(This is adapted from my first post at Rethink Bishop.  You should follow that blog, too.  It has smarter people than me.)

“We could use zoning laws to force the state’s hand.  You know, you can’t have more than three unrelated adults in one house.  These transitional homes have at least eight men in them!”

“That’s a good idea.  How did they even get into our neighborhood in the first   place?  Did they use some rental loophole?”

“I don’t know.  Let’s talk to the city commission about this – I bet we can use zoning to get them out.”

So went the conversation at my first meeting of the local neighborhood association.  The topic was:  How can we (wealthy homeowners) get rid of them (residents who are recovering from addiction or homelessness in a transitional housing program).  Or, as community activist Bill Barnes puts it, NIMBYism: “Not In My Back Yard.”

I moved into this small urban neighborhood of Nashville, TN, as part of an “intentional community.”  We are six young people who desire to live intentionally for one another and for our neighborhood.  At our best, we pray together, break bread together, and serve God together.

The neighborhood shares the same story with a thousand neighborhoods across the U.S.  In the 60s, it was a predominantly African American community.  Then came urban renewal, dislocating two thousand families, destroying fifteen grocery stores, and razing an entire commercial area.  The dislocated families went into new, concentrated public housing in the same plots as their old homes.  Since the area had just been economically leveled, however, these new public housing residents had little hope for a future beyond poverty.

Flash-forward to the present day, and a different buzzword speaks the same story.  Instead of urban renewal, we call it gentrification.  Young, mostly white, well-off families move into the newly “hip” area.  Increasing property values force poorer families out of the neighborhood.  And, as I soon discovered, the wealthy newcomers have a vested interest in ridding the neighborhood of anyone who might lower property values.

And this is how I found myself in a meeting that was about us getting them out.

As I sat in this room of young, energetic, otherwise very amiable people, I wondered:  Where is the gospel in this?  What does the kingdom of God look like in a neighborhood where relationships depend on property values?  And why have I never heard a sermon about it?

For Christians, young and old, the gospel remains disconnected from some of the most important decisions of our lives – like where we choose to live.  Several of the young couples represented at that meeting would count themselves as Christians.  Yet, they do not see how the Christ of Luke 4:18 speaks to the decisions of a neighborhood association.

As they invoke the word “neighbor,” they forget how Jesus defined it.

There is no question of the gospel’s “relevance” to our lives.  The question is whether the church will give us the tools to make that connection.  Will we announce a kingdom of God that speaks to the poor, the imprisoned, and the oppressed?  Or will we continue as nothing more than a spiritual safe haven for those seeking a weekly dose of comfort and good music?

Kenneth Pruitt (of Rethink Bishop) wrote last week of the Easter Sunday that awaits the church after its proverbial Good Friday.  I wonder what will that transformation looks like.  And how will it happen?

From where I sit, the present situation is not about local churches, preachers, or individual congregants.  It is a systemic issue.  My own United Methodist Church is a system, and so is any organized attempt to “be the church.” As such, these systems inevitably operate so as to survive, at all costs.  Individuals may come into the system deciding they will not operate by its norms, but it is the nature of systems to either force individuals to work by its rules or leave.

For those of us who believe it is worth staying in the system through Good Friday in the hopes of a resurrection, then, we are looking for a recalibration of those fundamental norms that guide our work.  Right now, survival hinges on some pretty basic rules:  Survival = enough money to continue the work.  Butts-in-the-seat = the money for survival.

We don’t connect the gospel to the everyday lives of our congregation because we are afraid it will mean fewer butts-in-the-seat.  The norms of our system prohibit us from fulfilling the prophetic mission of the church.

So what are the visions that can subvert these rules and lead us to new life?  They are what is already happening in isolated spots throughout the church:  Ministries like AfterHours Denver, which operates out of bars and focuses the vast majority of its resources into feeding and being in relationship with the homeless of downtown Denver.  It is not innovative because it found new ways to get dollars in the system – it is innovative because it can thrive outside of those rules!

In other places, people are looking at fresh ways to imagine the church buildings as more than financial liabilities.  The Center for Transforming Communities in Memphis is a nonprofit operating out of an old UM church, using a “shared space” model.  Nonprofits, several congregations and even a resident artist all use the space and contribute to its upkeep.  It does not look like the church of our childhoods, but it is being the church more than ever before!

There are other ways to operate in a way that helps recalibrate the norms of the system through “disruptive innovation.”  What are you seeing?