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Believing in the holy catholic church, little c

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Maybe you’ve had to explain this part of the Apostles’ Creed before.  “Catholic, with the little c, comes from the Greek words kata and olos, meaning about the whole, universal.” We whisper this ancient claim about the united body of Christ during worship. And sometimes it feels like the Holy Spirit hears these words and asks me, “Do you really?”

Do I really believe in the powerful, vulnerable, alive and life-giving body of Christ? Or is the Methodist Church our competition? Or is the church that worships in the school and puts up signs on the median a bit of an enigma? Or do my congregants know more Baptists than I do?

“Would you convene the clergy lunch?” That question came from Father Brad, the motorcycle-riding rector from St. Timothy’s Episcopal who had gathered clergy for lunch over the years and was retiring. My instinct was to say no.

No to lunches where one person dominates the conversation with gripes about parishioners.

No to a monthly show-and-tell about our awesomeness over mediocre sandwiches.

No to half-hearted mostly vacant community worship services.

But I heard a resounding yes from my own mouth, a commitment to the holy catholic church, little c. And, for the last four years, we have nurtured a new association that is one I delight to attend. It is framed around some powerful yeses.

Yes to honoring people’s time. We start and end on time. We have a plan for the time.

Yes to prayer. The real prayers seem to pour out in these spaces. My eyes leak when I hear a colleague speak the words of my own soul. I feel a collective exhale in the room, probably when we realize together that we are not the frozen chosen. We are actually the defrosted exhausted.

Yes to lunch. Since this type of gathering competes with a hospital visit or a quiet lunch to collect one’s thoughts, practical clergy will come if it actually feeds them. Sometimes the church with the bigger budget offers a relatively fancy spread. But money is tight for most churches. Our favorite meal was the grilled cheese bar at First Baptist: a few bags of Wonder Bread and a plug-in griddle.

Yes to cooperation over competition. We work on things that we cannot accomplish alone. We work with people who also care about the health of the community. The police chief knew more than we did about where gangs were recruiting and what city block needed mentors desperately. The mayor knew more than we did about who was moving in and who was moving away. The principals of the local schools worked with us for nearly two years, teaching us how to partner with them well.

The biggest yes is to relationships, as the main event not a side-effect. A friendship with Pastor John means he’ll take the phone call about the issue over at the food pantry. This network of friendships can plan a vigil in times of tragedy.

When the friendships get really strong, we can have hard and beautiful conversations about our world, the fractures in our society and the differences that go beyond our different church signs. We can talk about the loneliness and the fear that eat at our community.

And that kind of lunch goes straight to the soul and builds the biceps of the Body of Christ to feed the whole community with hope.

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