Leading up to the event there was the normal amount of dread that accompanies any decision I make to attend shower festivities, dread that sees me asking my more estrogen appropriate sisters if I have to play the stupid games and do I have to be nice to everyone. I have such a loathing of wedding and baby showers, in fact, that I have seemingly blocked from my memory those of my own sister. I’ve been told I was in attendance, and there’s video to prove it, and I know these particular events were before I was drinking in earnest or doing drugs of any kind, but I cannot remember a single moment of either of the two I was present for. I’m already dreading my own baby shower, asking my sister on more than one occasion to please not play any “stupid games”.

In addition to the normal dread, there was a new sense of apprehension about attending this particular shower. There were bound to be various members of my former church present, people I hadn’t seen or spoken to for the better part of a year, people I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to see. Would it be awkward? Would I feel out of place? What would the reaction to my pregnancy be?

I’m happy to say that I was pleasantly surprised. Not by the shower, of course, that was the predictable, mind numbing display of giggling games that I still cannot believe any person actually enjoys, and the properly placed ooh and aah of well-practiced women watching the opening of gifts. My contribution to the actual wedding shower portion of the day involved bringing a gift that my sister and I decided to wrap in a purple vinyl tablecloth, introducing myself as “just here for the cake”, and doing as little as politely possible to involve myself in any gaming activities.*

No, the surprise came in the form of those church folk I was so apprehensive about seeing and in the genuine pleasure it was to see many of them. There was a warmth and affection that, unbeknownst to me, I had been missing. These ladies were exuberant in sharing their excitement at my pregnancy. They laughed with me as I acted out various ways I would try to keep my daughter away from the color pink and smiled encouragingly as I talked about names I was thinking of. This group of people, friends of mine that I had walked away from in my anger at the select few and the system as a whole, seemed genuinely happy to hear that we had signed on a house and would be moving into it soon. They wanted to know what it looked like and where it was, they wanted to hear how happy I was about everything. They were glad to hear that my relationship is solid and wonderful. They shared stories of encouragement for the next months from their own lives, children, and relationships. I spent the afternoon laughing and, game playing portion aside, not watching the clock. When I finally did leave it was to a round of hugs and well wishes and, yes, estrogen drenched giddiness about when they would all get to meet my little one.

I’ve spent the last 24 hours or so thinking about this. This was not the reaction I had anticipated. Actually, the reality of this welcome stands in sharp contract to the stern faced crowd of judgment ready, freedom crushers I had painted in my mind. I find it perplexing. In my anger at a particular situation and for a few errant individuals, did I really lose sight of the goodness of the rest? Does this mean that there might be more that I was wrong about? If so, what is it? Did I, in the undiscerning fury that comes from betrayal, turn my back on a source of joyful encouragement and friendship the likes of which I have not been able to replace completely?

Above everything else that was surprising, I think what stood out most starkly to me was the sense of happiness that infused these women. This is, no doubt, in large part to my current hormonally-based intolerance for the amount of whining, complaining, opinion tossing and general discontent that I seem to sense from a portion of my circle of friends as of late. I feel as though I have become a near recluse in my community, occasionally coming out for the companionship of my sisters and little else, simply because I cannot stand the incessant negative focus of the conversations that take place. There are relationships that are terrible, but no one is leaving them; jobs that aren’t paying the bills or aren’t fulfilling, but no one is looking for new work; personal issues of near crisis, but no one wants to go to therapy. Is it any wonder, with the amount of unaddressed pain in their day to day lives, a few of my friends are quick to cruelly cut down my choice of baby names, to point out the difficulty that comes with moving farther away from the circle, and say time and again, with a certain amount of glee, “if you think it’s bad now, just wait a few more months” when they hear that I’m not sleeping well or that this, that, or the other thing is sore.

I clearly remember leaving the church to join a community and saying loud and clear, “These people love and accept me no matter what!” At the time, it was true, I felt loved and accepted in my decisions; decisions to keep drinking, to embrace God if I needed to but not the church, to be as much of myself as I wanted to be. These days, however, I don’t feel quite as supported or as unquestionably accepted to be who or what I am becoming. I wonder if it easier for my community to support me when I am struggling. I am beginning to believe that, in some circles, it is easier to support someone who is struggling than it is to be happy for someone who is happy. Or, perhaps it’s not that at all. Perhaps we simply feel accepted in the environments that match us in that moment. Perhaps a group of well-established women who have found their way to a sort of balance in life feel more supportive to me in this season of living because I am also feeling balanced and joyful. Just like a community of soul-searching individuals who have not yet found their way to peace felt more accepting to me when that is where I was myself.

In the end, I don’t have any of the answers. I love very much my community circle, even if I don’t always feel particularly lifted up by them. And I realize now that I may have been missing out on something else that I love when I turned my back on an entire church of people over an incident of personal betrayal. It seems to me that I may find, in the end, I need one just as much as the other. If that’s the case, it would appear I may owe a few people an apology for my lack of trust and belief in them as individuals and for lumping them all in with what I (still) see as a depressingly sinking ship.

