J.R. Briggs

God in the Dock :: The Church in North America

September 11, 2009

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In August our family went to Florida for a week-long vacation to spend time with the extended Briggs family. My grandparents, who live by the NASA Space Center at Cape Canaveral, also own a cabin on a lake in Central Florida in the Ocala National Forest (think Louisiana Bayou, not Boca Raton).  It’s literally in the middle of nowhere (Ocala is the nearest town anybody might have had a remote chance of hearing about at some piont – and it’s 30 minutes away) but it adds to the aura and mystique of the place.

They’ve owned this lakefront property for almost 40 years. Needless to say, there are lots of memories we’ve have at this place. One night during vacation, Grandpa fired up the old slide projector and screen and showed a history of The Cabin. We saw old pictures of middle-aged uncles and aunts who were in grade school, causing laughter and stories to be told. We saw slides of older relatives and close family friends who have since passed away, leaving us to reflect on their lives. It seemed that every other sentence that night started with “Do you remember when…” or “Wow…I had forgotten about…”

In fact, The Cabin has been around so long that my mom and dad used to join the family there for Thanksgivings and Christmases – before they were even married. The family cabin is actually not a cabin anymore – the old cabin was torn down in the 80′s and a double-wide trailer with running water, a couple of showers, central air, a television and plenty of space to throw a few dozen cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents was built on the location. For years it was called “The Cabin” and there was no sense changing it after the new building was erected.

The Cabin sits on Owens Lake, an egg-shaped lake about a mile long and 3/4 mile wide. There is nothing more relaxing than a week here. The jet ski provides opportunities for water skiing and tubing. The canoe allows for quiet sunset experiences. The fire pit grill allows for well-seasoned steaks. The sandy beach invites you to grab a lawn chair and read a book or take a nap. The shed is full of croquet, bocce balls, footballs, Frisbees and blowup rafts. Soaking in the lake and talking with relatives is the best way to relax and forget what time – or day – it is.

Very few things have changed on Owens Lake in the past 40 years, I’m told. But one of those things is the water level. Over the past several years the level has dropped noticeably. While being in – or on – the lake, this means nothing: there’s plenty of water to enjoy skiing or wakeboarding or tubing or canoeing. And it does provide extra lakefront property at no extra charge.

However, the problem is that many people around the lake have built docks over the years. At one time they were useful, but due to the low level, they’re completely obsolete today. There are all sorts of docks on the lakes: long and short ones. Expensive and cheaply built ones. New docks and ones that have been around for decades. But all are now useless. Canoeing around the lake with Carter one day, I noticed that the useless docks seemed particularly prominent this year. The sight is depressing, signs of the ways of old that no longer work with the water conditions of today.

I thought about the purpose of docks. There are lots of good reasons to build one on lakefront property: to dock your boat, canoe and/or jet ski. To fish from. To sit down and enjoy the sunset each evening. (If deep enough) to allow kids to jump off and into the water. Quite simply, the point of a dock is to be a connector of water and land.

The problem is that docks become entirely useless if they no longer connect (or just barely connect) water and land. What was once useful a generation ago is useless today due to the changing water level.

My grandparents’ cabin does not have a dock, thank goodness, which allows us to use the entire lakefront property for fun without having wooden poles and planks sticking up on land that no longer serve a good purpose. However, the property on either side of The Cabin have docks. In years past, the neighbors have allowed us to use the dock to watch the sunset or to fish from after dinner.

These pictures show the view looking both directions from the property:

The useless docks were so noticeable that I went out in the canoe again and took pictures of others around the lake.

I wondered if I were a homeowner on the lake with a useless dock what options I would have to make it useful once again. I came up with five options.

1. Add on to the dock and extend it another 15-20 feet out in the water (a lot of time and money, but at least it becomes useful again).
2. Ignore it and just leave it there (if you don’t mind the eyesore on your property, so what?)
3. Disassemble it so you can enjoy an unobstructed view (its a lot of work, but at least its not in the way anymore).
4. Dig it up and start over, building another one that extends out into the water. (Again, it includes time and money – and the risk is that if the water level goes down ever further in the next several years you have the same problem again).
5. Build a floating dock (it’s cheaper, not as stable as a stationary dock on land, but at least it would never become obsolete, no matter the water level).

