I first heard about Pripyat a couple of years ago. Pripyat is an abandoned city built in the 1970s primarily to house those who worked at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant, located in the north of the Ukraine close to the border of Belarus. It was abandoned in 1986 following the disaster at the plant. The ferris wheel you see in the photo to the left has become somewhat iconic—an amusement park had been built there just prior to its evacuation. It was never officially opened.

The nearly 50,000 residents of Pripyat were evacuated in short order. They were not allowed to take any of their belongings with them, save the clothes on their backs. In the years following the disaster, as radioactive levels in the region began to drop, looters ran rampant through the city, taking every valuable thing in sight. Though the city still stands today, it is decaying; not only have the looters done a great deal of damage to the existing structures, but the natural environement and time have taken their toll as well.

It is easy for us, I think, to look at disaster like Chernobyl as just an abstract even in history. We are far removed from it, not so much by time, but by the vast expanse that separated the worlds of the Soviet Union and the rest of the Western world.

Earlier today I was looking at photos of the abandoned city, and on the website where I had found them, a number of people had commmented that the images were "hauntingly beautiful." To be honest, I was quite disturbed by the comments. There is nothing "beautiful" about Pripyat. To begin with, its construction was typical of the Soviet era—long rows of uniform apartment blocks entirely lacking in character and aesthetic sensibility, built to house the faceless masses that would keep the communist machine running. And then an explosion, following which 50,000 people are forced to leave their whole life behind, carrying with them only their memories, whatever they could fit in their pockets, and for many, radioactive isotopes in quantities that would later claim their lives or the lives of their loved ones.

Perhaps the decaying, empty city is appropriate, reflective of the incredible brokenness of the lives of its residents, almost irreparable. It hardly needs to be said that here we see the effects of sin in an especially poignant way.

It is hard for us to enter into that brokenness, to understand what they went through. There was a short film shot partly on location in Pripyat in 2008, called The Door (it was nominated for an Academy Award) Only fifteen minutes long, the film conveys in a powerful way that brokenness, and the horror the residents of Pripyat lived through that fateful year. If you watch this film, I am certain that you will never again be able to think of the disaster at Chernobyl as an abstract historical event. I've embedded it below.

Κύριε ἐλέησον. Lord, have mercy.

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Ed Stetzer recently spent some time in Central and Eastern Europe meeting with church planters there and discussing what American churches could do to partner with them. Standing alongside a busy street in Kraków, Poland, in this brief video clip, Ed mentions some of the things to take into consideration when talking about church planting in Europe. He makes one statement that I think is very important for understanding church planting in Europe:

Church planting in this context is different. It takes churches that are willing to partner with long-term endeavors that don't build buildings—buildings are already built, there are cathedrals up and down the streets where we are here in Kraków—but it means we are going to be planting churches that often meet in homes, that multiply rather than expand.

While he is talking about the European context, I think he has something to say for the Church here as well. A while ago, I mentioned how the face of Christianity in Europe was changing, becoming something that was much more of a grassroots movement. I referenced an article by Philip Jenkins, in which he argued that Christianity in Europe is finding renewed strength and vigor in small communities of authentic believers committed to the Gospel instead of to an institution and organization like the former State churches that have been characteristic of Europe for centuries. Ed here makes a similar point, that this is the context within which we can most effectively work in Europe.

I think this notion that churches should multiply instead of expand is a key thing to remember not just in Europe, but here as well. For one, it seems to be reflective of the strategy Paul employed in his missionary journeys. Also, a 10,000 member mega-church tucked away in the suburbs is not going to function effectively as the center of a local community. Small churches scattered among the various neighborhoods of a city are—locally gathered, authentic communities committed to making known the Gospel of Jesus Christ, carrying out its mission to make known His Kingdom, and working to renew the culture it finds itself in.

There is a statistic that says once churches get to be a certain age and reach a certain size (I want to say fifteen years and about three-hundred members, but I can't remember for sure), they stop growing from outside and only increase in size by gaining members who migrate from other churches. Whatever the exact figures, the point is when churches reach a certain size they cross a line from being other-serving to self-serving. The most effective churches, then, for bringing people into the covenant community are small, local churches, which in turn disciple members and equip them to go out and start new churches and to carry on the mission in other places and contexts.

Just as we are a sent people, so our churches need to be sending churches. By multiplying and forming small, grassroots, authentic, biblical communities scattered throughout our cities and communities, we extend our influence and ability to fulfill our mission tremendously.

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Recently, I have been discussing European culture and civilization to some degree, particularly focusing on its historical ties to Christianity and recent divergence (and even apparent aversion) to it. The other day I stumbled across an interesting study conducted by the Uppsala Institute for Diaconal and Social Studies, which I think is affiliated with the Church of Sweden and Uppsala University. One of the researchers, Ninna Edgardh Beckman, contributed a piece to that document on the relationship of religion and welfare in Europe (I apologize, but cannot find the document online anymore). As part of her introductory remarks, she says the following:

The first observation is that welfare reveals the historic influence of the Christian churches. It is impossible to tell the history of any aspect of welfare--of medicine, of poor relief or of education--in Europe, without taking into account the history of the Christian churches. Through their teaching and practice they have all, in various ways, contributed to the aforementioned European understanding of solidarity and social responsibility and also to the actual formation of the different types of welfare systems that prevail in Europe.

