Greek mythology, 2000's Metal-Core, and why churches struggle with any sort of change...
When I was 19 or so, I discovered 90's metalcore legend ZAO. After only a couple of albums, they were genre-defining. It was their album Liberate Ex Infernis, based on Dante's Inferno, that dragged me in.
Almost 25 years later, they are still making music. I am still listening. I was overjoyed to see they were touring the South. I was able to see them at a small bar in New Orleans this summer.
The whole evening was a multi-layered experience of nostalgia.
Here is a 10-second clip of my experience standing at the very front of the stage.
In the middle of the concert, reflecting upon the themes of one of the songs, I realized a paradigm existed to help local churches have those sometimes difficult conversations about change.
In Greek Mythology, there is a story called The Ship of Theseus. For over 2,000 years, it has been used as a thought experiment in the idea of identity and change. The short version (reported by philosopher Plutarch) is this.
Theseus was a hero of Athens, Greece, known for many exploits, including killing the Minotaur. Once Theseus returned from his heroic journey, his ship remained in the harbor as a memorial to his exploits for several centuries. Each year they took it to a sacred island to worship Apollo. To preserve the ship for the journey, when a plank rotted or wore out, it was replaced. Every single part of the ship was replaced over time.
The philosophical question lies in this slow replacement. Is this ship of Theseus still the ship of Theseus?
Let's combine ZAO and this philosophical construct.
Since 1993, ZAO has had 20 people either record or play live as part of the band. The current line-up has been stable since 2005, but no original members are left. In 2017, they released a song, "The Ship of Theseus," on their album The Crimson Corridor. It was about the band's experience with change and identity.
The song opens with these lyrics
We are the ship of theseus
Singular and all
A sum drawn to the surface
By the fragments we recall
ZAO, as an entirely replaced organism, understands the paradigm of if something is 100% replaced, it is still the same thing. They are still touring, recording, and functioning. They are still ZAO.
75% of their former members are gone. They are still ZAO.
So we have done the metal core, and we have done the Greek mythology...but how does this relate to the local church?
Professionally, I am a strategist and congregational developer within the Louisiana Conference of the United Methodist Church. Many of the churches I work with are struggling with missional and operational stability. Some of them are at a place where if they don't grow, they will die. But growth often requires change.
And change can be a scary thing.
Many times struggling churches know the fix is to grow, but the issue is losing themselves in the process. We want new people, but we want them to be like us, like what we like, and for things not to change.
Keep the ship afloat, regardless of how it might be rotting and sinking. Boards need to be replaced to fulfill the mission they both created and are celebrated for.
A brutal analogy…but, let’s call it the truth.
Once, during a training event, the leader asked the room full of pastors this question.
"Who owns the local church?"
Several answers were thrown around, with everyone trying to tip-toe around an awkward one.
"The congregation" and "the leadership board" were the ones most of us nodded our heads around. A few folks threw a lob by giving the potential legal answer "the trustees" or "denomination".
After an intentional (and solid pause), the trainer told us the answer. It still resonates 5 years later.
"The best owner of the local church is its mission."
I reflect upon that conversation almost weekly. And I bring it up with the churches I work with. The church's mission is a shared, visionary responsibility for all.. When the mission gets out of focus, we do have an ownership issue. When the mission is in focus, it serves both as a partner in accountability and a driver in decisions and actions.
Like any mission, many people play many different parts in it. And missions can change. Things change. Global pandemics might usher in a new era of what it means to participate. Changing attendance patterns push us to recognize new patterns of belonging. All of these come together to mean necessary shifting and even changing.
The fear that lies within (another insider ZAO joke), is that with one single part of the church replaced, the mission can 100% be the same. And then imagine what happens when planks, railings, and masts all get replaced. With every new person coming into a church, even more change happens. Leadership shifts, and priorities get realigned. What long-term members once easily recognized might now be different. The name and location haven't changed. The mission hasn't changed.
Sam Rainer says this in his book, The Surprising Return of the Neighborhood Church.
Your church is located right where God wants it. The problem is that many churches are not doing what God has called them to do where he has placed them. Every church in a community exists for the community. Your church is God’s instrument to reach the neighbors in your community.
Daniel Weyandt, the lead singer of ZAO, screams in the typical mid-song breakdown in metal-core.
Nothing can ever stay the same.
Anything living goes through necessary change. People change. Bands change. And yes, churches can and must realize the necessary shifts of change as they take part in the mission of God in this world. The mission doesn't change, but the way we accomplish this mission while entrusted to us changes.
The 2000-year-old Ship of Theseus puzzle helps us think about congregation change for sustainability.
What the Ship of Theseus provides is a realization of exactly what is going on. The ship is fixed on a mission, with a known identity. The new boards allow for the ship to continue on the same mission, with the same history and identity. The new boards aren’t named “the new boards," but instead are grafted into a larger trajectory as part of something larger than itself.
What this means is this ship of Theseus is constantly recreated by those involved not just in its mission, but also in its making. It also recalls a strong Biblical image of always pointing back to the Exodus. Always pointing back to redemption.
ZAO, at the end of the song Ship of Theseus, manages to grab onto a bit of what this change looks like.
This is the ship of theseus
Fragments of the frame
Composing a new identity
From the prototypical remains.
Built on a legacy they may or may not have been part of. Realizing that yes, ZAO is still (and will always be) ZAO. And this isn't happening by radically abandoning the past songs, people, or fans. This new identity is 100% constructed around, with, and through.
So how can your local church embrace new practices to reach new people? How can it integrate these new people not into what was, but as co-workers (and even leaders) as it moves forward, following Jesus?
How can you live in the thought experiment of the Ship of Theseus as you discern what it means to be an always-changing, ever-growing local church?
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