By Mike O’Dea, M.H. Theology Response Team 

Lee knew I was a Christian because he could see that I always had a Bible at my workstation and there was usually a Bible verse stapled to my corkboard.  When Lee began asking me questions about the Bible and Christianity I decided to buy him a “Red Letter Edition” of the NIV Bible.  To this day I do not know if I was a seed planter, a seed waterer, or a harvester.  Anyway, Lee finally asked me what church I attended.  He soon began attending Mars Hill. 

He called me one day and said, “Mike, I have never been involved in any Christian event or group but I would like to check out a community group.  Would you go with me if I pick one out because I would be so intimitated if I went alone.”  I said, “Sure Lee”.  When I hung up, I thought to myself that more than likely I would be intimitated more that Lee because I had already figured out that 64 year olds were an extreme minority at Mars Hill.

Lee and I went to Sally and Andrew’s group in the Fremont area in April of 2005.  Sure enough, there were about 15 under 25 year olds at Sally’s apartment.  I will never forget that group of folks.  I expected to be treated as an “outsider” because of the age difference.  I figured I would just stick around long enough until Lee felt comfortable and then split.  However, it soon became apparent to me that God used Lee to direct me to the young folks.  Sometimes, in a community group situation, a question comes up that seems to stump everybody.  I noticed that when that happened, about 15 pairs  of eyes would move to where I was sitting - expecting something profound from the “Old Stone”  (This was pastor Mark’s term for old folks that were still useful according to his interpretation of the book of Nehemiah).  Apparently, on occasion, I did say something profound because these young people seemed to appreciate me. Lee was baptized at Golden Gardens in August of 2005 along with Michael and Kate from the same community group.

We had grown to 26 people sitting on the floor of that tiny little apartment.  We “replicated” and 13 of us began a new group at my home in Crownhill that same August. Again we grew to 22 people and we sent another group off to Ballard of 11 folks in April of 2006.  In February of 2007 we moved the group from my house (taking a break) to Peter’s place near Gold’s Gym on Aurora.  We are hovering at about 16-18 people so a “replication” is soon to happen.

Getting involved in the lives of so many young people has been an absolute God sent blessing to me these past two years.  It has kept me younger and given me a sense of purpose that I have never experienced before.  Many of these young people do not have Christian parents.  Or, if they do, many of them are a long way from home. There is a huge need for more “old stones” to plug into the lives of these beautiful people.  I cringe when someone over 50 tells me they are looking for a community group at Mars Hill of “old timers”.  If you are 50 or over, do yourself a favor and find a group of younger people.  You will soon realize that is where God needs you to serve.  WANTED:  About 150 “old stones” - one for each community group.

Amen?

By Mark Bergin

I enjoy community. I enjoy deep belly laughs from my ample midsection and running out of dining-room-table leaves and come-from-behind bocce ball victories. Being known is helpful, too a critical piece in pushing me to do Christianity for real, i.e., exposure, humility, repentance, etc.

But as is always the case in this cursed world, even good things can lead to ill in the hands of broken people. Community is no exception a painful reality made squarely evident in my life two weekends ago. There I was, vacationing on Anderson Island with my community group for our second annual summer getaway; temporarily relieved of parenting duties; surrounded by people I love, trust and am charged to shepherd; continually aware that a pile of meat lay marinating in a nearby refrigerator; and yet in grave danger of losing the rudder on my apparently not-so-sanctified ship.

The trouble started slowly, even innocently: a couple of beers here, a course joke there. The environment just felt so comfortable, so laissez-faire, so raw. And my tongue got loose. My standards relaxed. Nothing earth-shattering here, just an abuse of Christian liberty, an occasion for the flesh you know, the kind Saul of Tarsus expressly forbids.

Somehow, I’d managed to leave the more tender elements of my conscience behind on the mainland. Of course, they eagerly rejoined me upon my return, piling on conviction and shame as I drove off the Steilacoom ferry toward home. Pastor Scott Thomas didn’t help things that evening when he preached from Titus 3 on the admonition to not only do good but be good, leaving behind a life when “we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures.”

The thing is, it hadn’t felt like slavery in the moment; it had felt like freedom. And that’s the trouble with Christian liberty, especially among brothers. It’s in that rapture of mutual affection and earnest community that distinctions between the permissible and the beneficial are most easily blurred. Using up the dining-room table leaves may create space for belly laughs and marinated meat, but be on guard lest a roaring lion find room to pull up a chair.