The first time Thomas Merton visited the Abbey of Gethsemani he wrote of being struck with impression that he had come across the "center of all the vitality that is in America." He saw the place that would become his home for the rest of his life as a sort of secret spiritual hub around which the country turned. The monastery was a kind of dynamo, humming with great spiritual power in the Kentucky countryside. Gethsemani, in Merton's description "was the reason why the nation is holding together. These men, hidden in the anonymity of their choir and their white cowls, are doing for their land what no army, no congress, no president could ever do as such: they are winning for it the grace and protection and the friendship of God." (Seven Story Mountain)

When I think about the life of the community I am a part of-a "rural missional community"-Merton's imagery, hyperbole set aside, often comes to mind. Merton believed that Gethsemani influenced the country in the way we'd like to influence the small town of which we are a part.  We believe that we're called to do a kind of quiet, hidden work of prayer, worship and healing here. Our prayer for our land is that we might live here in a way that is "winning for it the grace, the protection and the friendship of God."

For almost 25 years our family has lived in a small mountain town in the Sierra Nevada of Northern California.  For most of that time we have been a part of a Christian community, which has sought to establish a beachhead of the Kingdom of God in this region. Over the years our congregation has wrestled with how to be God's people and embody the good news in the unique location to which we've been called.  We have embraced and then abandoned a several ministry models along the way, dropped some unrealistic expectations and tried to keep listening to both the Spirit of God and to our neighbors. Our way of being church has evolved and our structure has morphed four of five times, but our life together has continued to be about seeking the blessings of the kingdom for these people in this place.

One of the strands, which has been woven into our way of thinking in the last several years, has been that of Celtic Christianity. The particularities of place and the peculiarities of people did much to determine the nature of their missional ministry. Ian Bradley in his book Celtic Christian Communities writes about "colonies of heaven", communities of faith established in Ireland, Scotland, Britain and Wales in the 4th, 5th and 6th centuries. The communities Bradley writes about were, like the Abbey of Gethsemani, monastic and shared a common life and common disciplines. But these were not always what we would consider typical monastic communities, isolated from the surrounding people and culture.  Many of the Celtic settlements were "places of intense coming and going, not cut off from the outside world and hidden behind high walls, but open and accessible to a constant stream of visitors, pilgrims and penitents."

That model has helped us visualize what our calling in this town could be.  We feel as if God has called us to build an outpost of the Kingdom here that is "open and accessible" to the people in our town. For us, that has had less to do with building a church and attracting people to events and more about our willingness to build long-term relationships. It has meant opening "our hearts and our homes" to "visitors, pilgrims and penitents" alike.

We come together weekly in the community center to worship. When we gather for worship, our intention is simply to worship because God is worthy of worship. We're trying to do what Christians have always done at worship, in prayer and in the breaking of bread, celebrating God's loving and powerful presence.  Acts 2:42 says that the church in Jerusalem "devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer."  Simple enough.

The rhythm Jesus taught his disciple was always about gathering, coming together and then going out.  "When Jesus has called the disciples together, he gave them power and authority...and he sent them out"(Luke 9: 1-2). They went out from the gathering, having been encouraged and empowered for the work of the ministry.  We're trying to find that rhythm by not to spending too much of our time or resources on the gathering while ignoring the going out.

We're learning to love doing "Ministry at the Margins" of our town.  In an article with that title in The Gospel and Our Culture newsletter, Brian McGaffigan writes about rural missional communities and our need to "develop relationships with folks who would not ordinarily be part of (our church) life." It may be that he most important meetings in our congregational life happen at the post office, the market or over breakfast at the post office rather than in our worship gathering.

Not long ago I had an opportunity to participate in an event that illuminated he nature of our congregation's relationship with this town.  I led a memorial service for an 84-year-old man who had live here most of his life.  If this had been 4th century Ireland, Robert would certainly have been a clan chieftain with a large extended family and great influence in his tribe.  Robert was a union carpenter and had helped build homes and commercial building all over town.  His memorial service, in the bar at our golf course, drew a crowd of about one hundred, including family, friends and carpenters-lots of carpenters.

