When The Planters Become the Planted

It is now a well known fact that the chaps and chappesses at the Cathedral Church of the Holy Trinity in the Archdiocese of Brompton are buying up pretty well all of Greater London. "Church Planting" they call it, so we don't worry too much. Like a game of ecclesial monopoly, the Alpha-cash-advantaged posse of Jesus Lovers at SW7 are staking their claim on every empty church in the area. 

I will say now, that I favour "church planting", and that it is a credible way of reaching out to new communities. Perhaps where I struggle with it, whoever the planter of choice, is when it imposes a single-mode approach to our broad faith, or if by the advantage of cash it can replace the impoverished. If I had millions in the bank, I could church plant to my heart's content - badge them all as contemporary modern catholic and staff them with those of my own perspective. I wouldn't because I am not sure that the Gospel would want that of me. This is just my perspective - as one who favours breadth of expression in a geographical area - not one that says we are all the same, thank you very much. 

But there is a new peril on the horizon for the spare un-planted bits of very-planted London. It is this. 

Saddleback Church is of the American model of church - which is to say that it is big. There are smaller Anglican Provinces. I can't claim a great knowledge of its workings, but it is a very large organisation. You may have heard of others - Willow Creek, the one that invented leadership is another such example. In fact, in the case of the latter, its members all have good thighs, because the church has so many summits. Enough if that.

I have to say here that I don't get this idea of MegaChurch. Is bigger better? Is size important? Is success and the appearance of success a key factor in church growth? How must it be when the 'vicar' is a world-famous, away on conferences sort of person whose time you will never get? There may be answers to all of things, and good answers too - and I am not setting my stall out against these organisations. If I believe that the Holy Spirit is present in my church, then I have to believe that The Lord knows what he is doing over there! I am almost certainly a product of my middle-class white English upbringing, so a parish gathering that exceeds 150 gives me a nose-bleed! 

However, I do have a problem with this idea of church planting London from the comfort of US high-octane Holy Spirit central. This sort of feels like "our way is best, so we are coming over to set up our corporate model and do the job that we think you aren't doing well enough". The idea of 'church as franchise' is where I have a fundamental issue with planting - because I believe a church is a contextual gathering of Christians in a geographical area (you know, like a parish) that bears the specific characteristics of the interaction between the people and their spiritual leader. I don't believe that I can cut off a limb of Ss Philip & James Whitton and shove it in the ground somewhere else (already served by a parish church and its priest, lest we forget) and believe that it is another, new, Ss Philip & James. What we do works here because it is of us and for us, and for those who live around us. 

So, will American MegaChurch Inc work in London? The business side of my cerebral cortex feels that the market is saturated in these parts, and the other part just thinks this is, well, arrogant. Even before we count the churches outside of the Church of England, there are 400 odd parishes in London, over 500 worship centres. Add to that the Catholics and the Free Churches, the independents and Uncle Tom Cobbly and All, and I think that we have London covered thank you very much. Yes, you could buy my church with your cash and yes, you might even get more bums on seats in the short term but there is more, so much more, to London parish life, or indeed British parish life, and money just won't cover that. 

However, in the end I sense that this won't be my battle. I do wonder if Saddleback aren't going to queer the pitch of my brothers and sisters over at HTB. Upon their turf of choice will this fight be fought. 

Through the eyes of children II

The last time I wrote on this topic, I was wounded by the power of a relative baby http://vernacularcurate.blogspot.com/2010/01/through-eyes-of-children.html - and so I approach this topic again from another perspective, a happier one I think. 

The thing that I discover as I get older is that life and its concerns (good or bad) seem to increase in both speed and physical volume. A decade ago, I worried about how my Marriage was going to go (it is, by chance, our anniversary today), and a bit about how my then store in Tunbridge Wells was faring in a difficult trading period. I worried about money a bit, and was looking forward to our honeymoon in Gran Canaria - that was about it. Today, I worry about the kids, my work (subdivided into EDL, next Sunday's sermon, the wedding in the middle of the EDL visit, the Charity Commission return, the website that needs updating in a little while, and so on), how Jo is getting on court today (not as the defendent, I assure you), the fact that my shoulder always aches at the moment, the lack of sleep thing etc etc. I am happy in my life, but an orchestra of stuff plays its Cranial Symphony - and the tempo is perky just right now. 

Jo, Jessica Rebekah and I, with the excellent Katie and her daughter Izzie, went to London to see the Queen on Saturday. That's right, we decided to up-sticks, get on the train with our kiddie paraphernalia and schlap to the Capital for a little sightseeing. What a wonderful day we had. Why? We only managed on open-top bus ride when there ...

No, mate - that is what I did. 

What the kids did was get on a train, be excited about that almost to micturition. They saw ten-million sheep, and were so delighted that they told everyone on the train about each one as they passed it. We saw planes - oh my word we saw planes. They saw blossoms, lots and lots of blossoms. There were hawsees and moo-cows and that was even before we left Buckinghamshire. Then we got to Marylebone and got the Tube, and got on the longest set of magic-stairs ever (that is what we call escalators). Rebekah asked a Rastafarian man (after waking him) why he was wearing a big hat. He smiled and graciously answered. Then we got to Piccadilli and caught the big red bus and we drove and drove. We went passed the the Queens' house ('Daddy, does the Queen live in the chimley?', 'Yes baby, and I think she is looking, so wave' - we waved). We saw the Household Cavalry moving towards the Buck House for Changing of the Guard - Jessica nearly ruptured a lung at that sight. We went to Old MacDonalds and they had baby-burgers (shut it, you snobs - it is easier than carrying a picnic) - then we saw the river ('no Daddy, that's the sea', 'Boat, Daddy, look - a boat'). Then we passed some protesters in Parliament Square ('that lady is smelly isn't she Daddy', 'no, baby, because she lives in a tent doesn't mean she is smelly - maybe a bit dusty'). Jessica asked if Westminster Abbey was my church, and my reply was 'not yet'! I told Rebekah that Lambeth Palace was where daddy's boss lived and she now thinks that Jesus lives in Lambeth Palace - d'oh! Then we went home in much the same way as we arrived.

The fact is, I got to see every detail of every building in London - largely to answer to the girls' questions as we went by. I have never had such a close and detailed look at my Capital city, and all because of two two-year-olds who want to see everything. What a gift to us they are, both in themselves, but because of the renewed perspective that they offer. I only wish that toddlers could read and have access to Scripture and Doctrine - we'd have it sorted in minutes.