The nameless, tweetless, awesomest conference

It took two years attending before I could finally put my finger on it.

We’d gone there last June, flown halfway across the country and driven up into the mountains with people we’d never met. We’d just come out of a long, hard, busy season in ministry and life, and I felt agitated and tired.

Upon arriving I had the distinct, somewhat-awkward feeling of walking into your new fiancee’s family reunion. You know what I mean, right? They all know each other, and though you technically belong, you’re not quite sure how this will go. You shake hands and try to remember names, but there’s a lot of history shared between everyone but you.

But then, imagine: to your everlasting amazement, every member of the family seems keenly interested … in you. Genuinely.

Shift now and imagine this family reunion is a conference. These family members ask you questions and sit listening, really listening.  No one seems too busy or preoccupied. They read your body language and notice when you seem tired or sad. They care. They ask thoughtful questions. They’re happy, really awesomely happy, when they hear your victories and strengths.They want to know your story, all of it. And they open up their lives and share their own stories. Long, hard, joyful and painful stories, vulnerable stories. They share the lows and highs and you find yourself profoundly encouraged even though there was no pep-talk or fog machine.

You find yourself profoundly encouraged because other family members, other followers of Jesus, gave you the gift of themselves all there.

Imagine at this conference there was no live-tweeting. Imagine no one could care less about the name of the conference, or the church, or the denomination, or the movement. Imagine that you couldn’t really tell who the “main guy” was because there so many different people up front that no one person really stood out. Imagine no hashtags or FB selfies with location tags so that all those out “there” would wish they were here.

No. No interest in broadcasting the awesomeness to anyone not there. No interest in capturing cool moments or making sure “EPIC” was the descriptor of the day. No jumbotron listing live-tweets.

No jumbotron. No camera. No recorded sessions. Not even a stage. 

I’m talking crazy-talk now, I know. Crazy-talk. But I’ll tell you, I don’t know if in my entire life I have met a group of people who more fully exemplified the humility of godly community.

It affected me. Deeply. As we contemplated whether we would pursue the process of joining this church-planting network, various leaders asked questions, crazy questions like,

“How can we serve you? What kind of support could we offer you? How can we pray for you?”

Say what?! We haven’t even joined the network yet! You mean, you already care for us even before we’re “in”?!

In a strange sense, I got a chance to feel what it’s like to be an unbeliever. To enter a foreign place, where everyone seems to know each other. To see the beauty of people who seek you, love you, and listen to you, even before you’re “in.” And this, this gospel-community was so profoundly different from anything I have experienced in the world, this made me realize why authentic Christian community is the most effective catalyst for kingdom growth.

Only one time during the 3 day conference, did I see someone checking their phone.  I am not joking. It was as if the air spoke: “You’re here, so I’m all here.” And as joys and sorrows were shared, Scriptures taught, worship sang, prayers prayed, there was a humble recognition that serving Christ was the highest honor. We finished by joining hands, not surprisingly, but then … facing outward.

Hand-in-hand, outward facing, we departed to take the hope of Christ to the world and say with our lives, “You’re here, so I’m all here.”

This nameless, tweetless, awesomest conference renewed my vision, refreshed my spirit, and restored my hope.

{This week, may you give others the gift of you all there. Thanks for reading.}