She goes on to note that in several European languages, the word for welfare is actually very closely tied to the word "providence." Semantics, however, is secondary, and she further observes that "the degree to which the historic influence of the churches still makes its imprint, in spite of alleged secularity [is striking]...our present welfare states are the products of long and close relationships between church and state all over Europe." This further bolsters the point I have been drawing out in a number of my posts. Despite the occasional European tendency to historical amnesia (conscious or otherwise), especially in regards to religious matters, this demonstrates clearly the influence of the Church over society, and in a positive way.

You may debate the legitimacy of the modern welfare state, and that is fine. That is not the point here. Instead, the point is that historically the Church has been faithful in fulfilling its obligation to "look after orphans and widows in their distress." Yet, as Beckman later notes in her research, the failure of the Church to continue this task into the modern age is evident as the modern welfare state has grown into an all-encompassing government subsidiary. Granted, her finding is reported much more objectively than I have stated here. The rapid decline of the presence of the Church in Europe has not helped either, requiring something other than itself to take up the task. I think it is quite obvious that this has become a burden far too large for any sort of government to bear.

With the disappearance of the Church, it seems as if it would be natural for the state to take up where it had left off, especially considering how closely the two were wed historically. As I alluded to above, it is easy to criticize the welfare state for what it is, but I think it is a natural progression. With both entities occupying a sort of ultimate place in the culture and society it only makes sense that when one no longer remains in that position, the other will move in to take over that role as well. That is not a justification for its existence, merely and observation. To expect Europe to merely shed the welfare mentality is unrealistic, as well as unfair. Economics is a field in which I claim no expertise, but I do know there is not a "one-size-fits-all" solution to various problems.

Also, this is not to blame the Church for the way European culture has changed in recent history. I will not deny that in some ways blame can be cast in that direction, but I do not highlight this in order to point fingers; I think instead we ought to look ahead. So then, I can say with confidence that one place to start is for the Church to reclaim its mission in its entirety, and to once again practice the religion that our God and Father accepts as pure and faultless (James 1:27). If we want to talk about real cultural revolution, this is where it needs to begin.

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Previously I have suggested that perhaps the architecture of our church buildings is important and that there are theological considerations to be taken into account when we sit down at the drawing board. Though it has been some time since I have considered this issue, my discussions here recently with some readers in regards to the theological climate in Europe have prompted some more thoughts on the issue.

Although I am quite enamored by the theology behind, for example, the medieval cathedrals and Catholic and Orthodox churches, I am not yet fully persuaded of these positions. Without diving into the details and various nuances of these particular theologies, the point essentially comes down to the fact that the church is someplace special, and should, among other things, reflect that in the architecture of the building that houses the body of Christ. It is the house of God, the place where we meet God and come to worship before his throne. The meaning inherent in the term "sanctuary" has not been lost or devalued in these traditions like it sometimes has in Protestant circles, where, in some cases, it is not even common parlance anymore.

Conversely, if we return again to the idea of the church in the context of the local community, it needs to be more than just a place set apart for one purpose. In this line of thinking, the most tenable place for the church is right in the center of the community, at its heart. If the church is to function as the locus of the community, much more will be required of its physical nature. The challenge then becomes creating sacred space while maintaining a level of practicality and functionality that will enable the church to serve the local community.

That all is a bit of a divergence from the point I was going to get to, and that is this: while I think it necessary to engage in some theological reflection when we think about our architecture or our sacred space, has our culture been so far removed from its roots that any blatant visual expression of Christianity will only serve to turn it further away? Of course, I understand the implication here is that previous forms of church architecture were proper appropriations of the theology I am speaking of; notwithstanding, arguendo, let us assume that some previous architects and church leaders had it right.

Visual identification can be powerful, and can trigger a variety of emotions in our mind. Seeing photos of the old house we grew up in brings back childhood memories; perhaps seeing a Walmart store stirs up anger in you about corporate greed and the death of small business in America; or perhaps, on this patriotic weekend, seeing your nation's flag swells up feelings of pride within you. Whatever the case, our brain and our senses are linked.

I've been engaged in a bit of discussion with some readers about European culture being separated from its Christian roots--or at least the perceived separation of these roots; the fact remains that Christianity has its stamp across all of Western civilization. Nevertheless, I have to wonder if some kind of visual identification is at work here. If an Austrian stands in Stephansplatz in Vienna, and looks up at Stephansdom, the dominant cathedral at the heart of the city, what does he think? "Oh, bastion of Christendom, how your days are past. Here you stand, testament to all that is wrong with religion, your dominant silhouette appearing to rise indomitably into the sky, reminding us of all the ill you have wrought on our culture and nation." When a young woman stands with her friends in the Senate Square of Helsinki looking at the towering Lutheran cathedral rising above her, what do they say to each other? "That is a nice building. I wonder how much it costs to tour the museum."

