People Are the Mission
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People Are the Mission

Danny Franks

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eBook - ePub

People Are the Mission

Danny Franks

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About This Book

If you're a leader in a church or business, and you want to improve your culture of hospitality, then you'll love Danny's new book. It's a must-read! -Dan T. Cathy, CEO, Chick-fil-A

When it comes to interacting with guests, churches typically gravitate towards one of two camps: over-the-top, shock-and-awe, let-us-entertain-you or oh-man, -some-people-just-showed-up, underwhelming experience. Each extreme has drawbacks: on one end, people become the center of the universe. On the other, hospitality is effectively ignored in deference to the "serious business" of worship.

People Are the Mission proposes a healthy middle, one where guests are esteemed but the gospel is the goal. Danny Franks, Connections Pastor at Summit Church, shows churches how to take a more balanced approach - a "third way" that is both guest-friendly and gospel-centric. He shows why honoring the stranger doesn't stand in opposition to honoring the Savior. People are the mission that Christ has called us to, and if we focus on people we can better assist people to focus on the gospel.

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Information

Publisher
Zondervan
Year
2018
ISBN
9780310538684

PART 1

LOOKING OUT

The crowd refused to move, and Zacchaeus refused to leave. He could just barely see the top of Jesus’s head: one moment the celebrity was bending down to touch someone who couldn’t stand, the next he was lifting a squealing, giggling toddler into the air. And all of this made Zacchaeus all the more desperate to see Jesus. So with a quick calculation of the miracle worker’s next move, he decided to get ahead of the crowd for an up-close view.
But the crowd had the same idea. With every step forward, more people appeared. Throngs came out of homes, out of businesses, out of side streets, out of nowhere and everywhere all at the same time to investigate the fuss, noise, shouting, and jubilation. Elbows and rumps and bobbing heads wedged Zacchaeus out and drove his frustration deeper. This was his now-or-never moment. He was going to catch a glimpse of Jesus one way or another.
If you asked him later, I wonder what Zacchaeus would have said about his encounter with Jesus. Would he have remembered the details of hiking up his robe and planting his foot on the trunk of the tree? Could he accurately replay his thought process of getting from ground level to above-the-crowd level? Maybe he would tell you he’s not sure how he scaled the first few feet of the trunk to reach the bottom branch. Perhaps he would remark that he’s never been a tree climber. That people like him shouldn’t be tree climbers. That tax collectors—chief tax collectors, especially—shouldn’t be tree climbers. People like him certainly don’t shimmy up trees. But desperate chief tax collectors like Zacchaeus sometimes throw caution to the wind and end up shimmying anyway. They let their desires win out over their dignity.
I’d guess that what Zacchaeus could tell you was that there was a brief moment—right after he perched on that limb but right before Jesus came into view—when his adrenaline gave way to apprehension. He could remember vividly the moment of doubt, the moment of self-consciousness, the moment when he looked around to see just how many people were watching, laughing, pointing at, whispering about, and snickering over the little man in the tree. He would tell you that even in his mental postmortem of the moment, he wasn’t sure what he expected to gain by seeing Jesus. He just knew that he wanted to see him.
We’re surrounded by people like Zacchaeus. Every day we bump elbows with people in a state of desperation. Granted, most wouldn’t describe it that way; in fact, most would deny that description. After all, they don’t feel desperate. They’re happy with their lifestyle and with their choices. Nevertheless, even they might admit that something always feels a bit off, something seems to be missing, something rings a bit hollow. Sometimes that emptiness shows up in the pursuit of more. Perhaps it’s more relationships, more stuff, more job status, more free time, more cash in the bank. Maybe it’s an adrenaline-fueled rush that causes the modern-day Zacchaeus to plant his foot on the trunk of a tree and start climbing and see . . . something . . . experience something, own something, gain something that will patch the emptiness.
People may tell you what they want: security. Safety. Status. Love. A sense of belonging. Freedom. Self-fulfillment. What they can’t often articulate is what they need: the deeper holes that can’t be filled by the stuff of earth. And that’s not just the proverbial “them.” It’s all of us. We tend to be a bit myopic when it comes to our wants versus our needs, our what’s near versus what’s best. Often we find ourselves sitting on a tree branch second-guessing our last move and trying to guess the next one. Self-fulfillment is precluded by self-consciousness as we furtively look around to see who is staring at us, judging us, laughing at us, taking pity on us.
Sometimes those tree-branch moments lead people on a spiritual journey, one in which they are looking for hope in religion or in God or in a new set of moral codes. And sometimes that journey takes them to church. Not “Church,” as in capital C church, the Church universal, but “church,” the building down the street from their house, the gathering their coworker has been pestering them to attend, the place where they hope they can get things sorted out and maybe clear their heads and perhaps find some answers.
When they come, what do they see? When they encounter the crowd, will they have a clear view? When they perch on their tree branch, will they look down just to see people looking up who are really looking down on them?
Those are the questions that those of us inside the church may ask about the proverbial “them” outside of the church. But if you’re a church person—an insider—maybe the better question for you and for me is this: How are we doing at looking out for the outsider?

