Category: Lord’s Supper (Page 15 of 15)

The Gospel According To Potluck

February 23, 2009 / Allan / 0 Comments

I’ve been accused of many things. Most of those things are untrue. This latest allegation that surfaced last night in more than a couple of places from more than a couple of people must be addressed in an open forum.

I DID NOT IMPLY IN MY COMMENTS FROM THE PULPIT YESTERDAY THAT IF ONE DID NOT BRING BANANA PUDDING TO THE CHURCH POTLUCK ONE COULD NOT BE SAVED!!!

I merely commented that a church potluck isn’t really a church potluck without banana pudding. That’s all. The fact that we had about three dozen banana puddings at the dinner last night only proves I really didn’t need to say anything about it at all. Of course, I exaggerate. However, I’m taking bids now to secure my services for March 29. For the highest bidder, I’ll mention your favorite dessert from the pulpit while making an announcement about that night’s supper. Right now, I’m up to $35 for Key Lime Pie.

What a fantastic night last night. Well over 500 of us brought our favorite dishes and shared a common meal together a la Acts 2 and 1 Corinthians 10 & 11. The quantity of food was mind-boggling. The variety was spellbinding. Only at a church potluck can you get chicken enchiladas, green bean casserole, deviled eggs, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the same plate. And love it. It was loud. It was chaotic. It was fun. And it was theologically beautiful.

Yes, a church potluck is a re-enactment of the gospel. A common meal. A common table. Every nation, tribe, language, and people. Everyone bringing something to the body. A gift of creamed corn. A talent of chocolate pie. A blessing of homemade egg rolls from our brand new sister in Christ who’s still wet behind the ears from her baptism that morning. All these abilities, all these contributions, all these gifts brought to the table to form one amazingly wonderful meal that serves to nourish the entire body.

Last night’s dinner was even more special as we witnessed our junior high boys and girls make vows of purity to their parents, to their friends, to their church family, and to their God. Over the din of crying babies and clanging forks, their parents made similar vows of love and availability and support. And then the whole church body stood and made vows to those families, vows to hold them accountable, to encourage them, to celebrate with them in their victories and mourn with them in their defeats. In the presence of our heavenly Father and each other, in the name of Christ, and by the power of his Holy Spirit. Running the race together. Passing the baton of faith. Through laughter and tears, promising to act like a real family.

And as great as all that was, the real capper of the evening was the sharing of the communion meal together as a church family. Around the table(s). Real tables and real chairs. In the context of a shared meal. A real meal with real food and real drink. A public acknowledgment that we are enjoying this meal together because of what God has done for us in Christ. A recognition that we are brothers and sisters together because of the life, death, and resurrection of our Lord. Again, over the noise of restless toddlers. Through the “distractions” of extra activity. Looking people in the eyes instead of staring at the backs of their heads. Giggling with each other when someone dropped a tray in the back. An encouraging wink during and after the prayers. A pat on the hand. Personal, but not private. Putting the “community” back in communion. “Recognizing the body of the Lord.” Making communion truly communal again.

Legacy is one great potluckin’ church! And I’m so grateful to belong to this body of believers that sees and understands the gospel value of a shared common meal.

Peace,

Allan

Green Bean Casserole & Banana Pudding

February 4, 2009 / Allan / 0 Comments

I’ll just throw it out there. Here it is. The burning issue of the day. I want this blog to be way ahead of the curve. I want us to tackle this hot topic here before The Christian Chronicle gets hold of it.

“The Growth and Decline of the Church Potluck”

I love a good church potluck dinner. Theologically speaking, I defy you to show me a better way for a church family to live out its divine call to meet, fellowship, encourage, and share. Is there anything better than sharing a common meal in potluck fashion?

What a beautiful church-as-body model. Everyone gifted with different gifts. Everyone bringing their best gifts to the common table. All those different gifts coming together in one extravagant embarrassment of a massive meal. Potlucks celebrate our different gifts. Potlucks recognize our diversity.

