Sometimes it seems that those in fundamental circles believe that churches all look the same--on the outside and the people inside. The buildings all look similar and the church bodies all must operate the same way.
In the same vein, the mission field is for missionaries who raise support to work full-time as pastors. That mission field is only across foreign borders, likely overseas. And while that mission work is worthy--God calls people to do that--we seem to forget the needy fields in our own country. Tent-making missions is only for countries with closed borders.
Or is it? Why don't we promote tent-making missions to reach the unsaved within our own borders?
The urban parts of the United States have for the most part been overlooked as suburban churches expand and multiply. After all, cities are dangerous and expensive.
We served for more than two years in New York City with a great burden to reach people as layworkers. Manhattan is filled with people who likely won't darken the doors of a church, but they could be reached by coworkers living godly lives. Althought God has called us from the city, we still have a deep burden for it.
We'd love to see godly young professionals--single, newlywed, or with established families--gain a similar burden and move to inner-city areas. Such people would have a unique ministry potential in their workplace, and they'd be a tremendous asset to the small urban churches. Their jobs would support them, and the Lord would protect them.
We've forgotten that the churches in Acts are urban churches. We've forgotten that the Church is composed of all nationalities and ethnicities. And we've overlooked the fact that cities are the best place to reach any number of nationalities--even people who have come to the United States from closed countries. They still have ties to family members in those countries.
What follows, then, is a description of just one small urban ministry. My goal would be that people see my burden and not be stuck viewing all ministries through the same lens.
The setting
The neighborhood is one of the most elite areas in the New York City borough of Brooklyn. The elitism of the professionals and artists who live there makes the area a hot-bed of liberal thinking. Near the end of one historic, photogenic block of brownstone homes sits a discreet museum commemorating the homosexual lifestyle.
All around the neighborhood, anti-Bush stickers adorn just about any flat surface. Many residents have rainbow flags bearing anti-Bush sentiments hanging from windows and fire escapes. Not far from the museum is a synagogue with a lesbian rabbi.
A couple of blocks from the museum lives Lynne Stewart, the woman lawyer who defended the blind sheik Omar Abdul-Rahman. Rahman is in jail for his role in the first attack on the World Trade Center. Stewart is now being tried for helping him communicate with terrorists.
On another block is Farrell's bar. It's a neighborhood icon, where firefighters gather when off-duty. The word on the street is that it is also where terrorists did some of the planning for the first World Trade Center attack.
In the midst of this liberal neighborhood sits a church building built in 1892. It's red brick, with tons of windows. One room has a large window air conditioner; the rest of the building relies on windows and fans to keep cool in the humid New York summer. There is a basement that you can reach by going down a small stairwell with a low ceiling. Members dug the basement by hand (out of bedrock) after the building was built.
With sliding wood/glass panels, the main auditorium could be expanded into a side room and a balcony. Maybe as many as 500 people could fit in that arrangement. Nowadays, though, about 50 to 100 people come for a Sunday morning service.
The sanctuary is beautiful. Stained-glass windows highlight the wooden pews. Much of the room, in fact, is accented with dark wood. In the front, there's a raised platform for the pulpit. The flooring of the platform can be removed to reveal the baptistry.
Above the pulpit is a balcony that is home to a dignified old pipe organ. A system of mirrors is rigged up so the organist can see the song leader in the pulpit. A soaring ceiling provides beautiful acoustics.
The church began as a Sunday School run by two single ladies. The body grew and the church was born a couple years later. The church was built and has been there ever since. Last Sunday attendance was a bit low due to the holiday weekend. But still, New Yorkers came to worship together.
The people
There was Kalvin, a loving single father of an adolescent girl. Kalvin frequently cares for his teenage nephew. When he's not a bodyguard for movie or television productions, he finds work doing construction. The union people in the construction industry don't usually like Kalvin; he works hard and tries to do what's right, and they don't care for that.
The Caribbean-island native is faithful at the church. Sunday, he was glad to share prayer requests about his family. His sister is sick, and many relatives need spiritual help.
Kalvin's brother -- "you know, the one who rides his bike in the neighborhood" -- has a drinking problem, so Kalvin requests prayer for that in a conversation between Sunday School and the morning worship service. But in the next sentence, he takes a lighter approach.
"It's not that I don't drink too. I do," Kalvin says. "But I don't drink alcohol."
There's also Ginny, an "old maid" who's as Greek as could be. She loves the children in the church, and spoils them as much as she can.
Alice was there in her white straw hat, stained pink shirt, and bright flower-print skirt. She probably walked a couple blocks to church. She often does. A dear black lady who's probably about 90, Alice is a bright, active member in the body. Sunday, she was with Marie, another black lady.
Marie is a gracious Southern woman who lives in a boarding home across the street. She wasn't wearing a hat Sunday, but she often does. Instead, she's wearing a scarf around her neck that matches her skirt. Marie used to visit the church periodically. She went to another church, but getting out was hard. So now she crosses the street faithfully to worship nearby.
Karla was there, accompanying the piano on her flute before moving on to do something else in the building during the sermon. Petra came from the building around the corner. She sat in the back left corner as usual. Her Puerto Rican accent is evident as she greets church people.
