Looking for reasons to let us in

We've been attending Baseline Community Church here in Claremont for the last few months, and yesterday, I met someone who was newer in the church than we were! So I thought that was quite a milestone. I've recently been wondering why God directed our steps to this church. In many ways, it's like our home church in Singapore, Changi Baptist Church. It's out of the way, right on the outskirts of Claremont (the property abuts the mountains); apart from a banner on the main road near the church, no one would guess that a church existed on 4552 N. Towne Avenue. It has Baptist affiliations. It has a somewhat tangled history; the current church is the product of a number of mergers and splits in the past, and the most recent merger occurred in 2004. One of the churches that merged to form Baseline in 2004 had a history of pastors resigning fairly soon into their tenures.

But there are also positive similarities. When I first stepped into Baseline in early May, I was struck by how familiar it felt, and I realised it was because of the intimacy of the sanctuary, like CBC's. The congregation felt warm and, for the most part, welcoming (for an exception, see Fiona's earlier post a few months ago). There was a good spread of age groups, though I think, proportionally there are more young adults and young parents than at CBC. The tone of the entire worship service echoed with me too. It was inviting, by no means liturgical but still observant of regular and meaningful patterns, and even though a lot of the music was unfamiliar, it was easy to catch on, and I liked how the great worship team mixed contemporary worship music with older hymns and songs. In His inchoate and intimate way, God connected with my spirit on that first Sunday, and I felt immediately that this was a place where I could learn and grow. I left church that first Sunday with a numinous memory: how wonderful it was that as a Christian, I could slip into a church I had only known about through the Internet and felt immediately as part of God's larger Church here on earth.

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The sermons over the last few weeks have revolved around the theme, "Life as a Highway". As disciples, we travel on our individual journeys through the challenges and joys of life. And while we journey individually, we also belong to larger communities -- our small groups, our church, and the larger Body of Christ here on earth. Collectively, as we make our small and sometimes painful progress on our journeys, we advance the Kingdom of God here on earth -- often in ways that we do not see immediately. Our smallest decisions count in the eyes of God and the Enemy. What we might think of as a simple act of faithfulness, or honesty, or love, or just habit, could strike deeply into the heart of the Enemy's territory.

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Last Sunday, the speaker, David Bixby, the Executive VP of Azusa Pacific University and one of the church elders, spoke. He recalled something that he had once heard from Dallas Willard: God stands at the gates of heaven and looks for reasons to let us in. David preached lots of wisdom on Sunday, but this particular thought struck me right between the eyes. So often, we conceive of God in precisely the opposite terms, standing at the gates of heaven looking for reasons to keep people out. Although I might not espouse such a view explicitly, my thoughts and actions demonstrate it all the time. I look for people's faults, instinctively zooming in on one weakness as representative of a person's intentions and true self. I jump to conclusions about people's intentions and actions, quick to ascribe a negative connotation to these. ("Oh, X must surely have an ulterior motive if he's being so thoughtful.")

Left to our own devices, our minds take on an exclusionary perspective; we are the chosen, the good, the ones who are trying hard. Others not in our group are always outside. How deeply these attitudes must pain the Father's great and gracious heart.

I wonder what the Father sees when he looks at each of our hearts. I sometimes think I glimpse a sliver of what He must feel, when I look at my own children. They exhaust us, stretch us, weary us; they make us mad, furious, even incendiary (try telling a whining, crying three-and-a-half year old that he's not going to the toy shop for the twentieth time -- no exaggerations -- and you'll see what I mean). And yet, and yet: When we look into their eyes, we see ourselves. We see a heart and a spirit filled with vitality, with life, with so much hope and potential for growth, for renewal, for blessing. God definitely sees the times we fall and fail, and He must certainly grieve. But He looks into our eyes and hearts, and I hope He sees a desire to press on through this journey, even if we do not know the way.

Afternote: