Wow! It’s been a minute! My seminary classes for this semester are finally wrapping up, and I am reflecting this morning on all the Church history I’ve absorbed in the past few months, trying to put words to a vague feeling.
I think faith is a bit like magma, flowing in deep underground chambers, eventually finding its way to the surface in different places at different times. It’s dynamic. Over the centuries, it flourishes in one region even as it fades in another.
By all accounts, these days that magma of Christian faith has moved away from Europe and North America, and now the cutting edge of church growth is in Latin America, Africa, and Asia. But the kind of Christianity that is on the move in these places gives me pause. It’s the rogue apostles and prophets of the New Apostolic Reformation who are attracting incredible numbers of followers.
All eyes have turned to the Global South to see “what God’s doing,” and I don’t deny He’s doing something. He always is! But is it what we think it is? Is He doing the obvious thing, or is He at work in ways we can’t anticipate or detect or predict?
As I sit here with 2000 years of the Church’s history freshly suspended in my skull, I am aware that all through its evolution, there’s been a bright and shiny side to every advancement, change, or shift. But there’s also been a dark side. And that underbelly is sometimes slow to show itself.
It’s as if history runs on two simultaneous tracks — the obvious and the hidden. Or, if we picture it like a circle, our eyes are naturally drawn to the centre of the action. But what’s unfolding in the shadows of the outer arena is actually much more important and formative.
I’ve been thinking about what Elijah witnessed from the cave. He was so sure that the whirlwind and fire and earthquake were signs of God’s presence. But how did God actually speak? In a whisper. I feel like I’ve spent this semester studying the whirlwinds and earthquakes, the exploding volcanoes of Church history. I’d love to go back and do it all over again…listening for the whispers instead.
Like Anna and Simeon, I want to see Jesus and His mission more clearly. Like Mary of Bethany, who was scoffed at for anointing His feet with expensive perfume. Yet she was the only one clued in to what was happening as Jesus moved closer to the cross. Today being Holy Saturday, I want to tell her, “Hold on, Mary! I know this doesn’t make sense, and it feels like hope died with Him. But just wait until tomorrow. Another Mary will have incredible news…when her vision clears in the garden!”
Too often, the grand displays of what’s up-and-coming have proven a disappointment. The Church has wasted a lot of time reaching for bigger and better, chasing power and politics. We are easily duped by devilish distractions. Of course, there will always be whirlwinds and earthquakes, and God will not be absent there. But He’ll be speaking in a whisper that we’ll miss if we’re not seeking Him in humble ways.
With all the fires blazing on our world stage right now, fires both mesmerizing and destructive, let’s remember God might be at work in some back row of a forgotten balcony. And let’s dare to hope that those margins hold power, just like the hem of His garment.