What a wonderful church-as-fellowship model. Sitting by and sharing a meal with brothers and sisters with whom you don’t normally spend much time. “Who made this cherry pie?” “Did you get some of this spaghetti thing?” “I have no idea what this is.” It’s amazing to me that younger people blame the older people for what’s wrong with the church and the older people blame the younger. But once we sit down to share a meal together, once we start to visit and talk about our kids and grandkids and vegetable gardens and vacation plans, we realize we’re all on pretty much the same page about almost everything. Potlucks foster unity.

What a wonderful church-as-sacrifice-and-service model. “No, keep your seat, let me go get you some napkins.” “What do you want to drink?” “Have you seen my kids?” “We need help folding up these tables and stacking up all the chairs.” “Let me carry that out to your car.” Potlucks foster Christ-like attitudes of looking to the interests of others.

I love everything—EVERYTHING—about church potluck dinners. We held one here at Legacy two Sunday nights ago. Over 400 people showed up. Tables and tables of food. We could have easily fed 800. There were entire tables of desserts that didn’t even get touched. We ate loudly. Laughing. Hollering across rows. We sang devotional songs together. Again, loudly. Enthusiastically. Something very basic, something very first-century-church about worshipping God together around the tables. We shared communion together. Again, something very, very first-century about eating the bread and drinking the wine in the context of a common meal; remembering our Lord as we consider his body, his church, our brothers and sisters sitting right next to us and across from us.

What’s not to like about the church potluck?

But church potlucks, I’m afraid, are out of style. Of the 400+ at our potluck last week, there was one group of people conspicuously absent: people my age and younger.

We have 80 in our Young Families class. (Don’t make jokes about my being in the young families class. As I recall, my parents kept going to the Young Marrieds class at PGrove even when I was in high school.) And I only counted five from that class who were younger than me at the potluck. There were plenty of singles there and lots of young marrieds without children. But it seems that couples in their 30s with young kids almost completely stayed away.

So, what’s the deal? More than anything, I’m just curious. Is the church potluck, even with all its (according to me, I guess) benefits of positive reinforcement of the Christian values we hold dear, about to disappear? Is it past its prime? Why? I’d like for everyone reading this post to submit some kind of potluck comment. What you like or don’t like about church potlucks. Why you go or don’t go to church potlucks. The good, the bad, and the stuff in that blue dish over there.

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For an excellent story on the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly 50 years ago, check out this link. Texas Monthly’s Michael Hall goes back to Clear Lake, Iowa—the site of that last concert and the place from where the plane both took off and crashed—and delivers a comprehensive look at all the events surrounding what he dubs “the first modern tragedy in America.” He interviews people who were at the last show and the man who leased the plane to Holly. It’s a long read. But it’s excellent.

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And, belated congratulations to Bob Hayes. I had him on my show from the end zone at Cowboys camp in Austin back in the mid-90s and called him “Bullet Bob” on the air. He corrected me, “It’s Blimp Bob now!” No, no. Hayes will always be the bullet, the world’s fastest human, the man who forced NFL defenses to come up with zone coverages, the original Cowboys #22. Roger Staubach or Don Meredith should introduce his representative in Canton this summer, not sister/half-sister/friend Lucille Hester. That’s eleven Cowboys now in the Hall of Fame. Hopefully Cliff Harris will be next.

Peace,

Allan

Home Sweet Home

September 29, 2008 / Allan / 3 Comments

A perfect Sunday. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Praying with Jim Gardner in the hour of calm and peace before the morning assembly. Maybe the thing I miss the most about working with Jim is our prayer time together. Those early Sunday morning times with God and Jim were always such blessings. To pray for each other as we prepared to preach or teach or lead the singing each Sunday always seemed so critical. It was so important. It always filled me with so much confidence and courage. My faithful brothers Paul and Mike fill that role with me now here at Legacy. They bless me with their presence and their encouragement and their prayers every Sunday. Praying with Jim yesterday at Woodward Park was special.

I preached on the parables of Luke 15. A young man named Evan was baptized. His father told me afterwards that it was due, in large part, to the sermon I had preached there Saturday night on God’s promises. I tied the strange and obscure blood path ceremony story in Genesis 15 to the crucifixion of Jesus. God made a covenant with his people and then stood in their (our) place and took their (our) punishment for them (us) when they (we) broke that covenant agreement. Our God loves us that much. He’s that committed to us. I don’t care how many books are written about the death of Jesus. I don’t care how many great poets and authors and songwriters put pen to paper. There are no words to describe the power of the picture of the blood of Almighty God dripping into the dust—just like he promised—to pay for my sins. It moved Evan. It still moves me.

