12.09.2008

What down syndrome can teach us about community


My one and only child, Barrett (we call him Bear), who is now almost 4 weeks old, was born with Trisomy 21 - a.k.a. Down Syndrome. Tonight, Morgan and I attended our first get-together with other parents who also have kids with Down Syndrome. It was a Christmas pizza party right here in town.

As soon as we walked in the door tonight, we were greeted with hugs and smiles and stories from people we have known now for 2 hours. No one there was a stranger to anyone else in attendance. Doctors, pastors, teachers, all congratulated us on our new son and they shared with us their ups and downs in, which one person coined, "this new and wonderful world". They gave us tips, made us laugh, recommended pediatricians, shared their phone numbers, and invited us into their homes. There were no cliques, no negative attitudes, no selfishness amongst the group. It was genuine community at its finest. I haven't seen anything like it to be honest. At least not at this large of scale (probably 60+ people there).

More importantly, I haven't experienced anything like this at a church function; not anything that felt this authentic. I felt like everyone there truly wanted to know us so that they could help us.

So, why don't we get this same feeling at 99.9% of our church get-togethers? Why can't churches be born out of this same need for community? It's not that Christians aren't capable of acting in a similar manner as the group we saw tonight. In fact, I'm sure some of the people there were Christians. And it's not that we don't care to help each other out.

My theory: Down Syndrome is bigger than us.
No parent in their right mind would openly choose to raise a child with DS by themself, secluded from their peers rather than join a group of people that are going through or have gone through the exact same struggles as them and are willing to help in any way possible. Christianity, at least the version of Christianity in modern times in America, is not necessarily bigger than us. We've actually somehow managed to make it quite small, and I'm guilty of this too.

Being a "Christian" is just too common of a thing. Just about everyone in America considers themself to be a "Christian" at some level. It's almost unamerican to not be Christian. It's become more of a political tie or a label we associate with rather than a life-altering, forsake-this-and-you-will-die type of bond that we need to survive our everyday life.

This is precisely why the early church thrived. They were the minority; the outcasts; the persecuted. If they didn't have each other, they had no one; utterly alone. They absolutely needed each other every day. Today, we don't really need each other to survive. Sure, we love to be around each other and we need each other to reach our spiritual potential and stay emotionally healthy but it has more of a book club type of feel to it, do you know what I mean? "Oh, what church do you go to?" "Well I was going to such and such a church but we didn't like the kids ministry there so now we've been going to such and such instead. We really like the pastor there."

You see? It's smaller than us. We've become bigger than the church. Our own agenda and happiness is more important than Christ's church body. This is not the case with the group we saw tonight. There is one and only one group in Indianapolis for parents with kids with DS. They are the minority; they are the outcasts; and sometimes unfortuantely, their kids are the persecuted. It's a bond so strong that it supercedes and overlooks almost any human imperfection or difference in opinion. It's the ultimate equalizer.

It makes the concept of niche-based churches even more logical, doesn't it? Someday we will be there.

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