Robert Farrar Capon - The Corporate Model of the Church

As the nineteenth century wore on into the twentieth (and the corporate model became increasingly consumer-driven), the local churches became little more than franchises of brand-name businesses vying for market share. Membership statistics and financial viability  were made the measure of every unit’s success or failure. And when you add to that the tendency of American demographics to change more and more with each passing year, you get the whole passel of undesirable results in which we now find ourselves.

For one thing, denominational “brand loyalty” has given way to church-shopping. Born-and-bred Methodists who move to Phoenix, for example, may try a Methodist church there, but if they take exception to the cut of the minister’s jib, or the quality of the choir, or the dowdiness of their child’s Sunday School teacher, they may hie themselves to the Episcopal church – until, of course, they move to Tulsa, where the search for the right religious shop begins all over again.

For another thing, the temptation to make the local franchise bigger and better becomes almost insuperable. The mega-church with four thousand members, a staff of seventy-five, and thirty-six programs turns into the ideal – into the ecclesiastical counterpart of Wal-Mart. For yet another, this supermarket vision is realizable  only in certain circumstances. Depending on which church judicatory you’re talking about, anywhere from one third to two thirds of its local units have already become marginal in terms of the corporate ideal. 

Predictably, the home offices of those “problem churches” can  think of only one thing to do with them: set them a “growth goal” (read an ultimatum of “say, two-hundred-fifty members in five years or less) and revoke the franchise if they don’t come up with the corporate snuff.

For still another thing, all the clergy, mega or mini, who try to turn back the tide of marginality begin to burn out at an alarming rate. And for a last (thought the list could go on and on), the burnout doesn’t usually happen soon enough to prevent such clergy from committing actionable peccadilloes that scare the wits out of ecclesiastical bureaucrats and their ever-watchful  insurance companies. The church becomes prey to product-liability suits over such things as “sexual harassment” and “exploitation”; the offending clergy are run out of their franchises; and the church (which is supposed to open its catholic arms to everyone, sinners included) ends up looking like a condemnatory piece of work that never heard of grace or Gospel. And all for the bottom-line reason of keeping  a corporation from losing its angelic shirt in a lawsuit. My, my. As I said, there may well be some good intentions behind our current alarms and excursions over sexuality. But we’re certainly smashing a lot of Gospel china in the process.

Indeed, far from following the secular lead and paring our corporate structures back to a leaner and less cumbersome condition (“less is more”), we are proceeding full-bore in the direction of involving additional classes of church members in the corporation’s trials and tribulations. The guidelines now being produces by panicky judicatories for dealing with the “clergy misconduct” brouhaha do not stop at clergy misconduct. On the principle that misery must be provided with company even if the proposed company doesn’t appreciate the invitation to misery, the churches are busy manufacturing computer-aimed, armour-piercing artillery, programmed to fire automatically at church-school teachers, organists, choirmasters, parish secretaries, janitors, and anyone else who might get the corporation in financial Dutch by lifting so much as an eyebrow in the service of sexuality.

The sad result of this insistence on taking as much of the church as possible down with the foundering corporate model has been to endanger even further the church’s catholicity. We are supposed to be witnesses to the fact that God in Christ has taken away the sins of the whole world. But by insisting on the moral irreproachability of even minor functionaries in the witnessing community, we are effectively saying that we cannot have in our midst any recognisable representatives of the sinfulness that is so obviously God’s cup of tea. Which is manifest nonsense, of course, because one of the things all Christians are supposed to do ad nauseam is tell God what miserable sinners they are. Quite frankly, it makes the church look a bit like a carpenter who, while he claims to be the best woodworker in town, tells you that unfortunately he can’t repair your house because he’s allergic to wood.

- An excerpt from "The Astonished Heart", a brief overview of the different models of the church throughout history.

Casey's Awkward Confessions: #7

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hate having the 'ex-talk'. Unfortunately it is fairly inevitable. There comes a time in every relationship where you just have to sack up and re-live your dirty past, all in the name of 'clearing the air'. Naturally we are curious about where our partner’s been and how much baggage they are bringing into the relationship. We take smug satisfaction in knowing their ex was a jerk and we would never treat them that badly (the ex-talk often happens in the slightly naïve, ‘we love each other and can do no wrong’ phase of the relationship).