Granted, I encourage you to take that with a grain of salt, but from what I know of the perspective of non-Christians here in the West, this is somewhat characteristic of the thinking of our culture. One of the major contentions in this thinking is that Christianity is something historical and antiquated, something irrelevant for today's relativistic and seemingly irreligious society. While the presence of a steeple rising above the rooftops of other buildings in the city once reminded its citizens of the presence of faith in the culture, it now carries little, if any, significance.

One of the methods in which the new wave of churches (seeker-sensitive, and now the emerging churches) have sought to be relevant is to separate Christianity from these roots, in their practice and theology but also in their architecture. Think of how the megachurch/conference center has evolved as the preferred architectural style (or lack thereof) in most evangelical circles, or how some emerging church types have returned to the idea of house churches or small spaces taking more subtle measures to create sacred space. While perhaps the efforts are honest, it demonstrates, among other things, an improper appropriation of historical Christianity, a concession to a culture which also cannot properly come to terms with its history.

Still, this is where we are, and so we need to ask the question of what we do at this juncture--do we direct our efforts towards shedding these stereotypes of Christianity, or do we implement new ways of doing things in order to meet our culture where it is at? Obviously, this is a tension that exists within the church right now, some opting for the former and others for the latter. Can we reshape the mindset of our culture so that when they see a cathedral or a steeple rising into the sky they do not adopt an apathetic or reactionary stance towards that? Or must we seek to create a new idea of sacred space in settings that are more common to our culture--coffee shops, pubs, living rooms? Some have sought to take both sides into account and take a sort of middle road.

At this point, I am not here to propose solutions. It is, to me, a difficult question, and one broad answer will not answer the question for all the smaller subcultures and communities within Western culture. However, one thing I do encourage is that we avoid an attitude of apathy towards this issue. I stated at the beginning that I think theological considerations do need to be taken into account when we construct our places of worship, but our cultural context must be taken into consideration as well. I would contend that this is not an entirely black and white issue and various answers can be arrived at that are equally valid depending on the context.

The reason I deal with this is because I am convinced that nothing is arbitrary or unimportant. Living out of the transforming power of the gospel means that no facet of creation is left untouched. To some, though, perhaps this is a far more exhaustive treatment of this issue than is required, and so I think the final thing to hang on to is twofold. First, the church--that is, the meeting place--still needs to be someplace special. It is, after all, where we worship the sovereign King. As such, there needs to be something identifiable about that. But second, if our churches are going to be the centers of our communities, they need to be so in a viable way. How that will look in the future, I am not sure. But I am very interested to find out. Comments, questions, additional thoughts?

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Whatever you think of Europe, it is likely that most people will agree that European culture and civilization are at a major crossroads, one which poses a significant problem for its future. What has happened in Europe, what is happening in Europe, and what will happen in Europe are passionate interests of mine, especially when we are talking about Christianity in the European context. You may recall my post a couple weeks ago which referenced some of the thought of Philip Jenkins, professor of history and religious studies at Penn State University. I noted that in an article discussing the future of Christianity in Europe he made the argument that

European Christianity is [not] nearing extinction. Rather, among the ruins of faith, European Christianity is adapting to a world in which its convinced adherents represent a small but vigorous minority.

Jenkins goes on to argue that these Christians, nurturing a much more authentic and grassroots faith, are the future of a Christianity that is poised to make a comeback. While I find Jenkins' argument to be persuasive and have given it considerable thought, it still seems to me that unless the number of those Christians increases significantly in short order, Europe had still better hold on for a very difficult ride in the near future.

There used to be a video that I posted here, no longer available on YouTube, which discussed some of the issues that Europe iss dealing with in relation to Christianity. There were some interesting points made, but there were also some generalities in European perceptions that are not necessarily true (one being the way Europeans express distate and concern over American religiosity). And, as always, this is only one side of the argument. People like Jenkins are not so convinced that the sounding of the death knell for European society is imminent. Interestingly, Rodney Stark, professor of sociology at Baylor University, had noted in the video that Europe owes everything to Christianity, a point which the philosopher, Jürgen Habermas, also maintains, as I stated in the previous post:

Christianity, and nothing else, is the ultimate foundation of liberty, conscience, human rights, and democracy, the benchmarks of Western civilization. To this day, we have no other options [than Christianity]. We continue to nourish ourselves from this source. Everything else is postmodern chatter.

I am interested to know what you think of this. A significant number of us in North America have European ancestry. If you are close to your heritage, like I am, then perhaps this is something you resonate more with. Another thing to consider is that European cultural trends tend to filter their way to North America over time. What does this mean for our future?

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