Nester came in late, sitting just to the left of the middle aisle. Nester, a black man, is impeccably dressed in a suit and tie. His short hair is picture-perfect, his nails nicely trimmed. As the pastor preaches, Nester might grunt as he uses his waist to bob up and down. He might excuse himself during the sermon to visit the restroom, checking with those around him or even with the pastor. Nester's autistic. But he comes faithfully, leaving the home he stays in and walking to church on his own.
In front of Nester sits Randolph. Randolph, from the island of Dominica, is somewhat a loner. For the last several years, he's worked in a factory painting mannekins. He has family, maybe even children, but he seems to be alone in the world. He sits in the pew in blue carpenter jeans and a green plaid shirt, holding his New Testament close to his bearded face to read along with the preacher.
Across the aisle from Randoph are George and Helen. Nobody really knows their last name. Nobody really knows much about them, in fact. They come almost every Sunday morning, always looking bedraggled. George and Helen are Messianic Jews from Russia. There's a language barrier--a rather tall barrier, at that. The couple usually rides their bikes everywhere; they live miles away. They often take large handfuls of tracts, which they pass out during the week. Sometimes they come back mid-week to get more.
Helen sits in the pew in khaki cropped pants, which she has rolled up near her knees. During the hymns, she has the hymnal about an inch from her eyes. George sits next to her in a light dress shirt. He probably doesn't have an undershirt beneath it. During the sermon, the two talk back and forth periodically, translating for each other.
Somewhere in the building is Wilfredo and Yasmine and their kids. Native New Yorkers, Wilfredo and Yasmine met in youth group at pastor's previous church, where he was youth pastor. They went on to attend BJU, and now Wilfredo works in Manhattan while Yasmine homeschools their four kids.
In about a year at this church, Wilfredo has become one of the leaders. A talented pianist, he plays the prelude and special music, among other responsibilities.
Most of these people have been coming for years. There are others, but life is so transient in the city that people come and go frequently.
A typical Sunday
Sundays usually begin at 9:45 a.m. at the church. Well, anywhere from 9:45 to 10:05 a.m. With so many ethnic groups, urban traffic, and the other daily unknowns of city life, services don't always start right on time. It doesn't help that the pastor is often the driver of the church van, driving all over the borough to pick up church people. By about 2:00 p.m., the church day will be complete, with all the normal services crammed into a shorter time span.
After everyone gathers in the Sunday School room, the congregation sings a hymn or two and recites the monthly memory verses. Then more specific classes break up for their Bible classes. At 10:45 a.m., the classes end and preparations begin for the morning worship service.
Slightly after the hour, the 11:00 a.m. worship service begins. There's the normal hymn service, a responsive reading from Ephesians 2:1-10, an offering, and special music. This service also included a special prayer for the health of former President William Clinton as he prepares for heart bypass surgery.
Since the morning began, the church proceedings have been punctuated by street sounds. Cars drive by constantly. When they can't start as soon as they'd like when the light turns green, drivers honk their horns. Down the block, buses whir as they work their routes. Overhead, jets roar over on the flight path into LaGuardia Airport in Queens. From time to time, a passing ambulance drowns everything out during a service. The church is on an avenue that leads right to one of the main hospitals in Brooklyn.
The pastor's sermon from 2 Peter 2 warns against false prophets.
One of the pastor's passions is to preach the Bible in its context. In the general sense, that involves a lot of teaching about Judaism: the Bible is predominantly a Jewish book written to and by Jewish people. In New York, the Jewish population is so large that everyone in the church probably has interactions with Orthodox Jews, so they have a good understanding of the Jewish culture. Knowing that, they understand the difference between living under the law and living in God's grace.
When the sermon comes to a close, the pastor holds a brief invitation. He doesn't prolong it; he doesn't use any emotional tactics. The pastor knows that if the Lord has worked, a person will respond. After two quick stanzas from a hymn, it's time to close in prayer.
As he closes in prayer, pastor asks the Lord's blessing on the food that the congregation is about to eat. Then after he's done, everyone greets each other and moves down the small stairway to the basement for dinner. It's not a special occasion; it's a weekly event. Four teams are responsible to provide the food. One team brings the food each week, and then on a month with five Sundays, everyone pitches in.
This urban ministry has rearranged the Sunday schedule to minister more effectively to its people. After a traditional morning schedule, the church holds a luncheon, followed immediately by an afternoon service. As a result, the elderly women don't have to be out late at night--especially in the winter when it's dark by 5:30 p.m. And those who ride public transportation pay for two trips instead of four.
After the lunch, everyone reconvenes in the main Sunday School room for the afternoon service. By 1:15 p.m., the congregation is answering Bible trivia questions that pastor reads from cards. Some of the questions stump even the adults, and pastor supplies a reference to look up the answer.
There's also hymn singing and reciting the monthly memory verses. Eventually pastor gives a simple Bible lesson. Some Sundays, church people ask questions during the lesson.
Before the church made the change to the afternoon schedule, it was hardly drawing anyone to the evening services. After the switch, attendance improved dramatically. But the move drew criticism from some circles in fundamentalism. Naysayers decried the new schedule as a break with "how it's always been."
Posted by JRC at September 12, 2004 10:06 PM | TrackBack