For the record, being tossed into a philosophical tailspin by my participation in one has not, in any way, heightened my appreciation of those gift-giving extravaganza’s known as the “shower”.

*I should mention here that for those that enjoy these things, I’m sure the shower was lovely. The food was excellent, the hostess was flawless and the company was truly wonderful. Should that lovely family be a reader of this blog it’s important to understand my opinion in no way reflects your success… I’m just a shower hater, don’t mind me.

I have some pretty strong feelings on the topic but when I go to write about it, for whatever reason, my thoughts tangle together like an uncooperative ball of yarn, and I begin to second guess my own ideas and beliefs. Is it because I haven’t yet come to a conclusion that allows for all of my experiences with the church, both in and out of it, to make sense? Is it because I still cling to the idea that the church, whatever else it may be, is holy and above reproach, above questioning? Is it because I have more questions than answers and to follow any one line long enough inevitably leaves me more confused and embittered than I was to begin with?

I’ve got to resolve this ongoing issue. I have got to be able to work my way to the root of whatever is going on so that I can be at peace. I need to be at whole relationship with God, whether it is again or for the first time.

Traditional church, for me, is the place that you go and pretend that everything is okay, where you share only pieces of who you are. I’ve been doing this inside of the church for many years. As a young teen a minister came to our house and he and I sat and talked for awhile. This, to me, felt like a big deal. Our minister wasn’t the ‘roll his sleeves up and get dirty’ type, the kind to hang with the kids. My mom and step-dad invited him over and so that he and I had could have some time to talk alone. I can’t remember, really, what we talked about, but it was something about how parents make mistakes and it’s important to forgive. My family kept going to church every weekend and pretending everything was fine. I watched my mom pretend that everything was just fine, that her family was just fine, thank you very much, every week for years, for one reason or another.

I always assumed that my own screwed up history so early on must have set a pattern in place. I assumed that I kept feeling like I was experiencing that same demand to pretend that everything was fine in other churches and with other Christians because I was subconsciously searching for it, for validation of that first instance as a child. I became adept at presenting to the church exactly what it wanted to see, and little else, and blamed the ensuing lack of fulfillment on my own inability to move beyond my past.

The thing is, as I’ve gotten older, and a bit braver, and as I’ve entered into real relationships with real people who are Christian, I’ve realized that a lot of people feel this way about church. I have a friend who wrestles very seriously with whether or not to let her church family know that she occasionally has a glass of wine. There’s another who worries about what impact her platonic relationships with the opposite sex will have on her standing within the church. I have a friend who struggles to accept a theological precept of the church but is fearful to talk about it with anyone.

Is this the church where I am supposed to feel safe to confess my sins, to share my struggles?

When I was in rehab, I lived on top of a mountain with an average of 50 other women all fighting their way back to sobriety. All of the staff, right up to the Director, were graduates of the center; survivors of drug addiction and eating disorders, former prostitutes and past jail inmates. Everyone knew who everyone was on that mountain, and who everyone used to be. Everyone knew that none of us were perfect and that everyone was on the same journey to becoming whole, to becoming like Christ.

I’ve never felt so safe in my life. There were guidelines to growth there, clear cut and understood by everyone. The rules were universally applied to all of the women at the center, no one was favored above the rest. If conflicts arose, and they inevitably did, the pattern of Matt 18:15-17 was strictly adhered to; first you go to your sister to confront her on your own. If your sister doesn’t listen to you on your own, then bring a friend or two to help out, and, if the conflict still can’t be resolved, you go to the authority. This was such a serious rule that if you skipped steps one and two and went straight to the authority, you were not heard.

The healthier women took care of the sicker women and everyone worked together to make the things run smoothly. Everyone started out in housekeeping and no one, not even the staff, was considered better than the next. If sin was known of, it was confronted. If character was lacking, it was addressed. Becoming a better person, a whole person, was not a hopeful prayer, it was a daily expectation and active aspiration. We all worked on becoming more like Christ every day, and we all did it together. I felt compelled, while I was there, to share my confessions of sin, in hopes of victory, to share my struggles in search of answers.

Not once, in 10 months, did I ever seem them turn away, or fail to lead, someone who was struggling.

That felt like church.

I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what the church is supposed to look like or feel like, really. Maybe it’s a question of nature vs. nuture, is it the church’s fault or society’s? I don’t have all the answers. I don’t even have all of the questions yet.

But I do know one thing.

I’m not going to pretend anymore.