CHAPTER 1

The Gospel Is Offensive. Nothing Else Should Be

We live in a society where people are easily offended.
We tend to get riled up over just about anything: political scandals, social justice, dietary preferences. Song lyrics, public school curriculum, beer commercials. Cultural norms, water cooler conversations, social media posts. From animal rights to abortion and global warming to gluten sensitivities, we all have a hill that we’re willing to die on and we can’t wait to throw a verbal punch at anyone who may disagree.
I’m not sure when it became fashionable to get our collective jumpers in a bunch over every potential disagreement that’s out there. Maybe I should start by blaming my own generation.* I hit my elementary school stride in the late 1970s and early ’80s. Those of us on the tail end of Gen X started well. We ushered out the era of Brady Bunch collars and bell-bottoms (you’re welcome). We said good-bye to lava lamps and hello to Cabbage Patch Kids (I’m sorry). We were the Coke versus Pepsi generation, the kids who saw Reagan get shot and the Challenger explode, the group who was scared to death of nuclear war when we weren’t too busy hurling our Rubik’s Cubes across the shag-carpeted living room in frustration.
But we may also have been the first generation to grow up in Bubble Wrap. Somewhere along the line we stopped riding our bikes in the streets after dark and started barricading ourselves behind closed doors while scary news shows told us about the scary things we didn’t know we should be scared of. When we scraped a knee, we no longer were told just to rub some dirt on it or walk it off, but also to get booster shots to ward off infection and maybe toss in an MRI for good measure.
And beyond the basics of safety and health, we somehow stumbled into Bubble-Wrapping our feelings. We were inspired to find our inner voice. We were told that we were special and unique.* We started using terms like self-esteem and personal worth. We were told that we were snowflakes.
Precious.
If I’m honest, a part of me understands this. As a parent of four children, I think there’s merit in cautiously guiding our kids and leading ourselves in a world gone mad. But can you agree with me that we’ve gone a little overboard? You don’t have to spend more than a few minutes on Facebook or in the comments section on any webpage to discover that the Bubble-Wrapped generation has grown up. We lurk in the shadows, watching for an opportunity to get our feelings hurt over some poorly worded phrase or poorly executed campaign. We apply our politically correct rules and postmodern assessments to decide what will and will not fly in regard to culture, religion, whatever. We cry “foul” over the slightest hint of the slightest offense that may or may not be out there waiting to squash our inner voice and threaten the fragility of our self-esteem.
We’ve even invented a word for these offenses: microaggressions. It’s a term that sounds almost adorable, like a tiny teacup Chihuahua with huge eyes and a high-pitched bark. Except that when you offend the Chihuahua you realize that he represents a consortium of pit bulls and Rottweilers who would love nothing more than to chew your face off and then publicly shame you in the media.
Keeping up with the terminology we’re supposed to use has almost become a game. I can never remember if I should call my congresspersons to complain about the challenges facing the underresourced persons of size who may be dietetically impaired, or if that’s more a conversation I have with my significant other gender-different life partner.*
Here’s the point: people get offended over lots of things. I certainly have my own proclivities that you might find silly. Some of you may have already gotten offended at this chapter, and we’re just a couple of pages in.† We may be able to do little to counter the offenses people decide to take on, but we can certainly do our part not to add to the pile.
There is a flip side of the offense coin, and that’s the “make everybody happy” issue of tolerance. American culture loves tolerance. It’s the buzzword that keeps school systems in line and fuels politicians’ speeches. Because tolerance is so easy—except when it’s not. Like when people aren’t tolerant of the things we want them to be tolerant of. And when the tolerance police refuse to tolerate those who don’t show tolerance, then it just gets silly.