Following the morning assembly, Jim and I walked into the Laotian meeting where a hundred or so Laotian brothers and sisters had gathered to worship. We walked in while they were singing How Great Thou Art. One of my all time favorite Christian hymns. It’s a funeral song for me, right? You know what I’m talking about. We sang it at my grandmother’s funeral eight years ago. And so now everytime I hear it or sing it, I think of her. So there’s added weight and emotion there for me. And these beautiful brothers and sisters from the other side of the world are praising our God with this wonderful song. And I’m so blessed to be there. And humbled. They sang He Leadeth Me. Of course, the tunes are ultra-obvious. I know the songs. I’ve known them my entire life. But I can’t sing with them. It’s a different language. I can only listen. And hum. It sounds so wildly different. And yet so amazingly familiar. Comforting. Inspiring.

They introduced Jim and me to their congregation. We stood and bowed toward their church family with our hands together in front of our faces. And they smiled at us and nodded. Then we sang (hummed) Amazing Grace. And then we shared communion. Together. Same table. Same loaf. Same cup.

It was heaven. It IS heaven!

“This IS heaven!” I thought as we communed together, in perfect community, unified by the blood of our common Savior.

But we had to leave to catch my 12:50 flight out of Fresno. So Jim and I hustled through the Bible classrooms to round up Trae and Tori for the trip to the airport. And I saw the exact same thing in the 4th grade room and in the 4-year-old room: red and yellow, black and white. Or, as Helen Dobbs would say, “Red and yellow, blackbrownandwhite!” They were all there. White. Black. Hispanic. Asian. Rich. Poor. No barriers. No segregation. No walls. No borders. The Kingdom of God. His rule. His dominion. Heaven on earth.

I landed at DFW at 6:00. And there were all my girls waiting for me at the baggage claim. Hugs and kisses all around. And then more hugs and kisses. Wow, I missed them. Big time. We went straight to Posado’s to eat Tex-Mex. They don’t have Tex-Mex in California. The Mexican food they have there is real Mexican. Real bland. No flavor. So dinner was excellent last night.

Whitney had DVRd the Cowboys-Redskins game so we could watch it last night. It’s funny, isn’t it, to use DVR as a verb? We had gone to great lengths to avoid all TVs and radios and conversations that could have given us clues as to the outcome of the game. Nothing in the airport. Nothing at the restaurant. Although, a family of four wearing Romo jerseys and blue face paint came into the restuarant with sad frowns prompting us to believe Washington had won. But I reminded us all that a full-day at Texas Stadium with all the kids would be enough alone to put those looks on those faces. The Cowboys could have won a dramatic thriller and those parents and kids would still look that way. But then Steve Croft, an avid Redskins fan, called our house at 8:15 or so and asked to speak to Whitney. I told him we didn’t know anything about the game, that were watching it on DVR and were only in the first quarter. So he apologized and hung up. But it was too late. Why would Steve call Whitney unless the Redskins had won? We knew.

Washington wins. Whitney’s faith in her Cowboys hung true right up to the point at which the onside kick attempt bounced off Sam Hurd’s fingers.

What a perfect day. Tank Johnson’s name was never called. Pacman Jones didn’t make a single play. And T.O.’s telling reporters he’s not getting the ball enough. Perfect.

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Lorie, we went to In-N-Out Saturday afternoon. I’m hooked. Jerry, it’s as good—maybe even a little better—as Kincaide’s, the burger that changed my life. Is it garlic? What’s in the meat? It’s more than just that sauce. And, as directed by Steve and Mandy, I ordered my fries to be “animal-ed.” Piles of melted cheese and grilled onions and that sauce right on top. Wow. If they ever open an In-And-Out here in DFW, I’ll be like Gardner and his new Fresno Chick-Fil-A: Unbearable.

