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We’re doing a new series at Crosspoint this week.  It’s about sex.

I suspected that talking about sex would be a bit of a divisive thing.  Some people blush.  Others giggle with glee.  Some have even responded with disgust and anger.  There are many who applaud what we’re talking about.  Still, others are curious.

Talking about sex is a difficult task in the church.  And really, it shouldn’t be.  What I’ve learned over the past couple of weeks is that, even though this is 2012, five decades after the beginning of the Sexual Revolution, we’re still a pretty sexually repressed culture – both inside and outside of the church.

What do I mean by sexual repression?  I’m using the term loosely, not in the strict Freudian sense.  I mean this idea that sex is dirty, wrong, taboo, something we don’t talk about.  Sadly, one of the greatest contributors to sexual repression in our culture has been the church.  I wish I had time to trace the historic timeline of this idea – it goes all the way back to Plato, then evolved into Stoicism and Epicureanism, and then affected the theology of the early church fathers.  The essential understanding was that the body was evil, the spirit was good.  Anything to do with the body and it’s passions (like sex) was to be shunned, stamped out, avoided.  So sex became a necessary evil, a means to procreation, but not to be enjoyed or celebrated.  The idea took root and found its way into the DNA of the church.  Since our Western culture was founded largely on Christian principles, the idea took root there also.  Then entered the Sexual Revolution as a response to this repression.

Now, I’m not waving a flag for the Sexual Revolution.  But I understand why it happened – and in some ways it has brought a correction to some of our flawed thinking about sex.  On the other hand, this reaction against sexual stoicism has swung so far that we are again off balance as a culture.  It’s a swing – and a miss.  Now we’ve replaced sexual repression with sexual expression.  We’ve traded self-control for license.  And the repercussions are endless.  Who would have thought fifty years ago that we’d have to create a term called “sexual addiction”?  Who would have suspected it would be so rampant?  And what has happened to us that human trafficking and child molestation are so prevalent?

I’m not saying we need more sexual repression.  But what about sexual suppression?

There are many of us who are still figuring out what to do about the topic of sex in church.  You think it’s awkward for you?  I’m the one who has to talk about it!  I’ll be putting on my best face, but please understand…I’ll be blushing on the inside.  Because my gut reaction tells me there’s something wrong about talking about sex openly and freely in the church.  And I know I’m not alone.  I’ve seen hard-nosed blue collar workers, who could swear the paint off a snowmobile, stare at their shoes when I tell them we’re talking about sex on Sunday.

Why is it so difficult to talk about sex in church?  It shouldn’t be.

Because the Bible has a lot to say about sex.  In fact, it celebrates sex.  Sex is God’s idea…and it’s a good idea.  You were designed for sex.  Sex is a source of pleasure and not just for procreation.  In fact, it’s (*gasp*) an avenue to worship God.  Yet, sex is not cheap or casual, but priceless and beautiful, the height of human intimacy.  It’s something that was designed to be fully experienced between a man and a woman –  two trusting partners who give up their independence and embrace life-long interdependence together.  Sex is a good idea.

So we’re going to talk about sex.  Because we believe God rolls that way.

I’m already blushing on the inside.

Sure, I haven’t written a blog in 1.5 years or so.  And I’m sure you’ve been spinning in your chair and drumming your fingers on your desk waiting for me to write something.

And I haven’t.  I’ve given you a bucket-load of silence.

All I can say is…have you ever planted a church before?

Last week I sat at a table with a few people who were interested in planting a church – or at least interested in knowing what planting a church would be like.  Here’s how I started:  ”Planting a church can be one of the most soul-sucking experiences you will ever have.  In my eighteen years of ministry experience, this has been my hardest, hands-down.”  How’s that for a sales pitch?  Of course, I also talked about the upside.  The upside is that you don’t have to feel guilty about keeping up on your blog.

This has been a crazy year.  Do I have any regrets?  Nope.  Did we do everything right one-hundred percent of the time?  Nope.  Would I do it again?  Absolutely.  Do I feel good about where we are at?  Absolutely.

Thank you Crosspointers.  Thank you supporters.  Thank you donors.  Thank you God.  This has been quite the ride.

Now – I think I might get back to blogging some more.

We’ll see.  No promises.

 I punched my brother in the face once and broke my hand. (I’ll show you the scars if you ask me.) I still remember the day I showed up at school wearing a cast. I had to tell the same story a hundred times before the day ended. I thought about writing the story on a piece of paper and just handing it to every kid who asked, “Dude, what happened to your hand?” Sometimes I feel the same way about the title of this blog entry. I really don’t mind answering this question, but I thought it might helpful to put my answer in writing – in case you don’t get the chance to ask. 

