It's been 26 months since we moved back to our homeland. (Not that we were ever really that far away...) In that time, we pray and dream about "planting a Church" each day. I had some time yesterday at my parent's house to reflect on what has been planted in this time, and I realized that the Church is growing in ways I wasn't noticing.
Like a plant that needs winter rain, our experience of Church has deepening roots. It's been a season of finding nutrients, encouragement from increasingly diverse voices in more than our tiny neighborhood. It's been a season of drinking in the Word like water, prayer like air, and the rocky soil of "home." It's been a time to start small, quite small.
I expected our network to be wide, but it's deep, instead. I expected our support to be formal, like a cedar trellis. But it feels like we're honeysuckle, vining up a tree. The Church is growing and we are here; it's not growing because of us...or anyone. The Church is alive, underground and above ground, and virtually this year. The people who fellowship on our deck are a beautiful representation of the body of Christ.
The Bible is full of agricultural metaphor and example. The Church began in a garden, was tested in a garden, was redeemed because of a decision in a garden, and celebrates forever in a new and perfect garden. And true to the consequences of the curse, gardening on Earth continues to take work. I spent part of our morning in worship pulling ivy vines out of maple trees. The Church is messy and requires constant upkeep.
Every dinner or drop-in guest reminds us that the Church is ubiquitous. Wherever two or more gather in the name of Christ, the Church exists. We mission like it's a verb, as a little team of three. We worship like it's a lifestyle, with friends that become family. We celebrate the death and Resurrection of Christ at every meal, even if there are no visitors, because that's how we read Christ's instructions.
We sow seed indiscriminately. Who are we to decide who is "good soil?" Sometimes the Gospel takes roots in the rockiest of souls. Sometimes the "rockiest" appearance hides a very fertile heart. We seek the living water for our own faith in the Good News. How can we share what we do not celebrate? Who wants to join an angry throng of grouches? We rejoice for we are made new.
This is how the Church grows: like the garden taking root at our house in the Heights. It may look disorganized. It may feel slow to my impatient, Millenial timeline. But, to God be the Glory. The Church grows.
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