The church in North America is a bit like the wedding at Cana. The party is over. We are out of wine. In Cana those on the fringes knew something the powerful hosts did not, and as a result witnessed a miracle. Chris Erdman describes it this way:
Water was becoming wine, God was on the move, a new day was dawning, God’s converting power was making old things new, and neither the High Priest in Jerusalem nor Caesar in Rome were in on it. But they were, these little Christians, most of them poor and insignificant. The little preachers “who had drawn the water knew,” . . . they knew!
As we Christians find ourselves excluded from the center of cultural life, we have a new opportunity. We can pay attention to the divine drama that occurs around us in everyday, ordinary ways.
There is a beautiful scene in Bruce Almighty. Bruce and God are walking together, and God is gently telling Bruce that parting soup is a stunt, but a single mom who works two jobs to pay her bills – that’s a miracle. An addict who stays clean for a month so he can spend time with his children – that’s a miracle. When we find God in the ordinary stuff of life, we learn to pay attention to ordinary things. Life on the fringes can be vital and dramatic life, and if we reshape our perspective we can see it.
Missional leaders understand margins. Michael Frost and Alan Hirsch write about the transition from Christendom to post-Christendom in their “The Shaping of Things to Come”:
One of the most important lessons from history is that the renewal of church always comes from fringes, and we mean ALWAYS. And it is the movements of mission that in turn create movements of renewal… It is this radical openness to, and engagement with, the margins that so often brings that needed inrush of new thinking, acting and feeling to Jesus' people.
For eight summers I worked as a fishing guide in the tidal waters of British Columbia. These waters are renowned for their powerful currents. Quiet waters between small islands are transformed into mighty rivers in a matter of hours, with speeds up to ten knots.
One of the products of this dynamic flow of water is the back-eddy. Back-eddies gather small creatures that are food for large fish. We frequented the back-eddies in search of one of the world’s great sport fish: the silvery salmon.
As we sat in our small boats day after day, we would watch larger ships moving by in the mainstream. With their lines streaming out behind them, riding high as they moved along at ten to twelve knots, they were unlikely to catch anything. We fishing guides knew that the sport fish we sought loved to frequent the margins of the back eddies, where the powerful main current trapped the shrimp and herring on which they loved to feed. We sank our lines deep in the current with heavy weights in a style called “mooching.” We held our boats steady against the whirling currents and kept our lines hanging straight down.
We often felt envious of the comfortable cruisers as they sailed on by, tourists waving from sun-drenched decks, cocktails in hand. It looked so comfortable and easy: three or four large fishing poles played out their lines, streaming in great lengths in their wake. We sometimes felt we were going nowhere. Our small boats moved in small circles as we mooched along the edge of the rapids.
But we caught lots of fish. Often large ones. They did not.
We could have allowed ourselves to be defined by the main stream. We could have allowed our small boats to imitate the larger ships. We too could have had lines streaming out behind us, pina-coladas in hand, but we had more serious work to do. We were there to fish.
It’s tough not to be defined by the main stream. The big money is tied up in big ships. Though the large boats are impressive and seem to be going somewhere, they are really only useful for tourists. Life—and God—is out there on the street. Or holed up in a back eddy.
Len Hjalmarson is a teacher, writer, and software developer living among the orchards and vineyards of Kelowna, BC. He blogs at http://www.nextreformation.com
