At my church, St Barnabas in Woodside Park, we’ve embarked on a programme to remodel the organisation of the church, away from small Barnabas Groups to larger Communities (as discussed in this previous blog). This post is an effort to outline three possible ways to achieve this aspiration – from the conservative to the unreservedly ambitious.
The community rhythm model
One way to transition to the Communities structure would be the adoption of a community rhythm. This is perhaps the most accessible model for more conservative BGs to transition gently towards a different model.
If a number of groups implemented a common or pattern to their gatherings, individuals BGs could continue to meet in their traditional format for several weeks a month but join with another group on a regular basis to engage in an activity that perhaps one group along could not. As the rhythm played out across the month and relationships developed across the groups involved, the comings together would cease to be an imposition (or ‘week off’) and become instead a valued element in the diary. Once in full flow, the rhythm might look something like this: Meeting as individual groups for prayer breakfasts in week one, pairing up with another group to undertake charitable or voluntary action in week two, engaging in a more traditional bible studies in week three and gather several pairs of groups together to hold a worship celebration in week four. Rinse and repeat. With any luck, employing this model should help transform even the most conservative groups into a more active, outward-looking network.
The Christians with a common passion model
Another model for Communities would be one based on 20-40 people who are already Christians joining together around a common passion or theme (such as the homeless or the public sector). Being centred on a passion would make such a Community more tightly focused than traditional BGs or the community rhythm model described above. In this model, the Community either exists to support members in bespoke expressions of mission (eg. holding dinner parties where non-Christian work colleagues come into contact with a selection of Christians from the Community) or to deliver event-based mission / action (eg. running a soup kitchen).
This model is excellent for delivering ministries and building community amongst those Christians involved in that ministry, but not so effective at drawing non-Christians into the fold. The leadership might meet regularly to pray for those coming into contact with the Community and there may be some opportunities to welcome new or non-Christians into the Community as ‘core’ members (as exemplified by attending the monthly ‘micro-Church’ gathering). However, in reality the Community’s membership and those at the receiving end of its good works are likely to remain largely distinct in this model.
The Community with soft edges model
The third model is one characterised by a core leadership and/or scaffolding team and a radically inclusive approach to not-yet-Christian members. Like the common passion model above, this group may well find a common cause to champion, but would explicitly include non-believers in the shaping and pursuit of that passion. In other words, rather than having ‘go’ weeks (which are public events and deliberately accessible to non-Christians) and ‘churchy’ weeks (which are essentially traditional celebrations, and are less so), Communities pursuing this model would seek to develop gatherings and spaces which are accessible and welcoming to non-Christians whilst at the same time unashamedly reflective of the Community’s Christian inspiration. Clearly this is a challenge but it should not be beyond our collective power of imagination.
Examples of this model might include a Community designed to enable networking and relationship building among new arrivals to the area, or one that seeks to attract individuals (Christian and otherwise) around the issue of social justice. To encourage genuine relationships and ownership, all members would be encouraged to play an active role in the Community. It is even conceivable that non-Christian members might eventually be invited to join the core leadership, although only with the express understanding that the Community’s Christian foundation must be respected in any decisions.
Reflection
Personally, it is this final model which is most exciting. Clearly there are several issues that remain to be ironed out. If you have any ideas, do get in touch. I hope that the discussion of each of the three models is useful to other leaders grappling with this transition. If you’d like to discuss anything I raised here, drop me a note…
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Sunday, 7 November 2010
Don't just pray about it, do something
“When we pray for the hungry, let’s remember to feed them. When we pray for the unborn, let’s welcome single mothers and adopt abandoned children. When we give thanks for creation, let’s plant a garden and buy locally grown fruit and vegetables. When we remember the poor, let’s reinvest our money in micro-lending programs. When we pray for peace, let’s beat our swords into ploughshares and turn military budgets into programs of social uplift. When we pray for an end to crime, let’s visit those in prison. When we pray for lost souls, let’s be gracious to the souls who’ve done us wrong.” (p157)
From Follow Me to Freedom by Shane Claiborne and John Perkins.
From Follow Me to Freedom by Shane Claiborne and John Perkins.
Thursday, 28 October 2010
The City and the City: Thoughts on selective blindness and radical community
In a city as full of life and activity as London it is all too easy to turn a blind eye to those individuals, places and realities that threaten our comfortable, middle-class experience. China Mieville’s recent book, The City & The City deals with this very issue – the human tendency to train oneself to ignore the Other; to edit the poor, needy and undesirable out of our daily narrative.
In Mieville’s book, two strikingly different cities co-exist in the same space, interwoven in a complex tapestry where citizens of each city studiously do not perceive the people and places which belong in the other place. Consequently, residents of Beszel walking through the streets of their faded industrial metropolis must unseeingly navigate their way among citizens of Ul Qoma – the thrusting new technopolis which is geographically (or ‘grosstopically’) present among them and yet politically alien and therefore distant.
In each city, citizens are trained to identify the cultural idiosyncrasies of their countrymen – the fashions, styles, and gait – enabling them to discern who in the crowd is part of their own society (and should be seen) and who is from the other place (and therefore should not). Some streets and spaces are duplicated in both cities (so-called ‘cross-hatched areas’), but other places are exclusively in one city or the other – entirely invisible and off-limits to residents of the other city.
