So we started a little home church in our community a little over a month ago. We’ve been sharing Bible stories and connecting them into the larger story of the Bible; sharing what we learn from them and different aspects of the character of God. We pray together, ask for prayer requests, and share a snack.
There are a lot of kids coming week after week, and we have some regular adults coming. We have a few new adults that come and check it out on occasion. We have some that just come for snacks.
Each week, we write out a new lesson. We write it out word for word, including passages taken from the Young Readers’ Version of the Bible. On Wednesday night we go to a local children’s home, where three high school-aged boys go over it with us, asking questions and working to understand it. They come to our house on Thursdays and take turns translating it and explaining the Scriptures and stories to our neighbors.
In some ways, it’s a dream coming true. We have gotten to know these three boys and helped them to understand their Bibles more than they have before. We get an opportunity each week to sit down with them and study each word, discussing the meaning and value of each story.
And then these boys help us to share these stories, share our hearts, and share our love to our neighbors. We are able to answer questions and share prayer requests. The neighbors can hear us pray for them each week as our prayers for them are translated.
And for us, we get to see Scripture in a new way; we get to pray for our neighbors with a new perspective.
In some ways, this is the loveliest thing we have done in the community. It embodies so much of what we love, from the discipleship opportunity with three teenage boys living in a children’s home to sharing our faith in an applicable way to our neighbors; even down to the soy milk that we buy from a local migrant school. The migrant school teaches the students to make the fresh soy milk, and it’s sold to make the programs sustainable. And it’s only $8 for 17 liters of something healthy for the community, alongside fruit from a little stand down our road.
This is so much of what I value, guys. It’s faith, walking itself out in community, in life, in stories, in sustainability, in health, in breaking fruit open together.
And yet, I find myself week after week, knowing that this is exactly where we are supposed to be, and yet knowing that it will take exactly something miraculous for anything to come of it.
We are trading off and on with Kelvin & Laura to share the load, and as each of us travel. Even when it’s one of “our” weeks, Stephen speaks more than I do; I often lead the prayer time. And while he speaks, I find myself just pulled to pray. I often just look around the room and pray for the individuals and families; I pray for their stories. I pray for the Bible stories being told to somehow relate to them. And really what I’m praying for are miracles.
These stories that I am so familiar with, that are in board books & puzzles in the community space, the verses on our walls, the books that line our shelves–they encompass our lives here. And they are…weird. They feel bizarre. They feel unbelievable. It feels almost absurd to express how much we believe this and base our lives on it; how much we love the Lord and have trekked over here just live life with them and tell them this.
Yes, this feels absolutely absurd. It might be.
We were sharing with some visiting friends about our work here last week, and someone asked about how we share our faith in the community and conversions.
I was reminded of the tents & mansions word picture that I feel like God gave me a few years ago and I wrote a little about previously. In short, while I experience the mansion of my faith–discovering Him at every turn, basking in him, experiencing the Gospels every day–I don’t want to show someone a tent. I want them to see the mansion & experience the mansion; and ultimately, I hope that they will choose it, not for a moment, but with all that they are.
And I guess this home church each week feels like we are touring the mansion we call our faith. It is exploring different aspects of who God is and what he means to us. It is telling a little story that is a part of bigger story. But it’s also personal: it’s our story as a part of this bigger story; it’s letting them into this mansion that we have given everything up for. I think that is why I have found the feeling of vulnerability hasn’t gone away, but I still feel it week after week. Opening up the doors to the mansion that is my life and faith is turning out to be much more difficult for me than opening up the doors to my home and letting the kids wipe chicken grease on my walls or wiping up blood off the floor.
Perhaps because I’m afraid all of the chicken grease and blood {and the long list that includes being away from family} wasn’t worth it? What if they accept the open door but reject the mansion?
And on some level, I also feel helpless. I feel like I can plant & water–day after day, year after year; another hospital visit after another memory game after another bible study after another community meal; and prayer upon prayer upon prayer–but only God can make it grow.
Is He making it grow?
I think of all of our supporters who give to us month after month. It is a lot of money. After five years, it is starting to add up to thousands of dollars from friends of ours, planting and watering with us. “…Neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth. He who plants and he who waters are one…” (1 Corinthians 3:6-8)
Oh, Lord, please give growth.
“Imagine yourself as being deeply convinced that your love…
your kindness to your friends, and your generosity to the poor
are little mustard seeds that will become strong trees in which many birds can build their nests!”
Henri Nouwen in Life of the Beloved