by Pastor Dan Baumgartner

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away a small group of a few dozen people gathered together. It included men, women and undoubtedly some families. They had been through a major tragedy – the loss of a friend and leader - so part of their gathering was simply the comfort of not being alone. Sometimes when you are reeling it’s just nice to know there are a few other people on the dance floor.

This same group had also witnessed something so remarkable they scarcely trusted themselves to believe it. After all, each of them knew that dead people stay dead. That nothing is bigger than death. So to even breathe the words “He is risen” almost by definition required others to bear witness to one’s sanity and accurate recollection.

Whenever the group came together, there were a handful of things they could count on happening. They gathered around a table to share a meal. They spent time with each other, watching their kids grow, doing laundry, monitoring romances, sharing the day’s news. They prayed together. And when the wiser and more mature in faith among them began to speak or open the scripture, they listened and discussed it.

The group didn’t have a name at first. Then monikers began to pop up. People of the Way, capital W. Followers of Jesus. Christians. Eventually, “the church,” which meant simply “the called out people.” Called out of the world, called out of sin, called out of all sorts of things.

Not that long ago in another galaxy far, far away (but not as far as the first one), headlights appeared on a dark morning. Not one set of headlights, but a multitude of them in a huge, snakelike stream heading in one direction. It was Sunday. Men in bright orange coats directed drivers to parking places on the vast expanse of blacktop, and shuttle buses moved people toward the huge building. Inside, the smell of espresso filled the lobby. Music drifted out of high-end speakers in the ceiling, and greeters handed out bulletins and little packets of do-it-yourself communion wafers and juice. Everything had been thought through to make the experience enjoyable.

The worship arena held 10,000 pilgrims. As people filed into their seats, huge video projections kept them entertained until the real show started. And when the main event came, it was impeccably scripted. It captivated, motivated, inspired, moved and stirred. At show’s end, worshippers were urged to sign up for committees, teams and groups for various purposes. They were promised small time commitment and major personal payback. Outside, the crowds made their way back to their cars. They debriefed the experience on the way home, and waited for the next Sunday.

This group had started with a name that once used the word “church” but had recently changed it to “Lakeside Gathering” since focus groups had determined that this was the most welcoming and least likely name to be perceived as religious.

In our galaxy today, it’s the right time to be asking significant questions. What is church, anyway? People or institution? Building or community? Why do we say things like “I attend Bethany Presbyterian?” Is it an event? What might it mean to say “We are the church?” What would it look like to BE church, instead of go to church? And how could pondering the picture from that first galaxy oh so long ago possibly help answer these questions for our postmodern era?

Starting Sunday July 11 and continuing into November, our sermons will dig into the New Testament book of Acts. It’s full of twists, turns and surprises. And if we ask the right questions, we might find some surprising answers as well.