When I first moved to Sydney for uni I had what I now refer to as ‘2 years off.’ The Christian label without the Christian lifestyle, or something to that effect. I didn’t completely lose the plot, but I certainly travelled down a different path for a while. There are a number of reasons I eventually decided to jump back on the Christianity bandwagon, but it just happened to coincide with being re-united with my very Christian high school boyfriend.

So it came time in the relationship for us to have ‘the ex-talk’. Let me put this into perspective: he was you’re a-typical ‘good Christian boy’, led worship, didn’t like partying, hadn’t dated anyone but me in the previous 5 years. I, on the other hand, had spent 2 years partying and had dated a non-Christian for 11 months. While he had been distributing bibles in China, I was dancing on bars in Sydney – you get the picture.  Needless to say, our ‘ex-talk’ was more of a ‘how-far-did-you-go-with-your-ex-talk’. I won’t go into the gory details of what my answer was, but it was a bit more than just hand-holding.

The moment came when the question had been put out there and was chillin' in mid-air with a mischievous grin, daring me to answer. I couldn’t bring myself to say it. My heart was pounding in my ears and I knew I was about to hurt someone I loved. I wasn’t entirely sure how he would take it – he was pretty much an angel compared to me. I thought he couldn’t possibly understand. I thought he would never forgive me.

So eventually, my eyes glued to my toes, I whispered the dreaded ‘base’ that I had made an unfortunate run to. He looked up suddenly with a shocked look on his face and said ‘WHAT?!?!’ Not exactly the response I was hoping for… So I cleared my throat and awkwardly repeated myself. He sat for a minute with a contemplative look on his face as he wrapped his head around what I’d just said.

Then, in one of the most beautiful examples of grace I have ever experienced, he looked me in the eye and said:

“You are no less precious to me.”

Awkward confession #­­ 7 : I thought I was a lost cause. I thought I’d done too much, said too much, seen too much. I thought I’d gone too far to ever be allowed back. Because of this, I thought there wasn’t any point in trying to turn my life around because I was already ruined. I didn’t like going to church because despite the obligatory ‘we all make mistakes’ it seemed like no-one there actually made any mistakes. Church was a place where people said ‘no-one is perfect’ but never actually admitted to any of their failings or struggles. I thought I was too damaged to ever fit in, so I gave up.

I realise that last year ‘Casey’s Awkward Confessions’ started to become ‘Casey Awkwardly Hates Everything Except Sex’ so I thought I’d start off 2013 on the more positive and uplifting side of life. After alluding to it in a few of my posts, I decided it was time to unpack this whole idea of ‘grace.’ Personally, I’m a big fan. After all, grace is the only reason I feel safe to write these confessions. I think there are a lot of layers to grace, but when I think about it the first thing I think of is forgiveness and mercy so I’ll start there.

I think sometimes we don’t give grace enough credit. We will readily tell people that they are forgiven, but hold on to our own failings and repeatedly beat ourselves up over them. We trap ourselves with the ‘yeeeeah, but…’ We listen to people talk about grace and think ‘yeah, but you don’t know what I’ve done.’ We tell ourselves that our sins are so much worse, so much more unforgivable. I’m not quite sure what it is that makes us think we are so special that we are the one person in the world that God can’t forgive. It seems a bit dramatic.

As humans we are pretty in love with the concept of 'being fair'. We don’t like rule breaking, we don’t like people to get reward they don’t deserve. God's grace is hard for us to wrap our head around because it’s not deserved and can't be earned. It’s not give-and-take. It is given to us freely, but it is up to us to honour that. God doesn’t force us, grace isn’t an ultimatum. We make the choice to accept grace and it is our responsibility not to take advantage of it. It’s about embracing grace, but also recognising there is a reason we need that grace. There is a reason God calls us to live differently.

