I was a bored and fidgeting six-year-old, attending a special program at our local Baptist church.  My older sister sat on my left and our neighborhood friend Russell Brooks sat on my right.  We stared ahead at the churchy proceedings and I asked Russell what the tank of water was in back of the stage.

 

Russell was wiser and older (nine) and I often looked to him for advice.  He explained that the tank of water was where people got baptized.  I wasn’t a regular church goer yet but I had heard that word before.

 

“How do people get baptized?” I asked him.

 

Russell pointed at the ornate red chairs that were placed beside the pulpit on the stage, facing toward  the congregation. “You see those chairs?” he asked.

 

“Yep.”  They looked like little thrones to me.

 

“When someone feels like they are old enough to get baptized, they run really fast from the back of the church down the aisle, jump up on one of those chairs and try to fly all the way over the choir loft and into the water tank. If they make it, they are baptized.”

 

Wow!  Suddenly I wasn’t feeling bored in church anymore.  “What happens if they don’t make it?” I asked in fascination.

 

“Then they aren’t old enough to be baptized and they have to try again later.”

 

Okay then.  I looked around at the congregation, mostly older folks, and figured they had already made their run long ago.  I scanned the crowd for the younger people and wondered who would try out their wings tonight.  It would take a lot of guts to try to clear that choir loft but I couldn’t wait to see someone try.

 

As the church service wore on, most people just sat there and listened passively to the pastor drone on and on. I kept glancing back at the back of the church, but no one was even warming up for their take-off, not even during the altar call.  I started wondering if Russell was telling the truth, especially after I noticed my sister once shooting him a mean look.  Maybe he was just pulling my leg, but what if wasn’t?  That would be so cool to see.  I kept an eye out just in case.

 

The disappointment didn’t lift sad to say because no one lifted off that night.   I quickly learned that churches are predictable places.  Although I am very grateful that I met Jesus at that church, I never did get a chance to clear the choir loft.  I got baptized the old fashioned way.

 

Most people’s experience with church is boring and predictable.  The world is longing for authentic community, a place where they can be real and known and loved unconditionally. A place where there is the give and take of real relationship. These seekers walk into our churches, feel a sense of shallowness and walk right out.

 

In my next few blogs posts I want to focus on two things to help our communities become a little less predictable and a little more vibrant: transparency and healthy conflict.

 

Stay tuned….

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– Mike O’Quin, author of Java Wake and Growing Desperate

 

Facebook is so new that my spellcheck doesn’t even recognize it.  Every time I type in the word “facebook,” Microsoft Word underlines it with a red squiggly to let me know it isn’t a real word.  Ironically, MS Word doesn’t recognize the word “spellcheck” either, which also gets a squiggly—I guess it’s technically two words though with time I bet it will grammatically merge into one.

I’m sure newer versions of spellcheck won’t dare leave Facebook out.  This social media site is so ubiquitous in our world it’s hard to imagine how we twittered our time away without it.  Or is that tweeted away our time?  John Piper said of these social medial phenomenons, “One of the great uses of Twitter and Facebook will be to prove at the Last Day that prayerlessness was not from lack of time.” Ouch.

 

There is a much older version of Facebook.  The ancient Scriptures liken themselves to a mirror that a man holds up to his face.  The apostle James uses this analogy.  As we peer into the Word of God we are immediately stunned by our own glaring imperfections.  Whoa—look at the little piece of spinach between my teeth! And those zits! But as we gaze deeper in, as we “look intently into the perfect law that gives freedom,”[1] and respond with obedience, we find ourselves not hating ourselves but loving Him more. The story line of New Testament life isn’t so much our own ability to attain to godly attributes but our hearts being stretched out in desperate, clutching love for Him. 

 

A man like that, who “looks intently”—gazes, stares, captures, ponders, meditates—and then follows through with obedience on what he sees “will be blessed in what he does.”[2]

 

Take some time today to look intently into the original Facebook.  It may not offer the instant gratification of social media but it will reward you with abiding joy if you can slow down your soul long enough to peer in.  You may not immediately like what you see in the mirror, when you notice your own imperfections, but you will sense the Author’s intense love for you.  And those moments in the mirror will stir greater desire in you to seek His perfect face. 

 

Maybe so much so that you will be inspired to post a status update about it.  We’ll be twittering our thumbs waiting.




 


[1] James 1:25

 

[2] Ibid