Driving through town, I love to see new construction taking place. The people hired out for the various construction jobs love to “see” this even more, I’m sure. Setting the debate about consumerism and American culture aside for a moment, seeing new construction builds in my heart a reassurance that fresh vision and passionate dreams still abound. There are risk-takers still among us, and there are energetic human support beams lining these cathedrals of leadership innovation.
By contrast, a wet, mildewy insulation fills my heart, when I glance upon a worn-out building, overgrown with weedy-shrubbery and posting a sign “For Rent.” I wonder who in their right minds would buy into such a venture. And yet the building’s owner is hoping against hope for someone to do just that.
A few miles outside the city-limits of Lamar, SC, such a building exists (or existed, depending on your view point). At one time it was a double drive-thru for hamburgers and hotdogs. Yet, that “one time” was quite a distance into yesteryear. It looked as if The History Channel might have wanted to use it in the next episode of their recent series, “Life without People.” Recently, it has been acquired and spruced up. It is now the sprawling hub of a weekend flea-market.
Yet, there are many more buildings that weep tears of broken glass and chipped paint, mourning the days of yesteryear, when someone with vision birthed them into existence. The only brightness that remains for many of these buildings flows from the newly changed out “For Rent” signs. Maybe, just maybe, some resourceful entrepreneur will set up shop to the Burger King tune of “If you build it, they will come.” At that dire state, the owner of the building no longer has the Burger King luxury of having it his way. He is at the mercy of the entrepreneur’s golden wisdom.
Many of our churches are now “For Rent.” The “owners” are hoping against hope. Perhaps their resourceful pastoral entrepreneurs can whip up some measure of life, sunny-side up, with a side of comfy-ness and all served on platters of antique traditions by beaming, complaisant young people. Unfortunately, there are fewer and fewer pastoral entrepreneurs (especially younger ones) willing to submit their resourcefulness to such a vacuum of reality. Is it possible that waiting for young pastoral entrepreneurs to ride into town in their limousine ideas to save our churches is nothing more than a pipe dream? After all if their limousine ideas do not fit our Model-T assumptions, then we slit their tires.
“Choosing to Love Thy Neighbor Also” is our denominational theme this year. While we are waiting on our young, pastoral entrepreneurs that are long in coming, if even at all, perhaps ”choosing to love thy neighbor as thyself” is the entrepreneurial model for church growth that we plain country folk can live. In so doing, perhaps it will be our new customers and patrons working with us that will enable us to remove the “For Rent” signs with optimistic integrity. Yet, this means that we, the regular church folk, “the owners,” actually have to have meaningful contact with potential customers that look, sound, and taste differently than we do. Let’s face it, if we, “the owners,” don’t learn to encourage patronage from “different” customers, we will be replacing our “For Rent” signs with ones more onimously labeled, “For Sale.” Likewise, we must not only learn to encourage patronage from “different” customers, but we must learn to embrace a lifestyle of loving-service to them. This is our calling now; not simply the calling of those we pay to be spiritual for us.
Such prospects are intimidating for many of us. Yet, our pastors are not the only ones with resourceful and resilient hearts among us. If most of us can find creative ways to still make it to the local buffet in this economy, then I know finding creative ways to love our neighbors, even our neighbors that are “different,” is doable.
Serving in the military provides ample opportunity to practice this novel idea of “choosing to love thy neighbor as thyself.” The military rarely runs a shortage of pagans (aka. ministry opportunities). One drill weekend I was digging fighting holes with my squad leader. He was digging holes of despair. Seemingly out of nowhere he began to express his deep frustrations in his marriage. His emotions were raw. Not being married, myself, my comfort was raw. The stakes were high. He was hell-bent on going to the divorce lawyer that Wednesday. He hated her.
Yet, the Spirit impressed upon me to simply listen, to be a redemptive harbor of peace onto which his emotional hurricane could safely land. Eventually, I confessed that I had no advice to offer, but that I could see he was desperately hurting. I offered to pray for him, right there on the spot. I told him that I believed God could save his marriage. He graciously let me pray over him that God would heal his marriage. The next drill weekend, a month later, he found me among several of my friends. With the bark of your friendly, neighborhood drill instructor he said, “Hey, if Daniel wants to pray for y’all, let him! My wife and I were going to the divorce lawyer, but now we’ve decided to work things out.”
Several months later he proudly brought his wife and little boy, his intact and healing family, to Family Day. I don’t know the exact extent to which my prayers over him and his family played into God’s redemption of that family. I do know that when I made the decision to be involved in his messy situation, I was not Rev. Daniel. I was merely Lance Corporal Daniel of the Marine Reserves, who simply loved Jesus with a passion that propelled me to actively love my vile, but hurting, neighbor with my ears and heart.
Our culture rarely runs a shortage of pagans with glaring needs. These folks are our neighbors. They are our neighbors to love. They are our neighbors to redemptively love. They are our neighbors to redemptively love with no strings attached. They, not the mirage of young, entrepreneurial pastors, are the means by which we shall remove the “For Rent” signs from what will become our formerly dilapidated churches.
