The Parable of the Church on the Hill

The little church on the hill was a happy place for many years. The people who established the church had built a beautiful building. There was gold trim, exquisite stained glass windows, and marble floors. The place perpetually smelled of lilies and roses.

For years, the church was the tallest structure in the area. The steeple could be seen for miles away. The people remembered fondly that Jesus said, “A city on a hill cannot be hid.”

Over time, other people moved into the area, and began building new buildings. Some were bigger and taller than the little church. Some were shinier and flashier. Some had bigger signs, and others had more contemporary flourishes.

But nothing was as beautiful as the little church. It sat on the hill proudly, proclaiming its good news.

As the taller buildings began to press in on the little church on the hill, the people who built the church began to worry. They worried that they couldn’t be seen anymore.  They fretted that their steeple wasn’t as tall as the newest cell tower or the nearest department store billboard. Fewer people came into their doors, even though the church was still beautiful.

One day, someone read that Jesus said that those who fed the hungry and gave shelter to the homeless were serving him. They wanted to serve Jesus, so they decided to invite hungry homeless people to their beautiful building. A line soon formed in front of their doors.

But there was a problem. The homeless people didn’t have shoes, and their feet were dirty — what would happen to the church floors? They didn’t smell very good either — wouldn’t that be an offense to the sacred space? They also didn’t speak or behave logically or rationally. In fact, they were more trouble than they were worth.

So the church closed its doors and said, “Never mind.”

The church members didn’t feel good about what happened; they sighed loudly with regret.

One day, someone read that Jesus once said, “Let the little children come to me.” Another person said, “Children are the future of the church, so let’s welcome them.” So the church invited all the children in their village to come. A line soon formed in front of their doors.

But there was a problem. The children were rowdy. They were loud when they got into the building and the sound ricocheted off the walls and down the stairways — how could anyone hear themselves think, much less pray? They were messy — who would clean up the paper off the floors? They also didn’t speak or behave logically or rationally. In fact, they were more trouble than they were worth.

So the church closed its doors and said, “Never mind.”

The church members didn’t feel good about what happened; they sighed loudly with regret.

One day, someone read that the Bible directs people to welcome strangers, aliens, and immigrants. Another person said, “We should invite immigrants to our church, especially families who have been separated at the border.” So the church invited all the immigrants in the village to come. A line soon formed outside their doors.

But there was a problem. The immigrants spoke a foreign language — who would translate them? Some of them were also illegally in the country — should the church support lawlessness? Some needed legal support. In fact, they were more trouble than they were worth.

So the church closed its doors and said, “Never mind.”

The church members didn’t feel good about what happened; they sighed loudly with regret.

One day, someone reminded them that there were a lot of young single adults moving into the village. Another person said, “Let’s invite them to our church. They’re professionals without children, so they’re likely to be easier to manage. They smell good and dress well. They speak English. They also have jobs in the big city so they can help us pay to keep our building beautiful.”

Everybody thought this was a fine idea, much better than the ones they’d had before. So the church invited all the young single adults in the village to come. A line soon formed outside their doors.

They threw open the doors and the young single adults came in and filled the building. They served fancy coffee with long names and gave everyone access to free Wifi. 

But there was a problem. One of the young single adults asked, “Where are the homeless?” Another asked, “Where are the children?” And another asked, “Where are the immigrants? This doesn’t seem like much of a church to me. Why does everybody here look and speak and smell exactly the same?” The rest of the young single adults nodded in agreement.

Slowly they filed out the door and returned to the village.

Questions to ponder: What does the future of the church on the hill look like? What does it do now? What will restore the church’s beauty and dignity?

We All Need New Reading Glasses

I don’t have a particularly good history concerning my eyesight.

I have always been terribly near-sighted. I started wearing glasses in third grade. It was a traumatic experience to walk into the classroom for the first time. I wouldn’t call it “bullying,” but I was called “four-eyes” more times than I cared to hear. It wasn’t helpful that my parents didn’t give me a style choice — I was stuck with black, horn-rimmed glasses all the way through high school graduation.

In college, I finally upgraded to contact lenses, which helped my dating life considerably.

When Lasik surgery came around, Leah jumped on the bandwagon, but I was hesitant. I simply didn’t like the idea of having my eyeballs sliced and diced. So I waited.

Then on a fateful trip to Vietnam in 2010, I found myself on a bus en route to the Mekong Delta. I closed my eyes momentarily and leaned against the window when we hit a huge pothole. My head slammed backward against the seat.

Later that night, I noticed that there appeared to be a growing black hole on the left side of my vision field. When I arrived back in Dallas a few days later, Leah drove me directly to an eye specialist who confirmed that my retina had been detached by the impact. I went immediately into surgery.

Though the reattachment was successful, I have never had perfect eyesight in the left eye since. I have lost quite a bit of my peripheral vision, and hard edges appear wavy, as if I have plastic wrap stretched over my eye.

And more recently, I’ve started to wear reading glasses on a regular basis, which I’m sure you have noticed.

So I understand that, in order to see things clearly, to view reality correctly, your eye must be clear and unhindered, free from distortion. Unfortunately, I will never be able to see things perfectly clearly — I will always see things through a retina that imperfectly stretches across my line of sight, and I increasingly see things through glasses, which are frequently smeared and dirty. At best, I am like the Apostle Paul, who said, “I see things now as through a glass darkly.”

