church—
worship, witness, faith formation, community-building,
discernment, accountability, confession and reconciliation,
rituals of belonging—
all of them are scalable, down to the size of a table,
where small numbers are gathered.
Not only that, they are often done better at table scale.
They are often more deeply relational, transformational,
authentic, and inclusive.
In no way am I saying . . . that larger, highly-structured forms of church
can’t also engage in those practices with integrity,
because they do.
Nor am I saying . . . table-sized groups always do them well,
because they don’t.
What I’m trying to push against, gently, is the popular notion
that people practice their faith,
mostly within the four walls of a church building,
and the services and programs that happen there.
And I’m saying that as someone who devoted
over four decades of my professional life
helping larger congregational programs and systems run well.
And I don’t regret that for a moment.
We need larger congregations, like ours, doing what they do well,
with their greater visibility,
more extensive resources,
and collaborative energy.
And we need people like you here this morning,
being part of this—
investing, consistently, in this collaborative work we do,
showing up with what you have to offer.
Without organized churches like ours,
some of the vibrant community agencies—like OCP—
would have a much harder time making a go of it.
But . . . but, if any of us think we can check off the “religion” box,
by putting our rear ends in a church pew,
and some dollars in an offering plate,
and some hours in a church kitchen,
then I think we’ve fallen for a great American myth—
that being Christian means “going to church,”
and that outside those few hours on a weekend,
how we order the rest of our lives
is private and personal
and disconnected from faith and from church.
No. The life of faith, the life of following Jesus,
is a whole-life endeavor.
It’s calling to us 24/7.
So most of that has to happen
in real, honest, authentic, life-giving,
everyday human relationships.
That’s what bringing the church back to the table is all about.
It’s about reminding us of the totality of a life of faith,
and of the need to do it in companionship with others.
_____________________
So . . . all that to set the stage today for looking at another
core practice of the church—witnessing to the Gospel.
We church people are familiar with this language of witness,
and we tend to place it in one of two categories—
we’re talking about either the
public witness of the church to society and the world,
or the personal sharing of our faith with someone.
Almost any act of witness that comes to mind
could be put into one of those two categories.
The public witness of the church includes things like,
church planting and evangelism,
medical missions,
disaster relief, food distribution,
Christian education,
social service,
peacebuilding,
public protest, political advocacy, and more.
And personal faith-sharing can also encompass a range of activity,
talking to a neighbor about your faith,
long conversations with a friend at a coffeeshop,
showing kindness to a stranger,
writing a memoir,
and more.
All these acts of witness,
if they are done with compassion and kindness and humility,
are important ways to bear witness to the gospel of Jesus.
But today, I’m suggesting we tend to overlook
a whole other category of Christian witness:
the compelling witness of a living community of Christ.
That is, people in relationship with each other,
just living like an actual community of disciples of Jesus,
as they navigate everyday challenges of life together.
I’m talking about not being afraid to put our shared lives on display.
To be more hospitable.
To extend the table.
To risk opening our ordinary lives to outsiders,
and inviting them in,
to see what living Christianly looks like, in the everyday.
_____________________
Thing is, inviting people into the ordinary moments of our lives
doesn’t come natural.
Hospitality is actually counter-cultural.
Our hyper-individualistic culture shapes us
to keep our doors, and our lives, locked up.
Private.
So we live in communities that are often segmented
and isolated from each other.
All of have mess at home and in our lives—
literally and figuratively.
Before we invite someone in,
we need to cover up or clean up.
I’m referring to our ordinary spaces,
not our “Sunday best” that we put out for a nice party or event.
I’m talking about the gift of hospitality,
not the gift of entertaining.
Hospitality is openness.
It is vulnerability.
It is authenticity.
And it is risk-prone.
The perceived “risk” of having people see us
when we’re not at our best,
is one reason why “having people over,” on a whim,
or . . . God forbid . . . “dropping by” to visit, unannounced,
seems like such an antiquated and quaint practice.
That kind of thing, believe it or not, used to happen regularly.
It did in the home I grew up in.
And it still does in some cultures.
