How Do You Pick a Church?

So, how do you pick a church to join? For the first time since we were newlyweds 34 years ago, Judy and I have to choose a church to attend. Since the second year of our marriage, we have chosen churches because they chose me to be their minister. For over 30 years I've watched as people chose to join our church or chose not to...or chose to leave us for another church. Now we find ourselves on the other side of those experiences and conversations.

The question for us is not just "What church should we join?" The more important question is "How will we make that decision?"

For years I've listened to all sorts of reasons why people made their choices--and many of the reasons were pretty common: We like the preaching (or we don't). We like the music (or we don't). We like the youth and children's programs (or we don't). There are people our age or in our life situation (or there aren't). The people seemed very friendly when we visited (or they didn't). The leaders hold to certain doctrinal positions important to me (or they don't).

If it sounds somewhat self-centered and consumerist, that's because it is. And everyone knows it. Americans shop for churches the way we shop for everything else in a privileged society where exactly what we want can usually be found at some store/mall/restaurant/theater/club somewhere in town.

That's not to say that all those reasons for selecting a church are completely without merit. It does make some difference if we share important beliefs with our church family (though perhaps not as much as we sometimes think). The weekly worship experience is an important part of spiritual life for many people (even if there is little Biblical support for the overemphasis placed on Sunday services in churches of almost all kinds). Most parents naturally are going to care about what the church offers for their children (even if it's far more important what goes on at home than what happens at church). And as someone who preached for 30 years, I'd like to think that good, thoughtful, informed, effective preaching makes an impact on those who listen to it every week (even if what we call preaching doesn't bear too much resemblance to the preaching of Jesus and the prophets).

And I will say that the temptation to make a consumer-like decision has proven powerful. For the last 10 years we've had small groups in our home mostly made up of people young enough to be our kids--it would be nice to have more friends our age. As a former preacher who was trained fairly well in theological studies, I've been strongly advised to be careful about which preacher I will have to listen to every week--and I can understand that advice. I am deeply committed to more equality for women in church, which I think is something the Bible teaches--so I'd like to find a church that shares that belief (only once have we been part of a church that truly shared that conviction, and I'd like to experience that again). And I confess that I'm drawn to church music that I'm...well, drawn to--music does connect at a heart level.

But we decided up front that we would not make this decision based on what church service we like or where we feel most comfortable. We will try to make this decision based on mission--on where we can best continue to follow Jesus on the journey we've been travelling. We want to listen for a sense of calling--a sense that we are needed and will have a purpose (something like the way we tried to decide which churches to serve in ministry). We want to go where we can make a difference. We want to be part of a church that can help us continue to live missionally and where we can help others to do the same.

And so we're asking more questions about the church's understanding of mission than doctrine. We're more concerned about what they are doing for the poor than what they are doing for their members. We're more interested in where and how they are called to serve than in how they conduct their services.

Over the years, I don't remember very many prospective members asking me those questions. I wonder how different churches would be if that is what members were asking of leaders, rather than looking for better preaching, better music, and better children's programs.

If we have to choose, we want to choose a church based on the more important questions, rather than one that has the other things we'd like. It's probably more in keeping with the way of the cross if we choose a church that doesn't have stuff we like, but is really on mission with Jesus.

But it would nice if we find both.

Two Reasons Why Bringing Dr. Brantly Home Is the Right Thing to Do (and Why Christians Should Be Ashamed for Opposing It)

[A few days after this blog was written, political pundit Ann Coulter posted a terribly offensive rant--probably no surprise if you know her style--about this topic that has stirred up a well-deserved backlash. She criticized Brantly and other Christians for going to " disease-ridden cesspools" like Liberia when they could have stayed here and done more good. It's hard to know whether to view her post as culturally arrogant, ridiculously nationalistic, or just plain racist. In any case, I'll let my comments below remain a partial answer as to why Christians should serve the poor and suffering, and why objections are clearly not Christ-like.]

Dr. Kent Brantly trained at one of the top Family Medicine residencies in the country at John Peter Smith Hospital in Fort Worth. He could have worked anywhere he wanted to go and made a profitable living caring for patients in the comfort of American upper middle class life. He chose instead to serve as a medical missionary with Samaritan’s Purse in one of the poorest areas of the world. When the Ebola virus struck people in the area he was serving, he could have returned home with his family and no one would ever have blamed him. But he chose to stay, working tirelessly to do whatever he could to save lives and relieve suffering. It is what he felt his faith called him to do. It is what he felt his medical training prepared him to do. It is what he felt his commitment as a physician required of him.  If Dr. Brantly had not contracted the disease, most of us probably would never have heard of him (just as we can’t name the many other doctors who have been doing the same thing without any fanfare).

When the news broke that he had become sick, everyone was amazed by his story, praising his incredible self-sacrifice. He was suddenly an American hero…until the announcement came that he was being brought to Atlanta to one of the best places in the world to treat this kind of disease. Now the hospital is getting hate mail, the Internet is flooded with fear and anger, and the news media is questioning the wisdom of the decision. Even though many medical experts say that America is not at risk of an Ebola breakout from Brantly’s treatment in this facility, many Americans seem unwilling to accept any possibility of any remote risk associated with treating Brantly in a facility designed to do just this. Sooner or later, it seems to me, this disease will surely find its way outside West Africa. The questions we have to ask are: Will we support those trying to fight the disease there? What will we do if they get sick? And, How will we respond when someone here in America does get sick?

I’d like to offer two reasons why Christians should believe that bringing Brantly home is unquestionably the right thing to do.

First, taking care of Brantly, even if there is some risk, is what Christian compassion calls us to do. What Brantly and others are doing in Africa, putting themselves at risk in self-sacrificial service to others, is profoundly Christian (i.e., Christ-like, following in the way of the cross). Bringing Brantly home is exactly what a “Christian nation” should do. (Of course, America is not really a “Christian nation” by any meaningful standard I can imagine, but Christians are nonetheless part of the chorus of American voices complaining about the decision.) If what Brantly and others are doing is profoundly Christian, then refusing to do whatever we can to help him is profoundly unchristian.

When the plague struck Carthage in the Roman Empire in the 3rd century, people abandoned their dying relatives and friends in the streets and even fled the city to save their own lives. But Christians, led by Bishop Cyprian, stayed in large numbers to treat the sick and dying, putting their own lives at risk to take care of, not just their own family members, but anyone who needed their mercy and care. Dionysius, another Bishop at the time, wrote this about the Christian response to the crisis:

Most of our brother Christians showed unbounded love and loyalty, never sparing themselves and thinking only of one another.  Heedless of danger, they took charge of the sick, attending to their every need and ministering to them in Christ, and with them departed this life serenely happy; for they were infected by others with the disease, drawing on themselves the sickness of their neighbors and cheerfully accepting their pains.  Many, in nursing and curing others, transferred their death to themselves and died in their stead…The best of our brothers lost their lives in this manner, a number of presbyters, deacons, and laymen winning high commendation so that death in this form, the result of great piety and strong faith, seems in every way the equal of martyrdom.

Second, and more important, ask yourself one simple question: If Brantley were your brother or son or father or friend, what would you be saying? Would you say, “He chose to go—it’s noble—but we shouldn’t take any risk whatsoever”? Or would you say, “We should do whatever we can to help someone who has risked so much to serve others?” Would you say we should leave him there to receive whatever care they can give, or we should bring him home to receive the best care we can offer? You know the answer to that question.

We have a name for offering Brantly the care we would want for our own loved ones: we call it “The Golden Rule.”