My friend Marti left a very thought-provoking comment on my previous post about Creative Chaos or Quiet Reverence that really sparked some memories. I started to share these with her in the comment section, but decided they deserve a post of their own.

First, let me share with you what Marti wrote:

My church meets in an old warehouse, or anyway, the anchor to a defunct
shopping center. It was ugly. The old-timers kind of liked that, as it
harkened back to the day when they moved from one school to another…
they didn’t want things too nice. Nobody EVER got married there. After
we paid off the mortgage, fixed the leakin’ roof, etc, God provided a
major donor who gave a $1 million anonymous gift with no strings
attached. The mission committee got a tithe of it, which was cool, and
a lot of other good stuff happened too. Sadly, giving dropped; this was
about five years ago and we’ve yet to recover. However, somewhere in
there the elders decided to use part of ‘the big taco’ (as the $1
million was affectionately called) to build a new sanctuary inside out
building. It feels like a living room. It has niches for prayer. It has
pretty, ivory-colored walls. I was glad we didn’t spend all our money
on this, but it helps to have a comfortable, attractive environment. It
makes a difference. So does our new worship leader, and particularly,
his adorable wife with the great voice who leads our singing most
Sunday mornings. We sound great with her leading us. And she can do new
stuff, old stuff, in-between stuff just as well. I’m glad God gives us
so many ways to worship.

As I read her comment, especially when she began describing her church’s current set up,  I was reminded of the last six or so months of our old church plant here in Nashville (before it was decided the plant would merge with an already established Mosaic in town). We
revamped it after a jolting shift in our leadership, and part of the revamp was to completely change our approach to our "service" time. Instead of coming at it from a typical worship service mind-set, formatting it with music and then teaching, we instead approached it as if it were a giant Life Group (small group, or cell group; some now call them Community Groups). This one change in focus changed the whole dynamic and
feel of our times together, and opened the door for God to dwell among and within us at an ever deepening level. (please note this post continues after the jump — see below)

Truth was, we really were just and overgrown Life
Group anyway (about 30 of us at that time, I think) but we didn’t have
the community of a Life Group yet. What we really wanted, and needed,
to focus on was creating community, rather than creating another church
service. The best way to do that was to refocus our efforts on building
community first, then add the rest of the worship service elements
later. So we started meeting as a Life Group would meet — opening together in one large group with an ice-breaker and then a Scripture
reading, then breaking into smaller groups to discuss the passage/topic, finally coming back
together for the last 15 minutes or so to share our insights with everyone.

We revamped the space we had as well, turning the small television studio we rented into a large living room with old, hand-me-down (or thrown out)
pieces of furniture as well as donated pillows, rugs, and other such
living room accoutrements; in effect creating an atmosphere of warmth,
family, and home.  My friend Jamie, who is sick with talent (just
plain oozes talent period!) for creating powerful, attractive, dynamic,
inviting atmosphere was in charge of this aspect, and he did an
incredible job.

I. Loved. It. I absolutely loved it. It was an
amazing time. I had never experienced "church" like that — and never
have since.

I
think what our little MosaicPlant (I call it this to distinguish it
from the other Mosaic in town) stumbled into was what a "house church"
is really meant to be (including being reproducible). Nothing about it was conventional, and nearly
everything about it invited and welcomed anyone and everyone to
just hang out in the living room and experience God in the midst of
community. And we did.

I don’t think there was a night we met in that space, in
that living room, that we didn’t meet God there and experience Him,
perhaps even on a little deeper level than what we had before; that was true
for me, at least. I believe we created an atmosphere there, an ethos,
of communion with God; one that invited God into our space and made
room for Him to move and speak and settle in and dwell among and within
us.

It wasn’t perfect by any means. And I wasn’t perfect in it.
I still struggled with my brokenness, the damage done by abuse,
depression brought on by the deaths of parents and dreams, and the
frustrations of unmet (high, perhaps unrealistic) expectations
regarding the team. And all the others in the community brought their
own baggage, brokenness, and unmet expectations into the mix as well.
We banged against each other regularly and cut each other with our
jagged edges at times. But it was still a rich, dynamic time. It broke
my heart when the decision was made to end our Experiment and merge
with the other, already established church. What we created with God
there was unique and special. I have yet to see its equal anywhere.

I
realized recently that what I’ve been looking for in church here in
Nashville ever since is some form of our Living Room Experiment. I think it’s why
I sometimes long for that quiet reverence that can be found in high-er
church forms. There was something incredibly reverent about stripping
away all the eye candy and window decorations of Mosaic LA (the dance
and drama teams, artists creating during the services, loud large bands
and crazy videos and graphics) and getting back to the basics of
communing with God and creating community with and for others.

So today I tip my hat to the fearful and courageous leadership of Josh Shanklin. His fear led to much seeking of God and His
will for our team. And his courage infused us with courage to keep
going; to try to make this experiment work in the face of what would
have devastated and destroyed most church plant teams. I understand the
reasons behind, and the decision of, the merge and I respect both. But
I still sometimes grieve the loss of the Living Room Experiment, and
miss what we created together with God. And sometimes I wish with all
my heart that it had  been able to continue. I think we offered a
powerful alternative to conventional church — to even the Mosaic-LA
model of church — to a city in desperate need of something different.
And I hope one day I’ll get to be a part of creating such a place again.

In the mean time…. I serve at the pleasure of the King, in the place where He has set me for today.