Community of the Cross

This morning, I enjoyed an early breakfast with Wes McCannell, a relatively new member at CrossBridge. Over the past few months, my appreciation for Wes has grown in direct proportion to my increased knowledge of him. He's a reflective type who enjoys good conversation about theology and culture as much as I do.

After my conversation with Wes over grits, eggs, sausage and coffee, I was in a particularly contemplative mood. What does it mean to be the body of Christ in our current culture? Where is that frayed line between where it's appropriate to accomodate culture and where Christians must confront it? What does it mean to be worldly or to "live godly in the present age?" These are at least some of the questions with which Christians must struggle.

As I walked into my book-strewn office, I noticed a particular volume that I've read through on several occasions. It's one of those books that I periodically thumb through, and read particular sections. Written by Charles Colson with Ellen Santilli Vaughn, The Body: Being Light in Darkness, was an award-wining, national bestseller in 1993. Although written over a decade ago, Colson's words ring with relevance.

In this book, Colson tells a story of the town of Nowa Huta, Poland, soon after World War II. "Constructed in the 1950s as a living monument to Communist utopianism, Nowa Huta, or 'New Town,' was originally designed as a center for the workers who would make up the backbone of the New Poland" (p. 195). The epitomy of modern design, Nowa Huta was an industrial center whose skyline consisted of "mammoth steel works" and "ugly chimneys" that belched out their sulfuric fumes into the skies of Southern Poland (p. 195).

Early in the town's construction, a vacant square caught the attention of all the workers. According to Colson, this empty space represented the vacuum left by the frenzied urban planning of the Communists--there was no church; no place for worship.

The workers aked for a church. The Communist authorities were irritated by this request. Their design provided everything a human possibly could need--hot and cold water, a place to sleep and eat. The Communists bought time by nodding in agreement; "Fine," they said, "No problem."

While awaiting the construction of a place of worship, several young Christians and a Polish priest erected a rough-hewn cross on the vacant sight, to mark the place where the chapel eventually would sit. Soon, however, the authorities refused to build the chapel, and finally attempted to thwart the people from gathering at the place by removing the cross.

Determined, the citizens restored the cross and assembled there to sing, receive communion and fellowship with fellow Christians. Despite the Communists' attempts to quash these assemblies (tearing down the cross repeatedly, dispersing the people with water canons), the unflenching Christians returned to the site for worship.

In conclusion to this historical event, Colson writes: "This went on for years--the authorities tearing down the cross and the people restoring it. And in the midst of the struggle the people came to a realization that would steel their faith in a way that Communism could never steal their souls. 'The church is not a building,' they said to one another. 'The church is us, celebrating the presence of our Lord among us! Praise be to God!'"

In our current cultural climate, I think we need to listen to these words of our Polish Christian brothers and sisters. As long as we are a community of the cross, celebrating the presence of our Lord among us, the church exists. No law, or the lack thereof, no constitutional ammendment or the lack thereof can steal this ultimate reality from us. And, only embracing that ultimate reality are we truly being light in the darkness, and inserting leven into the cultural lump. Start with me, O, Lord!