What I found incredibly ironic is that on the entire lake – with dozens and dozens of homes – not one of them had a working floating dock. Wouldn’t that make sense and save a lot of money in the long run? But owning a floating dock – the first and only floating dock on the entire lake – takes a lot of guts. You run the risk of looking silly (nobody else has one), facing potential ridicule from your neighbors (why wouldn’t you just be like all the rest of us?) and wondering where you would get a floating dock or how to build one. Yet, it seems to me to be a risk worth taking.

As I was pondering these options in the canoe I had a thought that hit me right between the eyes: these docks are a metaphor for the North American church today.

The land is the mission of God.

The water is culture.

The docks are churches, whose purpose is to connect the mission of God with the current culture we swim in.

The stable churches that once met the needs of connecting God’s mission to the world with the cultural waters in previous generations were hardly touching (if at all) the cultural waters of today. Why? Because the cultural water levels have changed – and the docks have not moved one inch since they were built. They were not built for long term movement or flexibility.

Acts records the unpredictable journey of the Early Church. With no money, no seminary trained leaders, no buildings – and without centuries of church history or books to read – they ventured out to follow this wildly unpredictable God wherever he led them. They simply followed the Spirit wherever he led, thus necessitating a structure that had to be flexible and sensitive to God’s workings in order to respond quickly just to keep up. Alan Hirsch writes that the most important characteristic that we can embed into the ethos of our churches is adaptability. I think he’d agree with me in saying that what the church needs is to invest in more floating docks.

It certainly is true that there are a few downsides to floating docks: They are unstable and wobbly, not as secure and sure-footed as stationary docks with posts running up to 10 feet into the ground. They also require you to get wet in order to enjoy the dock. And it does require constant maintenance and upkeep (as do other docks) and have to be hauled to the shore and stored on land somewhere in the winter. I’m sure there are more downsides I have not thought of but these came to mind…

But the most important thing about floating docks is that they never become obsolete. Regardless of the water level they always serve a relevant purpose. It’s the same dock at all times – regardless of the rising and falling water levels and conditions. Peter Ward speaks of this flexibility and adaptability as “liquid church” – a church that is responsive to the increasingly fluid dimensions of our culture. The truth is this: a small, cheaply made dock connected to the water is more effective than an large, expensive dock on dry land. It’s mobility, flexibility and adaptability are what make it effective, attractive and enduring.

A generation or two ago, the churches in North America have invested much time, energy and money into stationary docks that served an incredible purpose at the time of connecting the cultural waters to the certainty of the mission of God. Whether it was models, buildings, technology or philosophy of ministry, these stationary dock strategies were built for the long haul. But now that the water level of culture has changed, they are present and noticeable in the world today, but they are disappointingly ineffective and sadly obsolete.

Based on these conditions, it seems church leaders have five options:

1. Add on to our already existing churches (either in buildings, technology, models or types of services and classes offered) – but risk being obsolete again in 15-20 years.
2. Ignore the problem and let our churches continue on as they always have (if we don’t mind, who cares?)
3. Shut our doors – either out of convenience or necessity.
4. Dig up the old ways of doing church and build another one with a different model/approach/personality/etc. (but then again, one risks being irrelevant as the water level changes).
5. Work hard to cultivate a floating-dock mindset of adaptability in our churches. (It will lack the stability of the old dock mindset and will require that we get culturally wet than what we are used to doing in the past. On the upside, it is less expensive, can be more fun and will never become irrelevant while still remaining true to its purpose why it was constructed in the first place: to connect the mission of God to the culture, regardless of its level).

The work is costly and rigorous and requires unbelievable amounts of sacrifice, especially regarding our own personal preferences. But building floating docks in order to foster adaptability and cultivate flexibility will serve Christ and the world well in the long run. I’ve shared this quote by Hans Kung before and I think it’s worth sharing again (even at the risk of mixing metaphors):

“A church which pitches its tents without constantly looking out for new horizons, which does not continually strike camp, is being untrue to its calling…We must play down our longing for certainty, accept what is risky, live by improvisation and experiment.”

It’s time for us to have the courage enough to invest in floating docks. The world will be better off for it.

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