Like a Fart in Church
Some of my earliest childhood memories are of the times I spent with my neighbor. He was 6 or 7 years older than me but always took time to play with me. He taught me numerous songs that gave such profound wisdom. A whole form of bubbles makes a mass
Look out little brother, I've got gas
A whole group of bubbles, in my heart
Look out little brother, I've gotta fart
We would sing these songs, wander between our properties, play catch, watch music videos, play Atari and ColecoVision, set ants on fire, and set traps in his dad's garden, all before noon. I remember one day in particular where we had been exploring in his backyard when we came across a dead woodchuck. His dog Tilly had caught the woodchuck and then left it in the yard to be discovered by its masters. I don't think I had seen a dead animal, besides maybe a mouse, this close before. I certainly had never seen what would happen next. My neighbor took his walking stick and lightly pushed on the stomach of the woodchuck. This tiny creature let out a fart. I'm not super proud of my laughter at this discovery but to my 5 year old self, it was the craziest thing I had ever experienced. What I understand now, that I didn't back then, is that bacteria begin breaking down a dead organism which creates an awful smelling gas. The pressure that this gas creates is what caused the dead woodchuck to fart.
I was thinking about this experience this week when I read about the sun. The sun is dying at the rate of 600 billion tons of gas every second. The light from this burn is what heats the earth and keeps us from being a ball of ice. In a certain sense, the sun's death is part of what sustains life here on earth, at least for several billion years. Imagine if, like the woodchuck, the sun stored that gas created within itself. That would be one hot fart.
Here's where I hope my sophomoric humor gains some traction. I'm afraid that much of the church has become nothing more than a "hot fart". All of creation, the words of the prophets and the teachings of Jesus, are constantly showing us that life actually comes from death. The death of God in Jesus and the resurrection, the way that a burned forest actually creates more fertile ground, manure in a corn field and yes, even that little woodchuck as it eventually decomposes. Death is always bringing about new life and yet we are scared to death of it.
Every new encounter that we have, every risk to enter into relationship, is in some way a small death to ourselves. We give up some component of ourselves as we relate to another human being. Maybe we don't like when someone talks so loud or so fast, maybe we think their perfume is too strong or wish they would have brushed their teeth. Maybe we prefer people without tattoo's or piercings, people that don't swear so much or those who avoid confrontation. I think that is the beauty and the struggle of our human experience. We all bring such variety to the table. What churches have done though, is streamlined the process to find your group that requires the least amount of dying. Even within the same congregation you can find multiple service times that offer a variety of worship styles. You can live your entire life in a congregation without really experiencing anyone who feels differently than you on any topic. Even if some small deaths do occur, as we are welcoming and receptive to those different than ourselves, I fear that these small deaths are only occurring within the confines of our congregation or denomination. Too many of us are fighting to keep the status quo, keep it within the walls, don't give an inch or they'll take a mile. Seek the old path, get your new members to assimilate as soon as possible. You see the death of Jesus was for the sake of an expanding kingdom, an inclusive kingdom, a receptive kingdom. The death of Jesus was calling all of us to die. Begging us to enter into conversation and relationship, willing to let a part of us die and then to do it again and again. That we would believe that the new life that would grow from our small deaths would grow something beautiful.
Unfortunately, much of the church is still refusing to die. The fear of death has caused many to build the walls higher and dig the trenches deeper. Now with the doors of the church closed and the windows shut tight, even the small examples of death they can muster (usually deciding to allow some different form of worship, rearrange the chairs or even letting a women lead a prayer) are trapped inside those walls and not a spectacle for a desperate world to see. So even when the waiting world works up the courage to poke at the newly constructed walls, perhaps to see if anything at all still happens there, I fear they may find nothing but a fart in church.
It doesn't have to be this way. Open the doors, get outside, remember that the death of Jesus was outside of the city gates.
Hebrews:11Although the high priest brings the blood of animals into the Holy Place as a sacrifice for sin, the bodies are burned outside the camp. 12 And so Jesus also suffered outside the city gate to make the people holy through his own blood.13Therefore let us go to Him outside the camp, bearing the disgrace He bore.…
Allow new relationships with people who think, act and feel differently than you, change you. The small deaths that you will experience as you begin to see the world through another's eyes will be the very places that new life springs up. I pray that the church will look a lot more like a sun, or maybe THE Son, than a dead woodchuck. It's a whole heck of a lot brighter and much less stinky.