ellen haroutunian

I have been a subversive ecclesiologist for many years now. I say subversive because the tribe I come from doesn’t give a whole lot of weight to the voices of women. We have had to learn to make a difference without a microphone (more about that another time). My passion for ecclesiology has actually come as a surprise to me because I haven’t been able to fully understand, much less explain, my love for the Church as I have come to know her – a bunch of really messy and yet glorious people. Yet, it’s there.

Garrison Keillor (I’m pretty sure it was him) told a story of a man who was about to end his marriage. The man had finally had it and had walked out the front door for the last time. But as he began to load his bags into his car, he glanced up and saw his neighbor working in his yard across the street. He began to think about how the choice to change his life and go through with divorce would affect his friend. He turned around and went back inside to his wife to try again.

When I first read this I felt cynical. No one gets over their “stuff” that easily. As a therapist I have cleaned up a lot of messes of people who have been deeply wounded by the easy answers and platitudes given by church, which left them disillusioned, wounded and very alone. I feared a story like this could be used to strong-arm struggling people. But there’s something about it that sounded like a taste of the relationships of real church to me. To be able to find even one molecule of willingness to see someone else and their needs and to choose them over one’s own insular life, even while caught in pain and disappointment… well, that’s either the act of a crazy person, or it’s radical love. According to Jesus, that kind of love is our signature.

I love the church. I really do. You may be expecting a “but” or “however” attached to that statement. There isn’t one coming. Real church is a rare thing, and I believe it is experienced in fleeting, precious moments, like the man in the story above. This idea is nothing new, and frustration around the lack of real church has been echoing across the blogosphere for a long time now. The fact is most of what passes for “church”, simply isn’t. How often do we see that kind of radical, life-changing, yet humble and unsung love?

Recently, for the second time during a lifetime of being in the ministry, I watched the church I love inexplicably rise up and tear into her own flesh. This had been an awesome church, one that drew raves and awe from our sturdy denomination chiefs, sometimes with an occasional pat on the head and a chuckle: you edgy rascals! We even drew praise from the burgeoning Emergent Church community, rating reasonably high on the cool-o-meter. People did get a taste of Jesus here, not just a download of theological and spiritual information. Countless people would tell me that they would come and sit in the back row for months or even a couple of years, and simply weep during the services. It was a healing place. The talk of the love and mercy and power of God was a glass of cool water in the desert of their journeys.

And then it ended. I won’t go into details which can descend into a “who is to blame” thing. But what we thought was church turned out to be perhaps only a few layers deep. When everything began to spiral downward, love for neighbor simply disappeared and “taking sides” took over, creating a bloody holy war. The tabernacle that we built around our former success and glory is knocked down.  We are weary. My husband and I harbor fantasies of working in Home Depot and Starbucks and leaving ministry dreams far behind.

And now we are starting over with a group of bewildered and wounded folks. Most of them have never heard the word missional, nor do they have any idea how to rebuild a church other than what they have known in the evangelical world. People have admitted that they are tired of that anyway. One woman said, “I sit and hear great sermons and great music and I do all the activities and I am unchanged.” A man said, “I don’t know what I want, but I want something….else.”

I am not completely sure what spurs us on except for something about Jesus. Our “strategy” now is that we are going to try to follow Jesus. No more Rock Star up front to lure the masses. It burns him out and shuts out everyone else. No more valuing goals or a slick version of truth over people. No more being right over being friends. We’re choosing to trust that Jesus really is building his church as he said he would. We’re leaning into shared leadership and co-pastoring which will mean a whole lot of dying to ourselves and turning back around to forgive and try difficult relationships again, just like the man in the story. We are choosing to allow many voices to be heard and to allow dialogue to happen, even if it challenges the status quo. We’re choosing to believe that the Holy Spirit really is at work in all of us and all of the world. Maybe he shows up where we haven’t allowed him to be. We’re choosing to believe the flock can be trusted as much as any professional. It sounds cheesy to say, “Jesus is our senior pastor” but honestly it’s him or nothing.

The strategy might sound too ambiguous or even too trendy. But something is happening. I look around our too expensive building and wonder how we’ll survive and find that I am flanked by a dear woman who is new to our church and is a single mom of 5. “I love it here,” she says, “I have never felt so seen and loved.” I now confess my shame: my heart was tempted for a moment to think of how she’s not going to be a big tither. For decades I has seen how the wealthier and advantaged in the church often get the most respect and favor, and certainly all the invitations to be on leadership teams and boards and “in-groups.” This is an unquestioned given in the status quo church that has robbed us of our spiritual depth and of a vision for looking outward beyond merely adding to our own ranks and having the best show. I have grown so weary of that way of doing church and now here it is, welling up in me. My heart can be so faithless and loveless. My great ideals don’t necessarily change my heart.

And then I look at her, and realize how much I need her. How often do we miss Jesus in his distressing disguise? She is by many standards the least of these, and so she probably has wisdom and talents that have gone unnoticed and untapped for years. She will probably give far more faith, hope and love than she will take. She is a gift. If there is a reason to press on to learn to be this thing called church, it’s her.

Because she is part of us, I am changing. Maybe I will actually learn more of what it means to Be Church – messy and magnificent, grotesque and glorious, all. 

(photograph is Dennis Oppenheim’s sculpture, Device to Root out Evil)