The Church with No Name - Part 1
“Where you stumble and fall, there you find pure gold.” - Carl Jung
11 years ago this month, I mourned for the first time in my life. Like really, deeply mourned. It wasn’t the loss of a loved one or the betrayal of a friend. No, this was the death of a dream.
“Blessed are those who mourn…” - Jesus.
This is the second statement in Jesus’ first recording teaching. I’m honestly not a fan. Let’s be real… no matter how much I want to experience blessing, I can do without the ‘mourning’ bit. Joy? I’m In. Peace? Me for sure. Blessing? Sign me up! Mourning? Ummm, no thank you.
1981 - 2011
The truth is, the first (nearly) three decades of my life were genuinely easy. I never really experienced anything exceptionally challenging.
Decade One: I grew up in a loving home: upper middle class family, private school, church every Sunday.
Decade Two: I was an above average student, a decent athlete and was generally well liked. School was easy, our football team won two state championships and my social life thrived.
Decade Three(ish): I graduated college in three years, spent some time traveling Europe and was then hired as one of the early staff members of the fastest growing church in the America. I married a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Auburn cheerleader and we quickly had two beautiful little girls. I loved my life.
[2009-2011 —- we hit some turbulence that ended up foreshadowing things to come, but for the sake of time, I’ll skip ahead]
2012
Decade Four: In the spring of 2012, my wife and I hosted a group of friends at our home for a night worship. After 5-6 year hiatus from anything ministry-related, I was dipping my toe back in the water. Was God still there? Is gathering really even a thing? Part of me believed I was done with “church” but I still felt something lacking in my life. Friends and family members showed up for what ended up being a really sweet time together. We sang. We prayed. I shared something (I don’t recall what). From that meeting, conversations emerged encouraging me to start leading something regularly:
“J, it doesn't have to be a ‘thing’.”
“We’re all hungry for something new.”
“Tell us the time and place and we’ll be there.”
After some deliberation, I acquiesced… I was passionate about my faith. I wanted to make a difference. But I was uneasy with organized religious practice. My concession was, ‘I'll lead something but it will NOT be a church.’
The first logistical hurdle - we needed a space. With two small kids at home, I knew our house wasn’t a viable option. I made a phone call to a former professor who co-owned an eccentric little coffee shop in downtown Birmingham, The Red Cat. He liked the idea and we negotiated a rate I knew I could cover. Not only did the space have a great feel, it even included a small stage and a PA system we could utilize. Things were falling into place.
The first meeting was simply… magic. The expectation in the room was palpable. That so often experienced “great divide” between the human and the Divine seemed to fade for the glorious hour or two that we were together. It was powerful. It was authentic. We broke bread. We laughed. We cried. We sang. We prayed. It felt like home.
“Don’t tell anyone,” I continued to encourage people. “This isn’t a thing!” We took a week off and then gathered again the next. Twice as many people showed up. Rich people, homeless people, conservative traditionalists and holy-rollers blowing shofars. We had it all. After two or three more every-other-week gatherings, it was becoming obvious we would need to move into a bigger space.
I made a few phone calls and a local music venue, WorkPlay, opened its doors. Their facility was a massive upgrade - large auditorium with state of the art sound system, stage and lighting. They even threw in their audio engineer to run things. We had a worship team, child care, prayer team and hospitality group. People showed up early to set up and pray and others remained afterwards to tear everything down. We established a business account, hired an accountant and had money coming in that we had no idea what to do with. But I remained adamant that it “wasn’t a church”. ‘Church’ or not - it was a beautiful, hot, synergized mess that was quickly gaining momentum. People kept asking what we should call it. They wanted a name. [For trendy, non-denominational church plants, finding a cool name is EVERYTHING (cue eyeroll)]. In my mind, as long as we didn’t name it, it wasn’t a thing. So everyone just ended up calling it what they wanted.
“The Red Cat Church” [I hate cats]
“The Church at WorkPlay”
“The No-Name Church”
It became a joke. I would welcome people with “So glad you guys came to join us at… whatever this is.” People loved the anonymity. It was a part of our identity. Come as you are and receive what you need. To put a label on it was too narrow, too confined. As much as I fronted a contrarian stance on all things ministry… deep down, I hoped to experience something new, to rediscover some of the things the Church had lost. I longed for healing, both on a personal and a corporate level.
What was happening was much bigger than just me, but personally I had never felt so alive. I was like Michael Phelps discovering the pool. I don’t mean to compare ministry to sport. I’m just saying that I felt as though I was made to do what I was doing. Gathering. Leading. Communicating. Encouraging. It was beautiful.
Until is wasn’t….