I asked the bartender to turn the TV down, led in prayer and invited folks to share stories of Robert's life.  The first story was about getting drunk and trying to swim across the lake in winter. The next one was about getting drunk and wrecking a new boat. Then one of Robert's sons said, "Of course you remember Robert's favorite expression..." On cue and in unison most of the crowd yelled "Bullshit!" and broke up in laughter and not few tears.

So much for the pastor making an effective presentation of the gospel with a powerful altar call. There was a time when I would have been disappointed at not being able to make a public event an opportunity to "do evangelism" on people.  But it seems I may no longer be able to measure my success as an evangelist by my ability to influence crowds. But I know a good party when I see one, and felt honored to have been invited to Robert's.

As Bradley writes of the Celts, "Pastoral ministry of presence was seen as a more important function for the Church than engaging in mission or evangelism." For us, that has come to mean commitment to this tribe of mountain folk. We are trying to live here with simplicity, honesty and integrity, to be who we say we are-ordinary followers of Jesus. In his greatest missional teaching (Matthew 10) Jesus said "Whatever town or village you enter, search for some worthy person there and stay at his house until you leave." We've found some worthy people and we're staying.

Ian Mackay of the band Fugazi and the record label Dischord said in an in an interview in Punk Planet magazine, "I am not cutting edge. There are two things that are really destructive in business models. One is cutting edge technology and even more serious is the notion of expansionism. So much of the American business model is based on the notion of expansionism: If you're not growing you're dying. I think that's complete, utter bullshit. So I'm not worried about being cutting edge and I'm not worried about growing. If this label stays exactly the way it is or if the label shrinks or if the label gets bigger, it's all the same to me."

Amen! Substitute "congregation" for "label" and you get the idea. Our passion for seeing a colony of heaven established here among these people remains the same regardless of our "success" as a church.

We live in one of the most beautiful places on the planet among strong, creative people who love the mountains and lakes on which we live. Our calling as ordinary followers of Jesus is to share this good news: as beautiful, as captivating as our mountains are, there is more. As good as our life on this lake is, there is more. There is another kingdom. Noel Dermot O'Donaghue has written a book called The Mountain Behind the Mountain. The title is based on a line from a poem by Kathleen Raine called "The Wilderness:"

Yet I have glimpsed the bright mountain behind the
     mountain,
Knowledge under the leaves, tasted the bitter berries red,
Drunk cold water and clear from an inexhaustible hidden
     fountain

Our prayer is to be able to show the bright mountain, the hidden fountain, to our friends and neighbors in this town.

Bill,

I liked what you wrote about presence. We will not be heard unless we have shown respect, love, and developed relationships. Understanding that presence was the focus of this article, I am curious to know where presentation of the Good News comes. It seems obvious that there is a message to be shared (ie. "Repent for the Kingdom of God is at hand.... Repent or perish" Mark 1:15; Luke 13:3).

How do you transition between presence and to presentation.

Naam
--naam ( swathe63 at yahoo dot ca ) on 2/21/2006; 12:52:51 PM

Thanks Bill, for describing so well the fresh new territory I'm now seeing in my own journey.

I recently left the staff of a business-driven model, 3500 member church and have discovered a precious little congregation by the beach that loves each other without being prodded by programs to do so.

The success of this church seems to be felt in my heart, not written on a weekly attendance report.

I pray your church continues to love and "be." We all need that so much, don't we?
--Nick ( nixview at yahoo dot com ) on 3/6/2004; 10:53:49 PM

That's inspiring and encouraging stuff Bill. And you're pulling at me where I live with that Merton stuff. We're trying to do the same thing. We're not in a rural setting but I can see a rural expression of what were doing developing in the not too distant future. Thanks.
--Alan ( alan at qx dot net ) on 3/4/2004; 12:41:46 PM