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Tonia and Paul and Carol and David! I finally read “Same Kind of Different As Me” by Ron Hall and Denver Moore. I read it on the flight to California Wednesday. And I cried the whole way. Out loud. Sniffing and sobbing and blubbering like a middle-aged woman watching Steel Magnolias. As the passengers within three rows all the way around kept looking at me I thought of David Watson who suffered a similar meltdown while reading this wonderful book two weeks ago on a flight to Chicago.

If you’ve read it, you can relate. If you haven’t, I’m not going to spoil it for you. I’ll just recommend it to you as excellent reading. It’s a local story from right here in Fort Worth. And it’s a true story. You know it’s a true story when, on page 18, the authors joke that “the only heavy industry in Haltom City was the three-hundred-pound Avon lady.”

I’m about three-quarters of the way through “The Shack” by William P. Young. Very interesting. VERY interesting. Theological reflection on the God-Head-Three as the Triune Community. The Father, the Son, and the Spirit living in divine community and our call to live into that community. The question of human suffering. The concept of mutual submission. The problems with judging others and judging God. A very good book. Not life-changing. It hasn’t rocked my world. But it challenges and affirms—at the same time—my beliefs and practices and worldview.

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Washington 26, Dallas 24.

The Cowboys gave up 161 yards on the ground. They gave up 220 yards passing. I think Terrance Newman gave up 190 of that by himself. The Redskins outmuscled Dallas up and down the field. Jason Campbell made big time plays, stepping up in the pocket time and time again, fighting through would-be sackers to make big throws. Smoot and Rogers and Springs shut Terrell Owens out in the first half. They punched him in the lip and watched him cry. Embarassing. And when the Cowboys started forcing things to Owens in an effort to cheer him up and keep him happy, it severely limited their offensive options and their ability to come back. Barber gets only eight total carries? Felix Jones gets none? All to keep T.O. happy. They go to Owens 19 times in 58 offensive plays, and he’s still pouting after the game. Give me a break. Remind me, why is it y’all cheer for him?

In fairness to Owens, he was set up by the reporter who asked him if he thought he got the ball enough in yesterday’s loss. What else is T.O. going to say? Of course he’s going to say he wants the ball even more. Of course he’s going to say there were opportunities that Romo missed. Of course he’s going to say that when he gets the ball they move the chain and when he doesn’t get the ball they stagnate. Of course. When Romo was told of Owens’ postgame comments, Romo asked reporters, “What were his stats?”

If Jason Garrett is as concerned with Owens getting his stats as Romo, that might explain Barber’s eight carries. And the loss.

Pat Watkins was the 12th man on the field there at the end of the game that allowed the Redskins to continue the drive that culminated in that last nail-in-the-coffin field goal that sealed the Cowboys’ fate. How do you commit that penalty coming out of a timeout? Inexcusable.

Lots of questions today. The NFC East is truly up for grabs.

Peace,

Allan

Remember Me

May 8, 2008 / Allan / 1 Comment

Following this past Sunday’s wonderful communion time with our Legacy church family, I’m gaining the courage and confidence needed to jump right into a five or six weeks sermon series on the multi-faceted aspects of our Lord’s Supper. I’m convinced that Christians in the Churches of Christ—this may be true of all Christians in God’s Kingdom, it’s just that the only first-hand experience I really have is in the C of C—know when to take the Lord’s Supper, we’re just not sure why.

The Lord’s Supper, as presented in the New Testament and as celebrated by God’s Church through the centuries, has always been a deeply meaningful ritual representing layers and layers of imagery and ideas. The Lord’s Supper, shared by God’s people on the Lord’s Day in memory of our Savior, stands for the unity of the Church. It recalls the ministry and the teachings of the earthly meals of Jesus, both pre-resurrection and post-resurrection. It looks forward with breathless anticipation to the wedding feast of the Lamb when all of God’s people will be gathered from the four corners of time and space to sit at the heavenly table in eternity. It celebrates the power of the resurrection and the hope we have in that Holy Spirit power that brought Jesus out of the tomb. Communion re-enacts the timeless salvation history of our Father who delivers his people from bondage over and over again. It represents the diversity of the Lord’s body and the universal call to all of creation to be saved: “All things are ready, come to the Feast!” And, yes, it recalls the suffering and death of Jesus in the garden and on the cross and the tremendous sacrifice he made of his life on my behalf.