But before I begin, let me say for the record (again) that I’m not a fan of the phrase “planting a church”.  Why?  Because the church has already been planted.  If you’re a follower of Christ and have embraced him by faith, you are the church – and so am I.  So technically, at Crosspoint we are gathering people – who are Christ’s church – into a common community with a common purpose.  I know, I know…it doesn’t roll off the tongue as easily as “planting a church”.  But the phrase can be misleading or misunderstood.  Sometimes it gets confused with the idea of building a church building, or getting together for worship once a week.  The church is so much more.  It’s not a place we go to every week.  It’s who we are.  

Glad to get that off my chest.

So why am I doing this “thing that I’m doing”?  First, because there’s a need.  Let me call it my COMMISSION. God calls His people to share His good news everywhere, especially in places where nobody’s heard it or seen it lived out.  There is a real need for this in northeast Edmonton.  There are entire neighborhoods with little or no tangible kingdom presence or focused kingdom work. So there’s a need.

Second, I’m doing it because of CIRCUMSTANCE. Or shall I say, a collision of circumstances? I wish I could tell you everything that has been going on in my life this past year.  Taken together, they have brought me and my family to this decision. Let me list some of the circumstances:

• Planting churches has always been on my radar – it’s one of the reasons I joined the C&MA ten years ago.
• My personal study of culture, philosophy and theology has led me to believe that the church in the West is facing a ‘crisis of ecclesiology’. 
• For a while I was experiencing a holy discontent about my ministry role. I loved it but in my heart knew that something was out of synch.
• Last October I went to a Catalyst Conference and got drunk on vision and God. 
• There were other circumstances that came into play including my church’s vision to plant the gospel, the age of my kids, city development, where I lived, the people God has put in my life – too many variables to list.

All in all, it was a perfect storm that seemed to be pointing in one direction.

The final reason is CALLING.  Church planting is both costly and risky – not something to engage in on a whim.  I needed to be sure that God was in this decision.  Most church planters will say that when situations get rough, one of the things that will keep you at your post is the knowledge that God has called you.  So Karen and I began to pray. We invited a close group of friends and family to pray with us. There were many times when I deliberately drove up and down the streets of Edmonton, praying for God’s direction, and praying for the people. At the end of the day, I asked God for some specific signs and He showed those to me. So now the Chartrand Clan is embarking on a new adventure.

So those are my personal reasons.  But let me take a moment to answer an even bigger question: Why plant churches at all?  Let me give you a couple good reasons.  First, planting churches is the best way to help people find their way back to God.  C. Peter Wagner has said, “the single most effective evangelistic methodology under heaven is planting new churches.”  Ed Stetzer, in his new book, Viral Churches, states: “Two thousand years of Christian history have proven that new churches grow faster, and reach more people, than established churches.” There are reasons why this is so…I haven’t got the time to explain just now.

The second reason? Planting churches is one of the best ways to get the body of Christ mobilized.  You see, in new churches, you don’t have the luxury of sitting on the bleachers and watching the game.  There’s an “all hands on deck” culture where everyone has to play a part or else the ship sinks.  If you don’t do it, there won’t be somebody to do it for you. And besides, because there is so much excitement that comes with being caught up in something bigger than yourself, you can’t help but get involved.

So there they are…the reasons why I’m doing the thing that I’m doing. Wanna sign my cast?

 ** Disclaimer: This post entry describes a recent experience I had with racism.  I need to let you know, before you read this, that I am a proud Metis (First Nations) Canadian.  I’m doing this now so that the irony in the article is not lost on those of you who do not know me well. **

A number of days ago, picture me in Starbucks, up in the north end of the city.  It’s quiet in my favorite watering hole.  I’m working on a paper, enjoying the sun streaming in the window.  All is well with the world if you like writing papers.

Two guys walk into my barista haven.  They’re uber loud, yapping away at each other. Scratch record.  The mood in the place changes.  Peaceful tranquility, meet loud obnoxious. They order their coffees and sit down right behind me, even though there are dozens of other empty seats in the place. 

The worst of it is that everyone in the place can hear their banter, even the guy in the bathroom.  I’m trying to ignore them and get some work done, but I can’t stay out of their conversation.  And no, I typically don’t pry into other people’s conversations in public establishments.  If I want to pry, I can creep people on the web.

So the short guy, who talks way too much, is reading the newspaper and giving a running commentary on everything and nothing. He gets to the sports section and reads something about a NHL hockey player who he says is basically getting paid millions of dollars to sit on the bench – to do nothing, as this guy describes it. (Of course he probably doesn’t sit on the bench during practice.  And he probably didn’t spend twenty years training, at unreasonable hours of the morning, to become the athlete he is. But that’s for another time…)

But here’s the shocker.  Suddenly the short guy goes off on a racist rant…”Typical native,” he says.  Then he looks around and says to his buddy, “There aren’t any natives in this place are there?” 

Feeling certain that he’s pretty safe, he continues, “Typical native, so <insert word here> lazy. Just wants to sit around all day and get paid for it.” 

