Looks like a job for a taxi driver......

I noticed this article this morning, and was particularly struck by the following quotation from an artist from an open letter apparently addressed to American churches:

"An artist's relationship with you [the church] has not been easy; we are often in the margins of your communities, being the misfits that we are. . . . Instead of having quality artists at the core of your worship, we were forced to operate as extras; as in 'if-we-can-afford-it-good-but-otherwise-please-volunteer,' Extras."

What are we to make of this?  Well, it is great to see someone striking a blow for the `marginalised.'   While we are at it, my wife is pretty marginalised too.  As an excellent baker of cakes, she has been shunted to the very periphery of church life.  Indeed, the whole of church history can be told as the story of how cake-bakers have been excluded and kept permanently on the margins: just to add insult to injury, her cakes are only ever consumed in the church lobby, after the close of the service -- the symbolic exclusion, both spatial and liturgical, could not be more brutally oppressive if the thing had been managed by a politburo chief from North Korea.

Dare I say it?  These artists are poor dears, at least compared to those in church who are currently unemployed, trapped in dead end jobs, struggling as single parents to bring up their kids, or going to work each day in a place where their faith is mocked and derided.

Few things make my blood boil more than those who spend their lives doing things they love in pretty comfortable environments, who take so much pride in being `misfits',and who, as a hobby, complain about how hard life is for them in the church.   Come to my congregation on a Sunday morning -- I can introduce you to a few people who are really suffering in this world.

And as a marathon runner, I want to say to the churches:  our relationship with you has not been easy; you meet on a Sunday morning, which means I am restricted only to those races run on a Saturday.  You have thrust me and my gift to the margins.  Instead of having quality long distance runners at the core of your worship you have.....  And so on, for predictable page after predictable page.

There's never a taxi driver around when you need one.
Carl Trueman

Edgy church breaks old rules, insists on new ones

ROCHESTER, Minn. — At The Circle, a young, innovative church which meets in a renovated bus depot, there is no pulpit, platform or pastor, as such. The congregation rejects the labels "Christian" and "congregation," preferring "followers of Jesus" and "friendship community."
    There are no ushers, but rather "helpers."
    There is no worship team, but rather "God artists."
    And woe to anyone who affixes traditional church labels to any of it.
    "God's doing a new thing here," says Mitch Townsend, the leader of the church. He shuns the "pastor" label and insists people call him, "Hey, man," or simply "Dude." If someone slips and calls him "pastor," he bristles and gently rebukes them.
    "We got rid of all those old labels," he says. "There's no going back."
    At the church office, which they never call a church office but rather "the Hub," secretaries, or "community action facilitators" as they are called here, tap-tap on computers (which they still call computers) and take calls.
    When a visitor slips up and refers to The Circle's "sanctuary," Dude Townsend cuts him short.
    "Listen, it's not a sanctuary, it's a meeting place, a gathering place," he says, flushing red.
    "Sorry, pastor," the visitor says.
    "Not pastor," says Townsend. "Dude, or friend. Or just hey, Mitch."
    "Sorry, Dude Mitch," the visitor says uncomfortably, and slinks away. Mitch quickly goes to him and hugs him.
    "We're all about love and freedom here," he says. "I know it's hard to get used to."
    At a Sunday morning "gathering," as services must be called, people sit in chairs arranged in circle around a "focal point" (not a platform) and listen to the team of God-artists play instruments and sing "songs of adoration and devotion to the Creator," as opposed to praise and worship music. The gathered "posse of Jesus followers" is free to sing along and to express themselves in any way that seems "real and authentic."
    "We strive to be genuine here," says non-pastor "Hey, Jim" Richards, who in another setting might be called an associate pastor. "It's about being who you are, not fitting into a pre-determined box."
    Before Dude Mitch's personal sharing time (which markedly resembles a sermon), one visitor raises her hand and says, "Is there going to be an altar call? Because I really want to give my life to Jesus today."
    Dude Mitch answers quickly, "We don't have altar calls here; we have 'God moments' or 'Creator re-connects.' And we don't say 'give your life to Jesus,' but you may begin a lifelong love relationship with the Creator-Friend, if you like. But please wait until we are done with sharing time."
    After the service, "new friends" join in the "kick-back hall" for refreshments and conversation with the Dudes and other Hub personnel. They may also join a mid-week "hang-out crew" of 10-12 people which meets in a home, and which is steadfastly not referred to as a "small group."
    "Anyone who wants a break from normal, rigid church life is welcome at The Circle," says Townsend. •
Lark News