A Tale of Three Churches

Maybe you’ve read Church for Sale and wondered where the idea of a “church for sale” came from.

Maybe you long to be part of a Church on Fire.

Or, as the Church on the Parkway series wraps up with the publication of Church on the Move this month, you’re reflecting on the church you call home or the church where you grew up. Just where does it fit on the spectrum of for sale/on fire/on the move?

It’s okay, too, if you’re just plain curious about where the idea for the series came from! Since the story is set during my own teen and young adult years, how much of it is true? Did I ever attend a “church for sale?”

First, the fun part! The idea for Church for Sale came when I thought I’d never, ever have another story idea. As I drove down a local highway near home a few years ago, I noticed that the small, countrified church building with white siding had a sign out front:

Church for Sale

Coming Soon

“How sad! I wonder what went wrong,” I said to myself. This had to be bad news. After all, I’d visited a church-turned-bookstore in Ohio and seen on TV more than one church building that had morphed into a restaurant, nightclub, or family home. It speaks volumes about my culturally-conditioned low expectations that I didn’t say, “Wow! That church must be booming. I wonder where their new building will be?”

But I now had a new storyline nibbling away at my brain. Church for Sale was underway. What went wrong…and what could go right?

As you visit Open Door Church, you’ll discover that a church can be “for sale” in more than one way. The building itself can be on the market for various reasons, of course. But the living, breathing (or barely breathing) organism of that local church body can also be for sale. As we watch modern churches, we make lots of value judgments about whether they’re “doing well” or not. Sometimes, attendance is the yardstick we use. How full is the parking lot? Often, success is equated with running lots of “cutting-edge” programs.

The leaders of the early Christian church knew the church could be “for sale” long before they had buildings. They knew it could be sold back to anybody who could entice its members with a trendy philosophy, a tweaked theology, or a familiar tradition. What the temptation was didn’t matter as much as the fact that someone fell for it. Just read the New Testament letters.

Churches were for sale back then, and they’re still for sale today. Be alert!

On a much lighter note, I loved revisiting another era while I wrote these stories. Oh, the days of avocado-color corded phones and harvest gold refrigerators, fuzzy sideburns, and long bangs! When walking down the street in Washington, DC, you could count an equal number of suits and bell bottoms. On Sunday at 11:00 a. m., the organist might blast out the Doxology, or a guitarist might strum Paul Stookey’s “Wedding Song” at your college roommate’s wedding.

Yes, we had a Bernie Rush or two, and at least one Lacy Seamands entertained us–and often derailed us.

But we also had our faithful Myrnas, Brians, Matts, Effies, and Julies. Praise the Lord–we saw a Dennis, John, or an Ardis catch fire from time to time!

It’s because of them–thanks to them–that the Church on the Parkway series was born.

Redeeming the Time

Today is the day I buckle down and resume a long-abandoned regular writing schedule.

Things haven’t gone quite the way I’d planned.

I woke up at 6:20 and declared it was too early to get up.

Pixie the cat has her own infallible internal clock. She worked on me again shortly after 7:00. Nibbling the edge of the lampshade by my bed usually does the trick. The combined crunch and wobble defy ignoring.

Not this time. Eventually, she retreated and I fell asleep again.

For a little while. I don’t remember how long.

Since today is Angie the dog’s twelfth birthday, I finally sat up, stretched, and wished her a happy (but low-key) birthday. Just how ironclad were yesterday’s promises of a long birthday walk in her favorite part of the neighborhood, anyway?

I checked on Penny, my sick little cat. Thank You, Lord, for her alert eyes, and not so much for the atypical messes she made in the living room. Angie the dog had contributed to the cleanup agenda, too. Break out broom and dustpan, squirter bottles of cleaner, mop and removable pads—then put them all back again. Keep Pixie out of the coat closet and hope Angie doesn’t think it’s time for a walk right now. You get the idea.

Check the thermometers on both sides of my fridge on the fritz. What does LL1 mean? Oh, well. Seems like it’s working better than yesterday.

Was it really around nine when I settled in for my breakfast and quiet time?

Of course, the use of time came up today in Ephesians 5:15-16. I will admit this has surfaced as a candidate for my “verse of the year” in the past. I’m the same gal who underlined proverbs about laziness in her Living Bible as a teen. Hmm…do we sense a theme here?

See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise,

Redeeming the time, because the days are evil. (KJV)

The King James phrase, “redeeming the time, because the days are evil” is memorable and poetic, issuing a clear challenge to the Christian. Hear the sound of battle between good and evil in the background. Who is going to win control of my time?  Although “making the most of every opportunity” (NIV) and “making the best use of the time” (ESV) don’t call us to charge onto the battlefield, these translations also warn of  “evil days.” This is war.

Does our use of time really matter that much to the Lord?

What would I have made of my day if I had gotten up at 6:20?

Most of us waste time more often than we’d like to admit. As Christians, we might agree that technically, it’s not ours to waste. Still, we have our unconscious categories like “quiet time,” “going to church,” “serving,” “errands,” “housework,” “walking the dog”…and “me time.” It’s hard to acknowledge that God is in charge of and entitled to all of it.

“We’re on a battleship, not a cruise ship.”

True. We do have a job to do.

We are also God’s beloved children. He helps us redeem our time, even when it’s misspent or when we start our day off on the wrong foot.

When the clock is ticking and my thoughts were too muddled to write something weighty and inspirational, my Father said, “Don’t worry. The words will come. Just write. Pick an easy idea from your list—something you know a lot about.”

Aha. Like wasting time. Okay, Lord, I can do that.

Endless Conversations

When my college roommate and I manage to arrange a date for lunch together, it’s never soon enough. Anticipation builds long before the day arrives. By the time I reach the designated restaurant and we’re finally face-to-face, words tumble out. Sometimes we struggle to take turns talking and listening, but we do it with joy.

What do we talk about? Everything! Our families. What God has been doing in our lives. Stress. Our aches and pains. Our joys. Church. Politics. The food. What’s eating up all our time.  Reminiscences. Hopes. Prayer requests (if we haven’t figured them out by now).

We consult “don’t forget” lists and jot down things to remember to pray about as we talk.

Sometimes, just as we’re getting ready to wind down and pay the check, we veer off on a tangent, reluctant to leave anything out. Occasionally, we have to settle for “remind me to tell you about such and such”… or “I’m going to try and remember to send you that video…”.

It’s messy.

It’s wonderful.

We definitely don’t do it often enough.

Whatever happens, I know I’m loved and that she’ll remember to pray for me, informed by that messy encounter known as fellowship.

I worry less after leaving some of my burdens with this dear friend.

No matter if she forgets half of what I’ve said. The Holy Spirit the third party at our table and heard the prayer that was our messy conversation. That same Spirit will prompt my friend to pray for me when I need it. And nudge me on her behalf, as well.

It’s messy.

It’s wonderful.

Messy and wonderful like my time with Jesus can be.

When I’m with the Lord, a jumble of words can tumble out, and I don’t have to worry about His reaction.

I can talk about anything with Jesus. My family and friends. How I feel about His work in my life. My worries. About getting old. What I’m excited about. Church stuff. Politics. My worries, again! Strength and wisdom to do what I need to do.  The memory prompted by a smell, a sight, or a song. Hopes. All punctuated with occasional “I love You’s.”

It’s wonderful.

And no, it’s not Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, and Supplication.

It’s messy.

Even so, I know He loves to hear my voice, since He’s called me His friend.

I want to cultivate more messy conversations with the Lord.

Yes, I need to work on listening as much as I talk.

I’ll keep talking as I learn to listen.