A Parable For Our Post-Christian Age

Imagine with me for a moment, a small country church in the middle of a country town. Fortunately for that church, beside its small run down building, was a plot of land owned by the town council. 70 years ago, a friendly mayor said to the church, "Feel free to use my land." The church was so grateful. They held picnics and potluck lunches there, the children played together on the grass (which the town council mowed each week) while the teens stood in huddles. Once a month an outdoor outreach meeting was held on these lawns. The space was treasured. 

Over time, the church grew more and more accustomed to the free use of this space, with more and more church members referring to it as 'our' lawn. They even extended their fence line to encircle the vacant block beside them, erected a sign—“Church Yard”. Eventually, a generation arose that couldn't remember a time when they didn't have full access to the vacant block. 

One day, a notice was received, sent by the new mayor of the local council, informing them of the plans for a new development on the council owned block. A shopping mall would be erected there. The notice directed the church to remove their fence, and cease activity on the lawns. This was not received well.

Church meetings were held. "How dare they take our lawn!" Marches were organised. Signs were printed. Bitter feuds broke out between the church and the town council. Harsh words were spoken, sometimes in public, but more often in private. These feuds spilled over into the town square, loyalties were divided, relationships strained, tears shed. 

The day came, though the fence had not been removed, that the bulldozers arrived. The fence was torn down. The lawn was torn up. That precious space, full of great memories, soon became a construction site. The church had to restrict itself back into its original hall.

A new generation of church leadership began the process of thinking about the future of their church, the church with no comfortable lawn. While reading old records, the new Elders discovered an old letter, yellowed with age and covered in dust. It was from the old mayor.

The church had been fighting and grieving over something that had never been theirs. Oh, they had enjoyed it for a season, even used it for the benefit of the Kingdom, but it had never been theirs to own. It was a freedom afforded to them, but not theirs by right.

Can you imagine a little church like that? I'm sure it isn't too difficult to try. It's funny the things we think are ours to cling to and defend, isn't it?

“These all died in faith, although they had not received the things that were promised. But they saw them from a distance, greeted them, and confessed that they were foreigners and temporary residents on the earth. Now those who say such things make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they were thinking about where they came from, they would have had an opportunity to return. But they now desire a better place—a heavenly one. Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.” (Hebrews 11:13–16, CSB)