Mieville’s novel is a gripping and creative thriller which tells a story unlike any other I have read. Moreover, it makes a provocative argument about the extent to which city-dwellers (and indeed all societies) turn a blind eye to those people and places which disturb their world-view; those people who don’t fit neatly into our preferred experience. How easy it is to ignore the beggar, the rough sleeper, the drunk, the person in need. Like the citizens of Beszel and Ul Qoma, we are well trained by society to read the habits, behaviours and attire of others and therefore engage or erase them as appropriate.
As followers of Jesus, we develop spiritual eyes that help us see through our culturally-imposed blindness. Rather than confining the poor to another place beyond our sight and responsibility, we seek freedom from that unconscious training which renders the deprived and unwelcome invisible and, in seeing them, we allow ourselves to be impacted by their suffering. For only when we see and understand those in need can we love and serve them.
The selective blindness described in Mieville’s parable is not limited to our relationship with the poor. It also challenges us about our interactions with those who are different from us in other ways – the veiled Muslim, the city banker, the conservative evangelical, the elderly, the struggling single mother. As city-dwellers it is easy to retreat into tribal cliques which exclude and deride non-members of our own homogenous club; groupings which define themselves as much by who they are not as by who they are. For Christians, the risk is that we too find ourselves living in exclusive communities – holy huddles – that seek to advance the interests of our own tribe (the Church, or worse, our own church) at the expense of other groups. This is not the way it should be. As William Temple said, “the Church is the only organisation on earth that exists for the benefit of those who are not its members”.
At my church in Finchley we are actively grappling what it means to exist for our non-members – to serve the whole community and create spaces that are welcoming to all. This is an exciting and uncomfortable journey as we seek to transform our current models and structures to reflect the needs of the thousands of C21st Londoners who live around us.
In The City & The City, citizens seeking to bring down the invisible walls between Beszel and ul Qoma are deemed to be in Breach. As we seek to pierce the veil that condemns the capital's poor to another place, and also bridge the divisions between London's various tribes, we consciously step into that dangerous space which straddles cities – a foot in each camp, drawing the two together. After all, Christians are used to living with dual citizenship - resident here and now, but citizens of another Kingdom and another City that is now but not yet.
In Mieville’s book, two strikingly different cities co-exist in the same space, interwoven in a complex tapestry where citizens of each city studiously do not perceive the people and places which belong in the other place. Consequently, residents of Beszel walking through the streets of their faded industrial metropolis must unseeingly navigate their way among citizens of Ul Qoma – the thrusting new technopolis which is geographically (or ‘grosstopically’) present among them and yet politically alien and therefore distant.
In each city, citizens are trained to identify the cultural idiosyncrasies of their countrymen – the fashions, styles, and gait – enabling them to discern who in the crowd is part of their own society (and should be seen) and who is from the other place (and therefore should not). Some streets and spaces are duplicated in both cities (so-called ‘cross-hatched areas’), but other places are exclusively in one city or the other – entirely invisible and off-limits to residents of the other city.
Mieville’s novel is a gripping and creative thriller which tells a story unlike any other I have read. Moreover, it makes a provocative argument about the extent to which city-dwellers (and indeed all societies) turn a blind eye to those people and places which disturb their world-view; those people who don’t fit neatly into our preferred experience. How easy it is to ignore the beggar, the rough sleeper, the drunk, the person in need. Like the citizens of Beszel and Ul Qoma, we are well trained by society to read the habits, behaviours and attire of others and therefore engage or erase them as appropriate.
As followers of Jesus, we develop spiritual eyes that help us see through our culturally-imposed blindness. Rather than confining the poor to another place beyond our sight and responsibility, we seek freedom from that unconscious training which renders the deprived and unwelcome invisible and, in seeing them, we allow ourselves to be impacted by their suffering. For only when we see and understand those in need can we love and serve them.
The selective blindness described in Mieville’s parable is not limited to our relationship with the poor. It also challenges us about our interactions with those who are different from us in other ways – the veiled Muslim, the city banker, the conservative evangelical, the elderly, the struggling single mother. As city-dwellers it is easy to retreat into tribal cliques which exclude and deride non-members of our own homogenous club; groupings which define themselves as much by who they are not as by who they are. For Christians, the risk is that we too find ourselves living in exclusive communities – holy huddles – that seek to advance the interests of our own tribe (the Church, or worse, our own church) at the expense of other groups. This is not the way it should be. As William Temple said, “the Church is the only organisation on earth that exists for the benefit of those who are not its members”.
At my church in Finchley we are actively grappling what it means to exist for our non-members – to serve the whole community and create spaces that are welcoming to all. This is an exciting and uncomfortable journey as we seek to transform our current models and structures to reflect the needs of the thousands of C21st Londoners who live around us.
In The City & The City, citizens seeking to bring down the invisible walls between Beszel and ul Qoma are deemed to be in Breach. As we seek to pierce the veil that condemns the capital's poor to another place, and also bridge the divisions between London's various tribes, we consciously step into that dangerous space which straddles cities – a foot in each camp, drawing the two together. After all, Christians are used to living with dual citizenship - resident here and now, but citizens of another Kingdom and another City that is now but not yet.
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