I specifically remember the day that reason became apparent to me. It was towards the end of my second year of uni and we were having a massive college celebration. I can’t say I remember a lot, but I was filled in on most of the night’s shenanigans by a few reliable witnesses. I’m not sure what I’m more ashamed of: biting a random guy’s ear, running up and down the corridor in my undies or deciding it would be hilarious to rip my friend’s singlet in half on the dance floor.

The next day I felt like my head had been filled with cotton wool in order to make it more comfortable for the elephant that was taking a nap on it. I spent the morning near-paralysed in bed, and dragged myself out to attempt to eat lunch. Which I got to enjoy twice as it made its unglamorous return to daylight. What a treat. I sat in my room doubled over my rubbish bin and amongst the fuzzy haze of my hangover I had a crystal clear thought: ‘WHO THE HELL AM I?!?!?!?!’

It wasn't so much that I decided I wanted to honour God with my life, rather then fritter it away on temporary pleasures - I wish I was that noble. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe God wasn’t just on a power-trip, dictating rules on a whim so that we could attempt to earn his favour. I realised what I was doing was soul-destroying. It was toxic. My self-worth was at an all-time low. I felt so incredibly isolated and unloved. I made ties with people that weren't designed to be broken, just so that I could feel wanted. Then I broke those ties and wondered why I felt so empty. The pile of regrets increased exponentially. It is only through grace that those wounds have started to heal. Grace pulled me out and gave me a home when I felt like I didn't fit in anywhere else.

I also think that grace is more than just a safety net. Grace isn’t passive. It’s more than just forgiveness for something you’ve already done. It’s not just about giving you salvation, it’s also about giving you life. It is by grace that we have life to live now, it is by grace that we have been given gifts to use now, it is by grace that we have been given the freedom to make the mistakes we need grace for in the first place (confused?). It’s not just something to fall-back on, it’s something to push us forward.

More than that, I believe grace makes our God so incredibly relevant. There are countless people in this world searching desperately for a little bit of love, and a little bit of grace. Where do we fit in that search? Grace should permeate every interaction we have with the people around us. Our lives should be a testament to the grace that has been shown to us. That doesn’t mean we let people walk all over us, but it does encourage us to look beyond the stuff that makes us uncomfortable.

A few years ago I met a guy who, for reasons I can’t quite pinpoint, I just couldn’t stand. I mean, he once told me that I was ‘sexy until you got to know me’, so that might have something to do with it. He was obnoxious, arrogant and often just plain rude. It wasn’t until I went to his 21^st and saw a glimpse of his home life that I realised where that deep-seeded need for attention came from. And yet, I had judged him so quickly. If only I had looked beyond his behaviour to the hurt within. I may not have agreed with all his choices, I certainly didn’t always enjoy the way he interacted with people, but he was still just as human as I am. I thought all he needed was a punch in the face, when what he really needed was a little bit of love, and a little bit of grace.

In a strange way I am grateful for my two years off. They have helped shape who I am today. They have made me more down-to-earth, more real and a lot rougher around the edges. I am better able to relate to non-Christians and Christians who have had similar experiences. I’m not suggesting taking ‘time-off’ is a requirement for being a relatable Christian. However, looking back I think I needed to go into that tunnel to get me to the place I am today. I am also flippin' lucky I came out the other side. I don’t know if I would say I’ve been ‘wiped clean’. The memories are still there, those things still happened. However I am no longer condemned by them. My mistakes are not my prison. God had the grace to let me take the reigns and do my own thing, and He had the grace to welcome me back.

At the end of the day, grace is simple. “You are no less precious to me.” That’s what it boils down to. I love that phrase because not only does it give me comfort that I haven't lost any of my value, it reminds me of just how much value I had in the first place.

I don’t know what you’ve done. I don’t know your mistakes. I don’t know your dirty secrets. What I do know – what I have experienced – is that it’s never too late. The love, the mercy, the favour, the blessing – it’s all there waiting for you. We just need to learn to accept it.

To read previous entries of 'Casey's awkward confessions, head to last year's blog -  lifefromthefishtank.blogspot.com to have a geez.