$1 Gasoline

I have lots of thoughts and theories and things that I think might pan out in the future of the church in the near future, both in my congregation and for the larger church. We'll see.

But I am more and more convinced with each passing day that much of the lack of energy and passion for our faith and congregations is rooted in the fact that, for the most part, our congregations have not been places where people found transformation...in Christ or anything else. When I hear things like, "The Gospel of Jesus Christ, well that's the most exciting thing ever! That's as exciting as $1 gasoline!" I cringe. Actually, I cringed the first time I heard it. The second time, I wanted to collapse into tears.

I did not. Instead, I went to the gym and burned off all the resulting emotions.

Cheap gasoline is not transforming. It's text message worthy, certainly. It's one of those more recent pieces of the puzzle that would fit into descriptions of abundance; maybe it is the new land flowing with milk and honey. But it is hardly a way to describe the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

The difficult thing about describing a Gospel that is transforming is that it is deep, personal and beyond words. But here are a few words about my own transformation: I took a job in seminary to pay the bills. Seriously. Seminary was not a call to ministry. It was a three-year commitment to my nerdiest tendencies. The job was in the denomination I needed. It was a reasonable wage and reasonable time commitment. And I was a children's ministry coordinator, not a children's minister. I never would have signed on for the second.

Entering into that job, I knew one thing quite well: a nuanced definition of the biblical concept of "love." You've likely heard the Greek word agape that has been tossed around to try and remove cultural understandings of love. And that agape kind of love is doing what is right, what is just, what you promised you would do. I could love kids in that way, as long as they didn't get me sticky in the process.

But what followed is something I can only attribute to the real and holy presence of the living God. Call it the Holy Spirit. Call it the resurrected Lord. I don't really care. What I know is that what happened was something outside of me. It was a different kind of love that was not a psychological adjustment. It was the "I'd die for these kids," kind of love that Jesus talked about: "No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends." It was a shocking, frightening moment when I realized that I would die for someone else. It was a kind of love for which my only response could be to speak, in the most private of places, to God alone, "Thank you."

Because of that transformation, I see differently. When other people and things are so difficult, I remember to see as I saw those kids, as God led me to see those kids. The way I see people and the world has been transformed, at least on the very best days. I can't quantify the transformation. I can't give rational reasons for why this matters. But I do know that it is closer to the reign of God. It is that pearl for which I would sell everything else. I cannot imagine living without that transformation.

And it is nothing like $1 gasoline.