Wounderful Church

I received an email today that was evidently written in a rush. It was full of mistypings including the phrase: 'wounderful church'.

I think this is brilliant.

The church full of wonder: in worship at its best and in ordinary, in its care for its members and shared prayer, in its ability to nurture holiness in pragmatic loving ways and to offer real service to the people it is set amongst.

It is also a deeply wounded church, and often wounding. Its worship can be banal and off-putting, members and visitors alike can easily be hurt and often are, and prayer can be absent or even used against people. It sometimes seems as though holiness is nurtured despite, or in defiance of, church structures and the ordinary priorities of local church life. And service may be an excuse for arrogantly telling other people how to live or, conversely, it goes unnoticed and unacknowledged.

Perhaps this is the way it has to be. Churches are made up of ordinary people and always have been. Reality and aspiration have never matched. People are mixtures of wounds and creativity, of love and callousness, of ambition, bitterness, generosity and carelessness: why should the church be any different?

And yet I cling to the idea - contradicted by almost all my experience - that it is possible the bend or push or entice the church towards the more positive end of its range: to nurture faith and holiness (in the broadest sense), to care for one another and for strangers, to give in ways that echo God's generosity, to love and be loved.

All these years, all these bruises, and still a romantic dreamer.