But our privatized and risk-averse and protective posture
we take toward neighbors,
has resulted in lives that are far more lonely and isolated
and fragmented than they once were.
And it also means that if someone is living in our neighborhood,
maybe next door,
and struggling with life,
and longing for community,
wishing there were people with whom they could
ask the deeper questions of life and suffering and God,
about the only doorway available to them is pretty intimidating.
They have to walk in the entrance
of a strange and imposing religious building,
and blend into a crowd of people they don’t know,
whose symbols and rituals they don’t understand.
It takes a rare kind of courage to walk into any social situation
where it’s clear to you and everyone else, you’re an outsider.
So in today’s polarized and fragmented social environment,
where the institutional church is less known, and less trusted,
how do people ever begin a faith journey
when the Spirit starts nudging them toward it? . . .
. . . Unless people of faith they already know and trust,
show genuine hospitality to them,
open their lives, as they are,
to be shared on equal footing with them,
where gifts are freely given and freely received?
And where, as the relationship develops and mutual trust grows, it becomes safe and authentic and comfortable
to discuss not only weather and sports,
but the deeper things of life—
the struggles of parenting, of marriage,
of facing financial insecurity,
of the core values that drive our decision-making,
of how to perceive God’s presence in suffering.
Church at the table is not focused on
filling seats or meeting budgets or growing programs.
There’s a place for that.
But church at the table is “slow church.”
It’s about taking all the time we need
to build authentic relationships,
and create safe and welcoming spaces
for wanderers and explorers.
Even though it’s nothing we can rush,
it’s still something we can be intentional about.
We can start by asking ourselves,
and asking the groups we associate with
how open we are . . . or not . . . with our neighbors,
with the people adjacent to us?
Are we ready to let our lives be seen?
to let our lives be accessed?
to let our time and our spaces be shared?
And if we’re ready, how might we start?
with a back-yard barbecue?
a neighborhood block party?
a community garden?
a Sunday afternoon motorcycle ride, or bike ride,
or quilting party,
or community sing,
. . . the possibilities are endless.
Maybe you could join efforts
with some other church families that live near you.
Maybe a small group, or a grouping of groups,
or a Faith Formation class,
could plan something that is purposely outward-facing
and invitational to your neighbors.
It might end up just being a one-off thing
that seems like it had little impact.
And that’s fine!
Because months or years later,
one of your neighbors might hit a crisis point,
and it occurs to them to turn toward someone
with whom they had a safe conversation at your event.
I think this is what Jeremiah had in mind,
when he wrote these words of admonition to the exiles
living in Babylon.
He encouraged them to invest in their neighborhoods,
even as outsiders.
“Build houses and live in them;
plant gardens and eat what they produce . . .
Seek the shalom of the city where I have sent you into exile,
and pray to the Lord on its behalf,
for in its shalom you will find your shalom.”
I also think this lines up with Jesus’ intent,
when he sent his disciples out in pairs, in Luke 10.
He did not give them a program
or any pre-packaged Gospel witness.
He told them to go and find people of peace.
People who would welcome them into their homes,
where they could share life together.
And only then, when the time was right,
and the relationship was strong enough to sustain it,
they would start preaching and healing,
and proclaim “God’s kingdom is near.”
The invitation here is to let the Spirit move among us.
Let our lives be a witness, and be witnessed.
And let us walk as children of the light.
Turn to VT 777, to the song called simply, “Seeds.”
Be ready to sing this song written by
Seth Crissman and Greg Yoder of the Walking Roots Band.
To sing, “use our hands, use our feet,
to show your love and your peace,
and cover us . . . with love.”
But before we sing, join me in the confession,
in your bulletin or on the screens.
one In a world where darkness overwhelms,
all Let us walk as children of light.
one In a world of misinformation and misdirection,
all Let us follow Jesus.
one In a world where loneliness is epidemic,
all Let us show up for each other.
one In a world where division threatens all our well-being,
all Let us seek the shalom of every
person, community, city, and nation.
[silence]
one In God there is no darkness at all.
The night and the day are both alike.
all The Lamb is the light of the city of God.
Shine in our hearts, Lord Jesus.
—Phil Kniss, June 9, 2024
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