I can’t help but wonder if the church is on the same trajectory as the bookstore.  There is much debate about the statistics.  A small minority say that the numbers are actually leveling out and even possibly trending toward a small uptick in church attendance in America.  Most say that church attendance has been plummeting for years and will continue to do so in the coming decades.  Younger generations seem to be particularly disenfranchised (for more insight, I recommend checking out work by Robert Wuthnow and Gabe Lyons).  Regardless of where we land on the numbers and statistics, the truth remains that the church is intended to play an integral role in the story God is writing on earth.  As the bride of Christ, she is called to be a radiant expression of the restorative and healing love of Jesus.  The church is meant to be a gathering place of what Bonhoeffer calls saints & sinners; all of us together, collectively stumbling our way through life, trying to get a grip, figuring it out step by step, leaning on each other to make certain that no one falls too hard or too far.  But it seems that in many of our churches, this tremendous calling has been dwindled down to a focus on the efficiency and effectiveness of production.  How does our church look and sound?  Are people buying what we’re selling?  What’s the winning formula to church growth and how do we reproduce it in as many places as we can?  I’m not so naive as to say that these considerations are unimportant.  The aesthetics are crucial to creating an emotional connection.  Gaining buy-in from people is key to making real progress.  Church growth and reproduction are prevalent in the New Testament narratives.  But none of these elements can replace the centrality of the communal experience that the church must offer.  And I believe that in order to have maximum effect, this experience must be a genuine, visceral one, untouched by the synthetic processes of forced or manufactured group dynamics.  Much like a really good bookstore.

My wife and I were in Portland a few months ago and got to visit Powell’s Books a couple of times.  It’s an incredibly unique place and a must if you’re ever in Portland.  They claim to be the largest new & used bookstore in the world and I believe them.  There must have been at least a hundred people in the store while we were there, although it’s hard to really know because the store is the size of a city block.  Jenny and I got lost in Powell’s and it was wonderful.  Some of the books were dusty and I felt allergic but I didn’t want to leave.  At one point I saw an elderly homeless man and a hipster kid standing side by side in an aisle, reading Philip Dick short stories.  I joined them for a little while.  We didn’t say a word to each other but there we were, communing in this equal space where we were all enthralled by the power of story.  As I think back on that experience I am reminded that this is exactly what the church ought to be; an equal space where people from all walks of life can gather and be drawn into a real community, captivated by the beautiful story of God.  So let us hope and work toward the preservation and progress of great bookstores and even better churches everywhere.

• Poimen ≈ shepherd, pastor
• Episkopos ≈ bishop, overseer
• Presbuteros ≈ elder
• Hegoumenoi ≈ leaders

Yesterday, I commented on the first three words above.  They are distinct from one another and yet, when considered together, help to form a more complete picture of one type of Christian leader.  In the process of writing this blog, I began to wonder more about the significance of the word hegoumenoi. Curiously, as of this writing, my blog is the only one referenced by WordPress as dealing with this word, and I’m a little surprised at that.

I’d previously almost discounted this fourth word, not being sure whether it is properly applied to a) church leaders or b) community leaders, and how far to take the idea of “obeying” (Heb. 13:17).  It’s a rather unique exhortation–to obey church leaders, that is–and as such, I’ve wondered how applicable this word is to church leadership.

[Aside:  a more megalomaniacal pastor-type, whether he calls himself "pastor" or not, won't shy away from expounding on Hebrews 13:17 as though it certainly relates to him and his role.  Who wouldn't want other people to obey him?  :-)]

Moving further with hegoumenoi … I note that not only it is perhaps more generic than the other terms above, but also,

• it is used only in plural
• it is used only in Hebrews 13 (although cognates are found in other texts)
• it has other shades of meaning:  e.g., to think, to believe, to regard as

Hegoumenoi is, according to Kittel, used of “community leaders.”  Hmmm.  While this could run parallel to what Paul demanded in terms of the relationship between the Christian and government–does Heb. 13:17 mean “be subject to civil/community authorities?”–I wonder whether the Christian community might be in evidence here more than the civil one.  If the purview here is the church and nothing larger, then thinking and believing and regarding–”soft skills,” the business world might call them–could be understood as elements of Christian influence and relationship.

Let’s back up and “zoom out,” as my friend Greg puts it, when dealing with literary context.  A few years ago, I did some study in Hebrews and began to develop the sense that it is written primarily to a single Christian church of (mostly) Jewish converts.  As the theology moves into the practical, one might get the sense, too, that the exhortations are directed to a specific group rather than to Jewish Christians everywhere.  And in the final chapter, this sense of communication to a single Christian community grows.  Read chapter 13 with an eye toward discerning whether it is general or specific in its “target audience.”

If — and I do say “if” — I’m onto something here, then the hegoumenoi could easily be taken more as influential leaders in the Christian community. Since the word-concept “community” is one particularly apt description of what church should be, I’m drawn by this idea.

If church is community, and if community presupposes authentic relationships, it follows that “community leaders” are to be heeded and respected.  Leadership and obeying would not be, then, because of positional authority (which I believe is foreign to the New Covenant), but because of experience and trusted relationship with leaders of a community.

All this begs the questions of fallen human inclinations, and breakings of trust, and stupidities, and spiritual imbalances, and what may be seen as pie-in-the-sky vision for church as community.  I mean, really, we’re all so busy and fragmented and weak and mobile and fickle … and we all make so many mistakes … that genuine hegoumenoi and true Christian community can surely never be found over the long haul.  Not in this life.