When it comes to religious tolerance, John Piper has this to say:
Once upon a time tolerance was the power that kept lovers of competing faiths from killing each other. It was the principle that put freedom above forced conversion. It was rooted in the truth that coerced conviction is no conviction. That is true tolerance. But now the new professional tolerance denies that there are any competing faiths; they only complement each other. It denounces not only the effort to force conversions but also the idea that any conversion may be necessary. It holds the conviction that no religious conviction should claim superiority over another. In this way, peaceful parity among professionals can remain intact, and none need be persecuted for the stumbling block of the cross (Gal. 5:11).1
Churches should be a safe place for the offended and a challenging place for the tolerant. The weekend gathering should point people beyond their preferences and peculiarities and to the life-changing power of God. It should be a time when we collectively come together to see that our individual story is just a tiny speck in the grander story of God’s design for humanity. When the people of God assemble, it should be less about grumbling, less about “Let’s all just get along,” and more about the grandeur of Jesus.
There’s just one small problem.
Typically, church people are among the worst when it comes to taking offense. We love to get offended when our nonbelieving friends and neighbors say or do anything that we perceive as an attack on our faith. We are quick to cry, “Persecution!” when our employer kindly asks us to stop passing out tracts or a Christian movie gets a bad review after a public release.* We are quick to ostracize our friends when their political proclivities don’t line up toe to toe with our religious persuasion. In an age of outrage, we’ve forgotten the subtle, fragrant aroma of graciousness.
That’s why it can be hard for us to see how Christian culture—and more specifically, our weekend gatherings—can be perceived as offensive to those on the outside. Because of our thin skin, we tend to view the weekend worship experience as our refuge from the world. We get to sing our songs, listen to our stories, sit in our pews, and do things our way. We fence ourselves off and barricade ourselves in against those evildoers on the outside. And we are a people who have become familiarly comfortable with the way we do things. Our traditions—for good or for bad—are our traditions.
But we need to avoid assuming that because churches are modern, progressive, or cutting edge, they’re any less traditional. Though you may slap new paint on old ways and give them a different name, you can still become entrenched in the way things are done in your particular fellowship. A drum set can be as much of a sacred cow as a pipe organ. Small groups can become as untouchable as Sunday school. And for that reason, we tend to protect our methods pretty fiercely. We dress them up in robes and liturgy. We modernize and rebrand them. We hold on to history or blaze new trails. Whatever you do, you probably are doing it because you think that’s the best way. It’s your way.
But is it something your surrounding community can understand? If someone comes into your church as a first-time guest, can they break through those traditions, decipher the secret handshake, and figure out your cultural code? Are your weekend services set up to serve you and those like you, or are they set up so guests see Jesus on display and are invited to engage with him? Do you meet people where they are, or must they work to crack the perimeter and get inside? We must remember that what is traditional for insiders can prove confusing for outsiders.
Is your church a chasm for seekers or a catalyst to Jesus?
Answering this question in a way that is welcoming to those on the outside means learning to deal with offenses. If people are offended by their experience at your church, they aren’t likely to give you a second hearing. If their offense is at the forefront, then the message of the gospel fades into the background. You can resource thousands of dollars, dozens of leaders, and hundreds of volunteers for an excellent weekend experience, but if a guest is offended by what you say before the service, what you do during the service, o...

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