That is also true about the way I read the Bible. I recognize that I do not read Scripture from a completely objective and value-free point of view. Nobody does. All of us come to the Bible and read it with our own wavy retinas, scratched glasses, and imperfect understandings.

This is not an excuse NOT to read it. No, even read poorly, the Bible is still an instrument God uses to touch hearts and move souls.

But this is the only way we can read the Bible. It’s impossible to read it any way except from the perspective of who you are, in the light of your own experience. There is no way to read anything at all without projecting something into the text. This is what we do when we read novels and poems and newspapers, and it's true when we read Scripture, too. It’s the way all people read.

However, this reality should make it clear that we ought to read the Bible from different perspectives as often as possible, to pick up reading glasses from other viewpoints. We should not rely only on our own understanding when it comes to Scripture but should try a variety of contexts, languages, and cultures.

For example, I’m a straight white male who studied the Bible in a Western, male-dominated institution. I ought to recognize that I have some blind spots when it comes to Scripture. What is it like to read the Bible as a woman, as a gay man, as a black woman, as a pygmy in the African rain forest? What do Palestinian Christians hear when they read about the Promised Land? What do Chinese Christians hear when they read Revelation?

As we begin the study of the Gospel of Matthew on Sunday, Sept. 9 in Sunday School, I am starting a twin class on Matthew on Wednesday nights called “Reading Matthew Through New Eyes.” Each week, I will lead the class in reading a passage from Matthew with the help of feminists, Latin American peasants, gay men, county inmates, and others. You’ll be surprised at how your eyes will be opened to new insights and revelations from Scripture.

However, that’s also the goal of the other Wednesday night classes. Mike Smith will be leading a study that uses visual imagery and symbolism to address theological and Biblical issues. Alison Garza is leading a class on Job: A Story of Unlikely Joy, by Lisa Harper, a female Bible teacher. The point is to try on some different perspectives on the Bible and on our faith.

Try putting on some different glasses to read Scripture this fall — what you see might change you!

Discernment and Dreams

How do you make important decisions?

Not what you’re going to wear in the morning or what to fix for dinner, but the big questions of your life. For example, how do you decide where to live or what person to marry, or even when it’s time to move on in your job?

These are matters that can’t be left up to chance; you have to engage and invest some energy into making such decisions.

Ironically, the early Christians seemed to make at least one major decision in an entirely random way. In Acts 1, the disciples “cast lots” to replace Judas Iscariot in the inner circle. Scholars don’t know exactly what it meant to “cast lots” but it was likely akin to flipping a coin or choosing straws of different lengths.

But the disciples didn’t make decisions like this for very long, because in the next chapter of Acts, they were filled with the Holy Spirit, and this changed the way they went about things. To be “filled with the Spirit” means that one has the very presence of God in one’s being, which means that each one of us can access God’s wisdom. Each of us can seek God’s will for our lives.

We call this practice of listening to the Spirit “discernment.” Sister Mary Margaret Funk wrote, “This is discernment: to sort our thoughts and follow the impulse of grace given by the Holy Spirit … We learn to listen to the voice of the Holy Spirit rather than our own voice, self talking to the self. The voice of the Holy Spirit is a dynamic voice that we hear and heed through our interior senses.”

Throughout the centuries, Christians have offered and embodied a number of different ways to understand and develop a discerning spirit. St. Benedict offered instruction on discernment in his “The Rule of St. Benedict”; St. Ignatius did the same in his “Spiritual Exercises”; Quakers introduced Clearness Committees to help persons find clarity in their vocation.

Discernment is not just for individuals, however. Groups can also approach God and ask for direction. In fact, using spiritual discernment for making decisions in a church setting is probably a much better process than the way we usually do things.

Thanks to U.S. Army Major Henry Martyn Robert, most of us do things in an extremely parliamentary way. Robert’s Rules of Order predominate most church meetings, regardless of denomination.

While Robert’s Rules of Order are helpful in all sorts of settings. They ensure that everyone has the right to be heard, and insist that things be settled democratically. Majority rules for Robert, as long as the correct procedure is followed.

But Robert’s Rules were not designed to hear, or respond to, God’s voice. In this matter, they are only helpful insofar as each person in the meeting is also hearing and responding to God’s voice.

Of course, the truth is that, using Robert’s Rules of Order, rarely is everyone able to agree on what God’s will is. In the end, Robert insists on a vote, and when there’s a vote, there are winners and losers.

Authentic Christian community is not about winners and losers, but it is about compromise, mutual subjection, and humility. I believe that there must be a better way to go about answering the difficult questions — and there is. It goes by the name of group spiritual discernment. And it’s not simple … or easy.

The practice of group spiritual discernment creates a sacred space where people can listen for God’s voice together, as well as listen to each other intimately and intently. The group enters into the space with a confidence that God will speak and lead the group to consensus. Consensus is not the same thing as a unanimous vote, nor does it mean complete agreement. It simply means that the group has agreed to move forward in a particular direction, and that all are on board to support that movement.

I’m currently doing quite a bit of reading and research on this model, because I am convinced that it is an excellent way to go about pursuing God’s will. In fact, I’m using a group spiritual discernment model for a new task force which meets this Sunday night to discuss the long-term future of the church building and property.

I can’t wait to see what God reveals to us, because God’s dreams are always bigger than our own. The key is learning to dream God’s dreams …