Oh, the Humanity!

Last night, my wife and I re-watched the movie "You've Got Mail". Between us, I'm sure we've seen this movie a dozen times, but it doesn't really matter. It's one of those "comfort films" that often star Tom Hanks ("Big" is an even better example.)

In case you haven't seen it, the movie takes place in Manhattan. I personally would like to know what percentage of all movies set in urban America this is true of. I wouldn't be surprised if it's over 1/3. I couldn't help but wonder why.

First, there's a few obvious reasons. 1) New York is the largest metropolitan area, and the commercial capital of the United States. Thus, it is our "defining" city, even though it really bears no resemblance to the rest of the country. 2) It's vibrant and active and beautiful and gritty and adventurous and scary and charming... a ready-made backdrop for almost any emotive setting. But I also think there's a very important third reason.

Most stories are about relationships, for good or for ill. Consequently, the best setting for a good story is a place where relationships are always imminent, where people are always bouncing off each other, surrounded by an influx of culture and heritage. Stories thrive off of ironic juxtaposition and strange bedfellows. How many movies can you name in fifteen seconds that feature an unlikely pair or group of people forced to work together?

This the fabric of community... the building blocks of a city. I think so many stories take place in New York because we as humans innately recognize the humanness of such a place.

Yeah, I said it. New York (or at least the historic portion of it) is a supremely human place. Although many of its buildings far surpass human height, and no one can really fathom the immensity of its population, it does allow its people the opportunity to live their lives on a human scale. You could live in a town of 15,000 people and not experience this... rambling around in a 3,000 square foot house, pulling your SUV out of your 3-car garage, onto a six-lane highway and up to a grocery store with its own zip code. Whereas the average person living in Manhattan has a small apartment, no car, travels on a sidewalk or a track, and shops in quaint, independently-owned stores. And the most human thing about it is that there are humans everywhere.

Contrary to what Hollywood might suggest, these traits are not completely unique to the Big Apple. A few other American cities have exhibited them all along, and many, many more are just starting to understand the appeal of urbanity.

Please don't conclude that I am judgmental of those who live in the country or the suburbs, or who own a big house or an SUV. I don't know you well enough to judge you. But I would love the opportunity to challenge you into re-thinking the importance of the physical context of community.

Most people think of community as a metaphysical thing... it's something that "just happens" between people... you know, we'll "bump into" each other. I think this is the attitude that brought about the cul-de-sac, the strip mall, and the subdivision. The developers expected community to continue, because they thought it was indestructible, and not at all tied to the design of one's environment. But because these suburban anomalies were invented for the convenience of the motorist, not the pedestrian, the "bumping into" all of a sudden became much more dangerous, and much more likely to create enemies than friends.

I guess this is just a long way of saying that I love the city. I love how the inconveniences of it force people to relate, to work together, to get along or else. I love how the historic neighborhoods give us perspective, and help us to think about how the decisions we make today will affect people 100 years from now.

Obviously, cities have more than their share of problems. That's what happens when good people (like you?) leave them behind. So let me issue a challenge to all the creative, hard-working, clear-thinking people out there to find a city near you, and do your part to turn a mere neighborhood into a vibrant community.

Welcome to the Neighborhood

“You’re not going to preach on the sidewalk, are you?”

I was huffing and sweating to move four cinder blocks from the back of our empty-shell-of-a-dream-come-true out to the curb when my new next-door neighbor to the north hit me point blank. What was, to me, a makeshift seat and table for an outdoor lunch, looked to her like a soapbox. When you decide to plant a storefront church, you are simultaneously deciding to be very cozy with your neighbors. This one was a staple of the downtown community… in a real estate sense. She and her husband run an antique store; one of only a handful of businesses to have survived the dark and vacant days of downtown Springfield. Now they are barely given a second glance by the neighborhood’s primary demographic. She is likely in her 60s, and although this may be an unfair generalization, a faithful church-goer. I can hardly imagine that she isn’t. She followed up her confrontation by informing me that sidewalk preachers are bad for business. I would share her concern… anybody deciding to climb four cinder blocks and preach in front of our place might get a quick (although undoubtedly less blunt) confrontation. But the disturbing fact is, all our neighbor knew is that we were starting a church next door. Other than that, we were still perfect strangers. Her first question to get to know us better? You’ve just read it.

“My girlfriend will be there every day.”

Only once have I personally set foot in what’s likely the most popular venue in downtown Springfield… and it was closed at the time. Our neighbor to the south shares little in common with our neighbor to the north. He runs a dualing-piano comedy bar, well-known for filling the sidewalk with lines of partiers waiting to stumble out hours later to catch a cab (hopefully.) What happens in-between, from most reports, is a profanity-fest of two comedic musicians sitting at keyboards thinly disguised as grand pianos. Despite its reputation, I had been planning to check it out sometime. But here I was, early in the afternoon, chatting casually with the club owner. The place was quiet and classy. The hard liquor was resting patiently on the shelves as a flooring contractor worked quietly behind me. I had stopped by briefly to introduce myself, and said we were starting an alternative church next door that would be open pretty much every day for all types of people to just come and build friendships. He asked me to sit down. After hearing a little more, he assured me that his girlfriend’s interest was inevitable. When I told him about the website, he invited me up to his office to show it to him. As I said, our neighbor to the south shares little in common with our neighbor to the north.

“How do we know you won’t turn the whole thing Charismatic?”

Over the course of the last year, we have made significant attempts to affiliate ourselves with a major Christian denomination. We wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing unless we felt confident that our freedom to work as the Spirit directed would not be inhibited, and were certain of a mutual understanding that church-as-usual had no place in reaching out to downtown Springfield. But it is due to roadblocks represented by the above quote that the aforementioned course has been year-long. Our confidence is beginning to erode in our prospects of affiliating because, no matter how open-minded a denomination, there are certain to be remnants of territoriality contaminating the waters. Granted, the question in question was not uttered by a single person. It is rather a composite of concerns and complaints uttered by those who couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of simple kingdom work, of cultural relevance or relational mission. They wanted to know how on earth our new converts would be funneled into the membership of the “mother” church. They wanted to know if we would hold the party line. And they wanted to know, next time I talked to them, if I could give them some numbers. Allow me to introduce you to our philosophical neighbors to the north.

“I just don’t want you to turn conservative.”

A comforting phrase at the end of a stinging rebuke, I took the word “conservative” at its most literal meaning. The friend who uttered this admonition was not concerned about politics or fashion. He was worried that I might recoil from the extravagant call of Christ to leave everything behind and follow Him. He didn’t want me to conserve my life. He views almost every church he know as just that… a wildlife conservation (although the “wild” part is absent and the “life” part is questionable.) Churches to him had become nothing more than a place to protect the light from the gathering darkness. A refuge. It is hard not to notice the physical distance between the walls of our churches and the walls of their nearest neighbors, not to mention the thousands of municipal ordinances brought about by church lawsuits to keep the “worst” sinners far away. My friend’s words were a comfort to me because I knew that, after spending several weeks with our fellowship, if he wanted to lump us in with the conservationists, he wouldn’t have said another word to me. But apparently, despite our warts, he sees something different.

I can only hope so.