Ten years ago I had never heard of the emerging church. Oh, I was reading postmodern philosophy and asking all sorts of questions that were getting me in trouble, but I had no idea that there were other Christians discussing these sorts of ideas. I had just finished my first round of grad-school having studied Intercultural Studies and Missions at Wheaton College. I often had made my classmates (and a few of my professors) uncomfortable by asking why missions concepts like contextualization of the Gospel, socio-linguistic relativity, and intercultural difference could not also be applied to our own American culture. If it was okay to have the Gospel make sense culturally in some third world country, why couldn’t it make sense to all people in the United States?

But this was the era when “purpose driven” churches were cutting edge and where in a post-9/11 flag-draped America, homogeneity trumped authenticity. Facebook and Twitter were still years away, so it was a lot harder to discover that you weren’t the only one asking the crazy questions. Even so, it was early in 2002 when someone recommended to my husband and me that we might enjoy reading a book by this guy Brian McLaren. As others have often mentioned, what I discovered in A New Kind of Christian wasn’t completely new, but more of an affirmation that there were others exploring the same sorts of questions about faith as I was. And knowing that one is not alone holds a special power. Knowing that I didn’t have to ignore those nagging questions or divorce my intellect from my faith saved my faith. Instead of a hollow and confining static system, it had been transformed into a living reality.

Knowing that there were others out there meant I had to find them – which is where The Ooze enters in. I found that community online, and more specifically its message boards. I created a profile with a fake name (MaraJade) and a false avatar and jumped in with both feet. Over the next few years the evolution of my faith played out on those boards. I eventually added my real name as virtual friendships morphed into physical ones, but it was there that I began to re-imagine theology, and church, and what it even meant to be a Christian. While it was not always the safest place to explore such questions in a public forum, it was the only place where such dialogue could even occur. It is amusing now to think as The Ooze shuts down that all these old conversations, these snapshots of a faith in transition, will now be archived at Fuller Seminary. I pity the sociologist of religion who will sift through them someday for her dissertation.

But as the conversation grew, territories were claimed and lines began to be drawn. Certain groups declared that there was a range of acceptable questions (generally permitting the re-imagining of worship practices but not theological stances) and they (loudly) denounced the rest of us. Others set up camp as either for the Ooze or for Emergent Village – competing for publishing contracts, conference speaking spots, and (of course) advertising dollars. Those of us involved in both observed that tension and felt like we were being made to choose sides. Looking back, it seems so silly that in a conversation about deconstructing the systems of modernism in favor of re-imaging a wholistic and healthy way to be the church such petty fights would ever be waged, but I guess that is the way of man (and I intentionally used the masculine there). For me the conversation was holy in whatever guise it took.

I never made it to a Soularize until this year and I regret that. But there was still something intriguing to enter into that space ten years on and discover where the past decade has taken the conversation. In a struggling economy the trappings of financial success have long since lost the power to sway the conversation. Petty differences have given way to collaboration as those who believe that re-imagining church for a postmodern world is more than just the latest trend to follow. The angst of needing to constantly deconstruct where we all have been has mellowed into a loosely held space where dreams and critique coexist. The urgency to fix the world has passed while the passion to hope for a better world remains.

In short, the emerging conversation I encountered at Soularize this year was one of hope. While it might not burn as brightly as it once did, a bonfire requires too much empty energy to sustain itself. What we have left is a smoldering movement – not in the negative sense of having been reduced to ashes, but of the sort of long-burning coals that warm homes and bake bread. And there are still new people joining the conversation – asking their own questions and desperately attempting to cling to their faith in meaningful ways. But how they enter in looks different now that there are those of us who have matured in this conversation for the past ten years or more there to welcome them in.

Groups like Soularize and The Ooze may be winding down, but that is because the conversation has shifted. We no longer just need space for questions; we need space to build as well. Learning parties are no longer just about questions, they are also about formulating responses with our lives. I am grateful for this last Soularize for serving as a transition in that shift. And I am looking forward to what lies ahead.

It is that difference between existing and thriving that stood out to me. I think most of us, and the communities we are a part of, concern ourselves with simply existing. Sometimes we exist to survive – to hold it all together and make it through the day. It is our needs and our desires that matter above all else. And at times simply existing is all we can do. If all we can do is survive, that’s just fine. But simply existing is not the same as thriving.

I know in my own life when I retreat into myself and concern myself with just what’s going on within the walls of my own house, I become a different person. I’m far more withdrawn, depressed and not very pleasant to be around. It takes concerning myself with something bigger than myself that helps me be the sort of person I actually want to be. Thriving means being fully alive – being filled with the passion and energy that comes from opening myself up to challenges, learning new things, and using my blessings to bless others.

From what I’ve experienced, churches operate the same way. I’ve been a part of churches that for some (if not most) of my time there have existed mostly for themselves. They are concerned with meeting the needs of the congregation – making sure they are fed (or simply entertained). They are concerned with the stereotypical butts, budgets, and buildings and spend a lot of time discussing why they are such a special community that everyone should feel blessed to be a part of. On one hand, all of that is part of what a church needs to do to survive. But sometimes going through these motions in order to survive starts to have a negative effect. The navel gazing – intended to strengthen and help the community – slowly and often subtlety leads to the withering away of that very community. All the energy turns inward leading to the corporate version of the depressed, apathetic, and listless person I described above. The body is surviving and pragmatically getting the basics done, but it is obviously not thriving.

What I find most disturbing is that the general prescription for this inward focused withering away is simply more self-care – better programs, a building-project, community meetings – making things bigger and better for the self. But none of that leads to thriving growth, it simply sustains and prolongs the slow death. And when there is nothing outside of the self to bring inspiration and new energy in, burn-out is quick. Like gardens, without the constant engagement with outside elements people and churches will never thrive.

When we engage with questions that we don’t have the answer to we are forced to move beyond ourselves. We have to face challenges, expose ourselves to new people and new ideas, seek solutions to complex problems, and use our resources in new ways. It becomes impossible to remain static when we must constantly wrestle with constant new input. Instead of withering away, we grow and in that sense, thrive. This is something I have to remind myself of after periods of inward withdrawal. I don’t despise such periods – everyone needs rest – but I know I can’t stay there if my desire is to be fully alive. And I’m beginning to see that churches can’t either. We are the living body of Christ – living things need to grow and thrive.

I’ve long been interested in archaeology, particularly biblical archaeology. So it caught my eye when the Jerusalem Post reported this morning that the oldest known example of written Hebrew was discovered about eighteen months ago and recently deciphered. Written on a piece of pottery shard, it was dated to the 10th century BCE, the time of King David.

Prof. Gershon Galil of the Department of Biblical Studies at the University of Haifa, who deciphered the text and determined it was an ancient form of Hebrew, explained that “This text is a social statement, relating to slaves, widows and orphans.” While not definitively determined as a biblical text, the inscription certainly could be. Prof. Galil’s reconstructed translation reads:

1′ you shall not do [it], but worship the [Lord].
2′ Judge the sla[ve] and the wid[ow] / Judge the orph[an]3′ [and] the stranger. [Pl]ead for the infant / plead for the po[or and]
4′ the widow. Rehabilitate [the poor] at the hands of the king.
5′ Protect the po[or and] the slave / [supp]ort the stranger.

I’m not surprised to learn that this three-millennia-old inscription links worshiping the Lord to pleading for the poor. From the earliest days of humanity writing down God’s instructions, worship and justice were linked. It was true then, and it is still true today.

Duane Shank is the senior policy advisor for Sojourners.