Last night we had the opportunity to participate in a community meeting regarding a local zoning change that would have negatively (in our opinion) impacted our immediate neighborhood.
I'll admit...We were fired up, but skeptical that we would be able to trust our Alderman (the city elected politician presiding over our ward) to act in the best interest of his constituents. We'd never dealt with him, and to be honest, he isn't even our Alderman. (We live on a dividing line between the wards, so we really weren't familiar with him or his politics at all.)
We showed up at 6:30 p.m. with our kids and friends in tow and were pleasantly surprised to discover about 80 other residents at the meeting who had come to voice their concerns and ask questions about the zoning change and proposed project. Suffice it to say that we were impressed with the turnout, especially given the very short notice for the meeting.
I cannot tell you how neat it was to look around that elementary school cafeteria and see so many different people, men and women and children, ranging in age from in-utero to 95! And talk about diversity! Just about every nationality was represented, as well as singles, marrieds, same-sex couples, business owners, foster parents, community leaders, etc.. I immediately felt a kinship with my neighbors that I had not experienced before. We were a community, and regardless of the outcome, we were in this together.
I'll spare you the details and skip to the ending: Not one person there spoke out in favor of the proposed change and development project. The entire community was against it and vowed to fight together if it moved forward. Elderly couples and veterans who have lived in the neighborhood for more than 50 years braced themselves on their canes and walkers to say, "No! Absolutely not! We do not want this!" Pregnant women (myself included) spoke passionately about how this development would change the face of our neighborhood and negate the very reason we chose to move there. Community activists and business owners talked about how the project would not benefit the neighborhood at all, but would instead line the pockets of the large developer who was proposing it. Concern after valid concern was voiced to claps, cheers and agreements from the rest of the audience. And at the end of the evening, the Alderman stated that he had heard us loud and clear and that he would not be approving the zoning change.
We had done it.
We had stood together and we had won.
It made me feel proud, and patriotic, and warm and fuzzy about our new community.
We got to meet our neighbors afterwards and even exchanged information with another foster family whose son, as it turns out, went to summer camp with our boys! Rocky even connected with the Alderman (who will become our Alderman in February) and invited him to one of our Sunday Suppers. All in all, the night was a huge success, and we left feeling victorious and full of love for our neighborhood and all the people in it.
But today it got me thinking....
Why don't we see this in our churches?
Don't get me wrong; I love my church and the people in it (well, most of them, most of the time), but I never feel what I felt last night when I'm at church on Sunday.
It doesn't feel like we're a team.
It doesn't feel like we're united for a cause.
It doesn't make me feel excited and passionate and connected to something bigger than myself.
Why is that?
Clearly I'm guilty of being a part of this problem. I bring my own baggage, put up my own walls, refuse to budge on things that matter to me that might not be that crucial to the big picture.
Why is it that as a culture we always join forces to fight a battle, but we never unite just to live life together?
Last night after the meeting we left excited to keep in touch with the neighbors we'd talked to, and vowed to get together when the weather warmed up, promising to "see each other soon." But the reality is, we all then went home and shut our doors and over time, the excitement and camaraderie we felt last night might wear off.
If we don't fan the flame.
I think that's what's missing from our churches, or at least what I perceive to be missing (and again, I take the blame for my own part in that.)
What happens when we don't even have an ember to stoke the passion we once felt? What happens to our hearts and souls and minds when we let that flame be snuffed out by division and sin and selfishness and self-interest and my-way-is-the-right-way? How do we turn the tide?
I don't have the answer, because for me, it's all about passion and unity.
But how do you unify when you're passionate about different things?
Why am I more passionate about causes than I am about Christ?
This is a real problem.
I need to get to work and figure out where that fire went and take it back.
I think, only then, can I inject my own little bit of passion back into the church and hope others catch on fire.
It sure would help if white churches were more diverse and animated...like my community meeting.
Just saying...
Can I get an "Amen?"
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