devoted to one-anothering
“Every believer was faithfully devoted to following the teachings of the apostles. Their hearts were mutually linked to one another…They shared meals together with joyful hearts and tender humility.” From Acts 2:42-47
I read this passage with a pang of wistful longing for the church of Jesus Christ to be like this one in Jerusalem. If you read the whole passage from Acts 2 (and I hope that you will) it reads like a picture of heaven on earth.
When David and I were brand new Christians, we apprenticed ourselves to other Christian couples. We knew that we needed models for healthy Christian marriage (both of our parents had been divorced, David’s mother multiple times). We found two couples that we admired, and we insinuated ourselves into their lives.
We were also fortunate that during our early formative spiritual years we met clergy who impressed upon us that “doing church” wasn’t just a Sunday thing. Father Frank Maguire once preached that we should not believe the false dichotomy that we must choose our family over our church. Instead, he suggested that we should see our lives as concentric circles, with our family inside a larger circle of a church family (inside other circles of community, state, nation, world). In other words, they are not in competition for our time, but inextricably related like Russian nesting dolls.
Another pastor preached that most Americans get a job, find a house near their job, and then find a church near their home. “What if we have that backwards?” he said. What if we were to find the body of believers that we were called to be in loving community with, then find a home near that church and then find a job that allowed us time to exercise our spiritual gifts in our community? Now, before you say, “That sounds like a cult!”, reread Acts 2:42-47: “Daily they met together in the temple courts and in one another’s’ homes….” That statement begs for proximity.
When we lived in San Diego, we hungered for a Christian community like that. We went to church with our young daughter anytime the doors were open. We didn’t sing in the choir, but we even went to the choir dinner every Thursday night before they practiced because we had friends there, and we wanted to be with them. And when David and I needed to rehearse for a play that he had written and in which I was acting, it was my strong group of Christian friends who took care of Meredith, a different household each day of the week.
At another church we would linger at coffee hour each Sunday long enough for our junior high-age son to walk down the street to Taco Bell with his friends to have lunch and come back. We were enjoying our time with our own friends, barely even noticing that he was gone.
The church where we worship today doesn’t have its own building. We’ve been through some very turbulent and traumatic years (pandemic, loss of pastors), leaving so many of our leaders and members weary. That was true even before the fires that have displaced so many of our families. (And when I say displaced, some have had to move over an hour and a half away or are in their second or third temporary housing.) We can meet via Zoom, but that is not the same as breaking bread together in one another’s homes, doing life together. Dr. Margie Warrell wrote in 2012, “As we’ve built expansive social networks online, the depth of our networks offline has decreased. What’s interesting about the research that has found more people feeling more alone than ever, is that those who report feeling most alone, are those you’d expect it from least: young people (under 35) who are the most prolific social networkers of all. As we’ve built expansive social networks online, the depth of our networks offline has decreased.”
But the question that I have to ask of myself as well as my community is not can we do church like Acts 2 anymore, but do we even want to?
Love, Liz