And for the life of me I can’t figure out why, with all of the joy and the celebration and the sharing and the communion that’s forever been a part of meal-time with God’s people, our Lord’s Supper times on Sundays are somber, sad, introspective funerals. Barely a Sunday morning communion time comes that I don’t want to stand up on my chair right in the middle of it and remind everybody, “Hey! He’s not on the cross anymore! He’s not in the tomb! He’s not dead! He’s alive!”

The suffering and death of Jesus was never a part of the Church’s Lord’s Supper until the middle of the 4th century. The priests and Church officials at that time began to focus solely on Jesus’ death and began to use grave and solemn language in their prayers and communion liturgies in an effort to control the thousands of pagans who found themselves in church on Sundays due to Constantine’s edict making Christianity mandatory. Church leaders used the Lord’s Supper to straighten out these non-Christian Christians. To scare them straight.

Why did the restoration movement restore everything, reform everything, except the Lord’s Supper?

I’m ready to enjoy and celebrate and declare to each other and to the world all the many images and ideas and truths that are found in our communion time together on Sundays.

And I pray you are, too.

For more info on the Church’s distortion of the Lord’s Supper, see a paper I wrote a couple of years ago by clicking on my resources page here. Go to “From Celebratory Feast to Solemn Service,” about halfway down the resource page.

My great friend, Jim Gardner, also recently posted a few blog thoughts on the differences between remembering at communion a suffering and dying Jesus versus remembering the living and reigning Christ. You can check it out here.

Please be in thoughtful prayer regarding this all-important weekly ritual that’s intended by God to remind us of our relationship with him and our countless blessings from him through our Savior.

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And I’ll leave you with this poem, also posted by Jim Gardner a couple of days ago:

I was shocked, confused, bewildered
As I entered Heaven’s door,
Not by the beauty of it all,
Not the lights or its decor.

But it was all the folks in heaven
who made me sputter and gasp —
The thieves, the liars, the sinners,
The alcoholics, the trash.

There stood the kid from seventh grade
Who swiped my lunch money twice.
Next to him was my old neighbor
Who never said anything nice.

Herb, who I always thought
Was rotting away in hell,
Was sitting pretty on Cloud-Nine,
Looking incredibly well.

I nudged Jesus, “What’s the deal?
I would love to hear your take.
How’d all these sinners get up here?
God must’ve made a mistake!”

“And, why is everyone so quiet?
So somber? Give me a clue.”
“Hush, child,” said He, “they’re all in shock.
No one thought they’d be seeing you.”

–Unknown

Peace,

Allan

Impress Them On Your Children

May 5, 2008 / Allan / 2 Comments

“These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.” ~Deuteronomy 6:6-7

ImpressThemOnYourChildren Sometimes I hear myself thinking / saying / observing / complaining that the kids are always right in the middle of everything. And a quick glance through Scripture shows me that’s exactly where God puts them. Throughout the Bible, the children are never on the edges; they’re not peripheral participants in the community of faith. They are critical components. They are integral to God’s plan for his people.

In Exodus 10:1-2 God explains why he’s bringing the plagues on the Egyptians: “that you may know that I am the Lord” and “that you may tell your children and grandchildren.”

God explains the Passover ritual in Exodus 12 and instructs in v.26: “when your children ask you ‘What does this ceremony mean to you?’ then tell them…”

In Exodus 13 God is describing the feasts surrounding the ceremony of the consecration of the first born male. “Tell your son,” God says in v.8, “I do this because of what the Lord did for me.” Six verses later God repeats the familiar formula: “When your son asks you, ‘What does this mean?’ say to him…”

The whole book of Deuteronomy is like this. “Teach them to your children and to their children after them.” (4:9) “…teach them to their children.” (4:10) “…you, your children, and their children after them may fear the Lord your God.” (6:2) “When your son asks you ‘What is the meaning of the stipulations, decrees, and laws the Lord our God has commanded you? tell him…” (6:20) “Choose life so that you and your children may live.” (30:19)

And even into Joshua at the crossing of the Jordan River into the Promised Land, the pattern continues. God commands the stones to be stacked as a memorial and instructs the people in Joshua 4:6, “When your children ask you ‘What do these stones mean? tell them…”

Impress them on your children.

