We are the prize churches and movements struggle to gain. The more of us — in the pews, in the pulpits — there are inside a particular building means that church, that denomination, that movement is active, alive. Our numbers are interpreted as vibrancy, as authenticity. And often that is true. Human beings seek the light, the fun, the energetic. Nobody wants to congregate in a mausoleum. Human beings also seek community; they want to be in the company of others who share their interests. But community can be a double-edged sword — all communities are gated in their own way. Several writers this month make that case.
Carol Ann Keys writes about a church that was comfortable being an insular community. Its members were unmoved to action as one by one their various programs faded away. Will Ingram wonders if church itself can be a barrier to Jesus. Peter Bush continues his analysis of our denomination's membership data. Vicki Homes shows how some church communities are unable to help those who are different. Calvin Brown writes about the community of church. In their own way, and their own voice, each of these articles asks the question, What is Church? As does my own article on a conference held last October in New York City.
Let me suggest a different way of asking the question: can the church community — whether local or national or international — answer these questions: When I was hungry, did you feed me? When I was naked, did you clothe me? When I was thirsty, did you give me something to drink? When I was a stranger, did you invite me in? When I was sick, did you tend to my health? When I was in prison, did you visit me?
I recently met Bruce Comptom of Melville, Toronto. He was with Guy Smagghe of PWS&D and was on his way to Nicaragua to run a sports program. His little church — as he described it, though it has 277 members — also runs a basketball program in a high-needs Toronto neighbourhood. That's one way of answering the questions, of using the comfort and confidence one gains in community to a greater good for society at large.
I also recently met Grant Love, though very briefly. He had driven two young women from North Bay, Ont., to Milton, Ont., so they could attend a PYPS meeting on a Sunday afternoon. He then drove them back. He joked that he had been doing that sort of thing as a hockey dad for years, so it was no big deal.
But, it is a big deal — a huge commitment of time, money and effort. And it makes a difference in the life of others.
I don't mean to embarrass these men by naming them, but Grant and Bruce aren't alone in their efforts. Angus McKenzie's article this month about his congregation's can-do spirit is one other example. Every day thousands of people across the country make similar sacrifices. They give up their summer holidays to dig wells in Africa; they take time without pay to teach in some remote village. Everyday I hear about and sometimes get to meet many of these people. And I am always left in awe that people do so much just because they are trying, in their own way, to answer those questions Jesus asked.
• Editor David Harris and his wife Dawn Davis have many titles between them. Last summer they got two more with the arrival of Yohanna. David is trying out the new title of Dad for a few months away from the office.
• Note from publisher David Harris: Thank you all who participated in The Presbyterian Record appeal. The board and staff are overwhelmed by your response and humbled by your generosity. The much-needed funds will ensure the continued telling of the life and work of this church community.