Okay, so here’s how the story goes. While I was in Turkey we stayed at this fantastic resort. One morning Karen and I went to the gym to work out, so I took off my two rings because soft metal rings and heavy weights don’t mix. You’ll scratch them or bend them. I put both rings in my shaving kit, which I left open on the bathroom counter.

While we were out, someone cleaned our room. When I came back, my cheap silver ring was still there, but my gold wedding band was not.

I assumed the best of people (i.e. that it was not stolen) and that I had somehow misplaced it. We scoured the luggage and the room all week. But we never found it. 

Bottom line…I think my wedding ring was stolen.

So I got back to Edmonton late Monday night and suffered through a few days of jet-lag plus work. Then I had to preach that weekend. It went well, and I felt God had done a good thing through me.

Then this week I got a letter on my desk. It was mailed and addressed to me.  As soon as I saw the envelope, I knew it was suspect. This wasn’t the first time that I had gotten a truth bomb from afar. I had two reasons to be suspicious. First, there was no return address on the envelope. Second, it was hand-written with a very shaky script. My Sherlock-Holmes-like instincts told me that this was going to be some sort of a reprimand from a dear old lady who attends our church.

I said to my assistant, “Think I should open it? I bet you anything that this is not going to be good, that someone is upset about something.” I wracked my brain to try and remember what I might have said during the weekend message that would have rubbed somebody the wrong way. I couldn’t think of anything…unless they were someone really sold out to prosperity gospel theology.

(Now, you might think this email is a truth-bomb from afar, but to my defence, I have signed my name to it and neither you nor I know who sent me the letter.  But if it was you, let’s do lunch. I’ll even let you buy!)   

Got ya.  You were thinking, “What!?  Did you change your mind already?”  Fickle guy.

Or…if you’re cynical about catchy slogans, you were probably thinking, “Sure you’re not…”

Seriously. I’m not planting a church. I mean, how can I? The church has already been planted. It was established about two thousand years ago by Christ (check out the book of Acts).

I know, I shouldn’t get all technical, but there’s a problem with the language when you say “plant a church”.  You see, you can’t really plant a church because a church is more than a building, more than a geographical location.  It’s so much more.  It’s God’s invisible kingdom, His people who are His hands, feet and voice in the world. It’s forcefully advancing and cannot be contained. 

(For those theology/sociology/history buffs out there, let’s just say that this view of the church is SO fourth century.  We can thank Constantine and historical Christendom for our dented ecclesiology.)

This fall, we’re going to ask people to journey with us to “plant a church”.  I guess it’s better to say we’re going to “gather together under a common vision to be the church.”  Technical, I know…but true.

You see, there’s a downside to seeing the church as just a building or a weekend experience. First, it’s a limited (sometimes false?) view of the church. Second, it confines your spiritual life and the purpose of the church to an experience and a place. 

Now, I’m not saying that the church can’t gather. But where it gathers is not as important as that it gathers. And gathering isn’t the only thing the church is all about.

If you are a follower of Christ, you are the church.  You’re part of something huge. And everywhere you go, you bring the church.  When you go out for coffee at Starbucks, you bring it. When you take the LRT to work, you bring it. When you hang out with those you care about, you bring it.

So bring it. Today, wherever you go, you are the church and you are bringing the church to the world.  Be the church, the true church. Bring truth, love and light to every space you occupy.

I’m at an airport in Munich. I’ve got two hours left to bring it.

 Some things are the same the world over.  Like seagulls.  Karen and I are touring Turkey this week.  They have seagulls!  Why is it that the seagulls here look the same as those in Uganda, Taiwan, Germany…even Saskatchewan?  Ever wonder how they managed to populate almost every corner on the planet?  I sometimes wonder…do all seagulls eat diapers?  The ones in Moose Jaw do. 

There are other things the same the world over…marketplaces.  In Turkey, they call them bazaars. I’ve come to the conclusion that, while each marketplace has its own distinct flavor, they all share striking similarities. Karen and I went to the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul last week.  Here in Turkey, everyone says that its sellers are aggressive.  From my experience, they are no more aggressive than they are in Mexico City or Nairobi.  In Nairobi, I was lovingly surrounded by about eight artisans who were not going to let me leave because I showed an interest in their wares.  I left that market with an empty wallet and a new camel-skinned drum.

It’s tough going to a marketplace and being Canadian.  Maybe it’s because you’re used to lots of space.  And maybe it’s because you’re overly polite.  I think the sellers in the Grand Bazaar have an uncanny sixth-sense about Canadian niceness.  They specialize in getting your attention.  All they have to do is say, “Hello, how are you today?”  I mean, what true-blooded Canadian is not going to stop and say, “Me?  I’m just fine.  Thanks for asking!  How are you?”  Then they have you. You just opened the door to useless-novelty-trinket-stuff limbo.