Over and over again, God provides the ceremony and the ritual and the memorial as a way for parents and grandparents to facilitate the sharing of the stories with the children and grandchildren. It’s not an accident. It’s the divine design. In the middle of this ceremony when your children ask you… In the middle of this ritual when your children ask you… When they see that pile of rocks… Tell them the story. Tell them your story. Tell them your story in light of, and as a part of, the larger story of salvation from the Lord our God.

It’s important that we tell our salvation stories to our kids. And our rituals and our ceremonies are the God-ordained times to do that. Just like the Passover and the Consecration Feasts and the standing stones were intended by God as a venue for this passing on of the stories and the faith, our communion time together on Sundays around our Lord’s table is the perfect time to tell these stories.

And we don’t take full advantage of that time to do what our God intends for us to do.

Those mysterious communion trays with the crackers and those tiny little cups pass right by in front of our kids and we don’t talk about it. And if they want to talk about it, we hush them. “Shhhh! It’s the Lord’s Supper!” So over time, our children have learned to observe the Lord’s Supper the same way their parents do: heads down, eyes closed, not making eye contact with anybody, and certainly not talking to anybody. And during communion our kids keep their heads down, coloring or drawing or reading or sleeping, while the trays and the bread and the cup and THE STORY pass right by them!

We talked about this yesterday during our sermon here at Legacy. We acknowledged that, while our kids may catch bits and pieces from the pulpit about the meaning of our weekly ritual, they may never have actually heard if from us, in story form, as it relates to our salvation on purely personal levels. So yesterday we took a small step in changing that. We asked our parents and grandparents and all the adults in our assembly to, during the Lord’s Supper, share their story with their children or with the child sitting in front of them or behind them or across the aisle.

And it was wonderful.

Communion was truly communion here at Legacy yesterday. Interaction. Sharing. Koinonia. Fellowship.

Carrie-Anne and I huddled with our girls as we ate the bread and drank the cup. We shared how the meal reminds us of how God saved us by the life and death and resurrection of Jesus. We talked about how the cup reminds us that the blood of Jesus continually washes away our sins and keeps us holy and righteous in God’s eyes, even though we’re sinful and weak and selfish and do stupid things and hurt people. And we told them how thankful we are that God does that for us and that he also does that for them.

And we had that same kind of thing happening all over our worship center. Parents and grandparents and little children. Two and three generations of families in some cases. Across seats and across aisles. Prayers and hugs and stories and tears and smiles and pats on the back and hands held.

Impress them on your children.

There are times in our corporate assemblies for personal reflection and introspection and quiet thought. There are times to put our heads down. Communion time with God’s family around his table is not one of those times. Especially when we’re surrounded by hundreds of little children who need to be told the stories.

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I’m not apologizing any more. It’s a fact and it can’t be denied. I’m not going to shy away from it anymore. I’ve hedged and explained before. But I’m through hiding. Overtime playoff hockey in the NHL is better than football.

Brenden Morrow finally put the biscuit in the basket 9:03 into the 4th overtime period to put the Stars into the Western Conference Finals for the first time in eight years.

What an amazing game. What a fantastic series. Four overtime games in this second-round series. Five games decided by one goal. 117 shots on goal last night. The two goalies, Marty Turko and Evgeni Nabokov, were unyielding, refusing to flinch. Turko was Belfour-esque last night, stopping a Stars record 61 shots. He looked so much like Eddie the Eagle of old, standing on his head to make save after save after save, I wouldn’t be shocked to see Turko show up on my TV this summer being released from the city jail wearing a FuBu shirt. He was that good. Quite a display of “substantial net-minding,” according to Strangis. Razor admitted last night (or was it this morning?) to “running out of superlatives” to describe the two goalies.

The greatest thing about overtime playoff hockey is that it really is the only true sudden death in sports. Forget baseball where the home team always gets the last at bat. Forget basketball with its timed extra period. Even football, which calls its overtime “sudden death,” generally ends with a field goal that you see coming for at least four or five minutes. In hockey, “sudden death” comes swiftly and unexpectedly. In the blink of an eye. It’s so wonderful.

