The importance of finding your patch in a church

Approximately two years ago my wife and I transitioned from the evening service to the morning service at our church.

As a consequence, we ended up finding new seats to sit in.

I know, it’s not the biggest problem in the world, but it is a fresh conundrum nonetheless.

Now, we’ve settled on a patch that we claim as our own. We sit with the rest of the younger-married-maybe-with-a-toddler-in-tow couples.

They are our people.

They are the ones we catch up with midweek.

They are the ones we meet with for lunch after the service.

They are the ones who are our church community.

But, this wouldn’t be the case if we sat in our old position when we worshipped in the evening.

Then we were on the opposite side of the sanctuary.

Now, our church isn’t so gargantuan that the opposite side of the church is an insurmountable obstacle, but if we were new to the church then out geographic location within the church could deeply effect our immediate sense of belonging.

For, if you sit amongst those in your relative life stage, then you’re more likely to feel included and will, obviously, meet more people like yourself.

To an extent, on your first week, it’s potentially nothing dumb luck we’re you sit. Maybe, if you’ve got an alert usher, then a newcomer may be funnelled towards a similar demographic.

But, by your second week - should they darken the church doors again - an intentional effort should be made to connect the newbies both relationally and positionally.

When people find their right patch within a church then a sense of belonging can be turbocharged.

Every-changing contextual concerns

I really don’t care about your first-year-university 1500-word essay due in 10 days.

I just don’t.

I may care about you as a person and fellow believer, but my tolerance for your problems-of-a-twenty-year-old has, frankly, softened.

Now, I care far more about the effect that changing interest rates has had on your mortgage payments.

I care more about your teething, whinging offspring.

I care more about your trouble to conceive.

I care more about your in-laws visiting for a fortnight.

As I get older, the things I care about, pastorally, has shifted.

Now, I care about the things which align with my life stage.

Now, my concerns revolve around workplace relationships and squabbling siblings.

Now, my concerns revolve around unexpected car accidents and appliance breakdowns.

Now, my concerns revolve around aging parents and juggling the demands of a busy extracurricular calendar.

Now, I’m more concerned about rekindling romantic vacations and the stress of an inspection by your supervisor.

Most of all, I’m concerned about your relationship with Jesus.

But, the extent of my concern is contextually framed by my life stage.

I assume, as I get older, I’ll start being increasingly concerned about superannuation, dying parents and children’s future plans.

And, mirroring my concerns about university assignments, first cars and entry-level jobs, the midlife concerns will start to fall by the wayside.

Your feelings about being a theologian don’t change the truth

“No Christian can avoid theology. Every Christian is a theologian. Perhaps not a theologian in the technical or professional sense, but a theologian nevertheless. The issue for Christians is not whether we are going to be theologians but whether we are going to be good theologians or bad ones.”

— R.C. Sproul

Despite what the esteemed Mr Sproul allegedly said/wrote, I didn’t really consider myself a theologian since I left my last ministry position back in 2016.

I, falsely, equated a theologian with teaching.

This year, that has changed.

Now that I’m teaching the senior Studies of Religion subject at my school, I feel like I’m doing theology again.

For example, today I taught on the Christian persecution of the early church in the first three centuries and then the significance of Emperor Constantine’s conversion.

Tomorrow, I’ll teach on the difference between the Catholic, Orthodox and Protestant denominations.

This renewed feeling of theological depth is despite the fact that my bible reading has been as regular and consistent over the last two-and-a-half years as it has been over the last two decades.

This is despite the fact that I was regularly in a small group which studied the bible for the last five years.

This is despite the fact that I’ve been leading the ministry to the children, including delivering a talk in the service at the church I’ve been attending with my kids for the past three years.

This is despite the fact that I’ve been maintaining a thrice-weekly devotional on Facebook.

Nonetheless, from 2024 (and hopefully going forward for many years), I now have a reason to, again, delve into my theology textbooks so I can explain the basics of Christianity (which is one of my depth studies) as clearly as I can.

The irony is, even without my new theologically-rich subject, if Mr Sproul is correct, my feelings about being a theologian make no difference to my reality.

I was always a theologian.

When you work out that you’re an island

Today I was alone.

For much of my Christian life, I’ve also been isolated.

On both occasions, I’ve been surrounded by a lot of people.

Today, I was at a conference with a few hundred people.

But I knew no-one.

I attended a conference about the teaching of a subject where, at my school, I am the sole teacher.

So I attended alone.

And went to my sessions alone.

And ate lunch alone.

But, I’ll return to my school on Monday where I’ll be… solely the only one who teachers my subject and the only one who has ever taught my subject within my faculty.

It all feels a little familiar…

For, the longer I was a member of the oldest (by average age of the congregation) denomination in Australia, I was progressively isolated.

As I entered ministry, I regularly became the top-end of an emerging generation or the bottom-end of a generational abyss.

Within my faith communities, I often felt alone.

Few, if any were my age.

Even fewer were in my life stage.

Over the majority of the last two decades, vocationally, I’ve been an island.

While I could connect with others online (or lurk in places where those like me hung out), there hasn’t been someone in the coal-face whom I can gaze towards and see someone going through the exact same thing.

And, while this brings a necessary autonomy, this also breeds a fair dose of uncertainty.

Why?

Because the checks and balances of a colleague in-the-trenches is absent.

The oversight of an older and wiser sage isn’t readily available.

So, while I’ll do my best to pillage the best resources and consider deeply how/why I do what I do, being siloed off will just be something which I’ll have to deal with (at least until circumstances change enough to be within another’s area of influence or things develop enough for another to come and join me in my isolated patch).