Another wonderful thing about overtime hockey is that the referees totally swallow their whistles. You could murder a guy at center ice and leave him there — they could Zamboni around the guy for two intermissions — and you won’t get a penalty. They don’t want these important postseason games, especially the elimination games, to be determined on a power play. Although, last night’s (this morning’s) was. Brian Campbell’s tripping of Loui Eriksson was egregious enough to be whistled. And Morrow pushed the puck through on the ensuing power play at 1:24 this morning.

It’s the 8th longest game in NHL history, the third longest in Stars history. I was at the longest Stars game ever, in 2003, when Dallas lost in five overtimes to the Ducks. And I was reminded again last night about what makes overtime playoff hockey the greatest event in sports. The desperation. The tension. The drama. The dread. The hope. Having absolutely no idea, no inkling at all, how it’s going to end.

On to Detroit for Game One of the Western Conference Finals Thursday.

Go Stars.

Allan

The Anti-Christ Church

October 16, 2007 / Allan / 6 Comments

The title of today’s post is taken from Eugene Peterson’s The Jesus Way.

We had another of our wonderful Small Groups Planning Committee Meetings last night, a beautiful blend of young and old, men and women, the practical and the creative, thinkers and doers, all committed to helping our Legacy church family become more closely connected with each other and our God. At one point our discussions last night turned to the Lord’s Supper. Communion. The Eucharist. The purpose of that fellowship meal. How it works. And the power of sharing that meal with God’s people around a Christian table.

The Lord’s Supper is a living, breathing metaphor that portrays our complete unity with each other and our total submission to our Father. God calls us to the table — in a congregational setting on a Sunday morning with several hundred other disciples or with a dozen brothers and sisters in Jim and Pat’s kitchen — to enter into that four-fold liturgy that we find in the Passover and in the Last Supper and in each of Jesus’ resurrection meals: taking, blessing, breaking, and giving.

In our communion together, the life of Jesus is taken and blessed and broken and distributed. And that shapes our lives as we give ourselves to each other and to our community. Christ in us is to be taken, blessed, broken, and shared in our testimony and service. Christ in us was distributed to over 2,300 needy people here Saturday — economically disadvantaged children, single mothers, jobless fathers. And it’s around the table where that style of living is nurtured and taught.

But that’s not the American Way. Sharing a meal together in the name of Jesus in someone’s house isn’t enough. It’s not nearly “enough” for the American Christian. We need bigger and flashier and better and louder. We’re a nation of consumers. And so we try to get people into our churches by giving them what they want. Eugene Peterson writes:

“We identify what they want and offer it to them, satisfy their fantasies, promise them the moon, recast the Gospel in consumer terms: entertainment, satisfaction, (I would add “experience”), excitement, adventure, problem-solving, whatever. This is the language we Americans grow up on, the language we understand. We are the world’s champion consumers, so why shouldn’t we have state-of-the-art consumer churches?

Given the conditions prevailing in our culture, this is the best and most effective way that has ever been devised for gathering large and prosperous congregations. Americans lead the world in showing how to do it. There is only one thing wrong: this is not the way in which God brings us into conformity with the life of Jesus and sets us on the way of Jesus’ salvation. This is not the way in which we become less and Jesus becomes more. This is not the way in which our sacrificed lives become available to others in justice and service. The cultivation of consumer spirituality is the antithesis of a sacrificial, ‘deny yourself’ congregation. A consumer church is an anti-christ church.”

With the “end” in mind: the giving of our lives fully to Christ and his Kingdom, the “means” really do matter. In fact, aren’t the end and the means really the exact same thing?

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Larry Tolleson has sent me a bunch of pictures he took while we were at Texoma a couple of weekends ago. I was mostly interested in the shots of Tate rounding second during the kickball game. Larry provides pictures of Tate running to third(notice Shanna in the four-wheeler in the background that started the tragic chain of events) and of Tate immediately after he separates his shoulder. He missed the actual slip and fall that resulted in the injury. Or maybe he just chose not to forward that picture, proving that his feelings toward Tate and his situation are much more sensitive than mine. But he also got a clean shot of Jennifer trying to cram his arm back in the socket. Ah, memories.