by Michael Denson
After the birth of our son in March of 2017, my wife Charith and I went into panic mode. The walls of our tiny 900 square foot historic home in downtown Phoenix, seemed to suddenly close in on us. The traffic in our concrete jungle was now impending and dangerous. Even the air we breathed became thin and choking. We didn't know what was happening. This had been our home for almost 2 years and we loved everything about living in the city. But our little 9-pound bundle introduced certain fears that reframed our view of the city and our future as city dwellers.
We ventured to find a new place to belong. We wanted space, safety, parks, good schools, diversity, and most important of all, we wanted people like us; a mixed- race, young married couple with a biracial child. People who think differently, celebrate diversity and community. People who are creative, who challenge systems, and take risks. People who love Jesus and love their neighborhood just as much.
Charith and I have always believed that the “city” is equivalent to The Garden. Cities are teeming with life, creativity, culture, diversity, discovery, and beauty. Phoenix was a city we felt called to, a place where we felt rooted in, and a place where we were to grow and produce fruit. So our migration to suburbia in 2017 was met with anxiousness and timidity. This uncertainty was much more magnified when we finally found our new home in suburban Glendale, AZ. But soon after moving, we began to notice the very prominent dividing lines and walls that kept our new neighborhood segregated. We could see how the fixtures of our city, the roads, gated communities, proximity to highways, and expensive mountain base homes shaped the collective understanding of our lives together (Leong 27).
We quickly began to survey our new location, piecing together the physical makeup of our neighborhood and city. Very early on we were struck by what we observed on our daily commute home from work. In the 20 min drive directly west, from the I-17 freeway toward the base of Thunderbird Mountain, we notice 2 things; the houses get bigger and newer, and neighborhoods get whiter and richer.
We were so challenged with this idea of belonging. Was this the place that we “belonged?” Not soon after we moved into our new home and began to “do life” in our new neighborhood, we found that the place where we now dwelled did not feel like a place where we belonged. Whatever belonging is, it involves belonging with and to others in a place (Leong 35). However, we felt that the people around us were not “our people.”
There was not much diversity. Everywhere we turned we saw predominantly middle-class, white Americans. Churches had been erected at almost every major intersection, and though the denominations varied greatly, we noticed the same demographic of people coming and going every Sunday. Restaurant and grocery store workers varied in ethnicity, but the question remained, “where did these individuals live and play?” Rarely had we seen these same people dining, shopping, or communing outside of the places they worked. If God has always placed importance on the location of his people and the space they occupy, then where we are (or where we were placed) is no accident and has little to do with our desire for “sameness” as it relates to our personal preference for space, aesthetics, opportunities, and demographic of people.
The first place my wife and I sought after was a church. Surely communing with like-minded, contemporary Christians every week we give us that “belonging” feeling we were seeking. And surely the Church is in some ways was addressing the social-economical issues of the city in which it existed, hopefully in new and radical ways. This is what we believed to be the call of the church. To seek to reconcile communities to look more like the kingdom of God by embodying the beauty, goodness, and truth of Jesus. However, our perspectives on how this could be accomplished were dramatically changed.
My wife and I spent several months searching for the perfect church. Sunday after Sunday we tried church after church. Like Goldilocks searching for the perfect bed among the bears, we found ourselves making weekly confessions of, “this church is too big. That church was too white. This church was too boring. That church was too charismatic.” Among our nit-picking, we found no church that valued diversity, racial and gender reconciliation, social awareness and responsibility, and the fight for justice. And even still, we were hard-pressed to find a church that just valued people. At the very least, we would have hoped to walk into a church and simply be noticed, accepted, and loved just for showing up.
Early in 2018, we were introduced to Axiom church. Before our initial attendance, we decided to do some research. Who are you? What are you about? What’s your mission? What kind of people (Christians) are you? The church seemed to score high in all of our shallow requirements for a place we would want to spiritually root. Additionally, it proposed new questions that we would need to be answered before we would commit. Who are the Mennonite Brethren? What does it mean that you are a community of pioneers? What does it look like to “value your neighbor?”
On March 18th, 2018 we got dressed and headed over to Axiom for the 10am service. Running a little late, my wife and I, along with our 1-year-old, walked into a small sanctuary where people were already worshiping. At the time I couldn’t quite nail down why but I instantly felt overwhelmingly relieved. I was so incredibly thankful that the song the worship band was playing was one I had never heard before. I loved that I could look across the room and almost count the number of people present. And I loved that, from what I could tell, the faces of the people present varied in race and age.
As the band finished their third song the bass guitarist put his instrument to the side, walked up to the main microphone and introduced himself as the pastor. His retro 90’s t-shirt, sleeve tattoo, and trucker hat hinted that Pastor Gavin was someone who was consciously working against the stereotypical pastoral image I was accustomed to, even among “hipster” churches. He had an authenticity that I had not experienced before in the role of a lead pastor. And that same authenticity was prevalent among the congregation.
After service, before we could even exit our isle, Gavin stopped Charith and asked our names and thanked us for joining Axiom for service. After we talked for just a moment, Gavin gave us his phone number and offered us to join him for coffee. This was a radically different interaction either of us had experiences in our search for churches over the course of several months. And an even stranger experience with anyone in a pastoral role. This was truly a place that valued authentic hospitality and its importance was modeled by those in leadership. This is truly what kept us coming back.
Over the next year I learned much about the heart of the church I now call home and its mission to become a part of the surrounding community. One thing Axiom is very intentional about is, first and foremost, being good neighbors. Our church is situated among some neglected and abandoned homes, spanish speaking families, vacant lots, a few businesses and not much else. Beyond this area, moving west and north, one can see newly built 2 story homes protected by 6 to 8 foot block walls. And not far beyond that is a massive sports complex and entertainment district. It is clear that there is a disconnect in this space. There is a story here that we have not yet learned.
This idea of practicing Christian discipleship that is more attentive to the places and patterns of exclusion that divide our communities (Leong 56) is foundational to the work of Axiom. We are one of about ten churches in a very condensed area. The place we occupy is a shared space. Between these churches and the community, we are continually seeking out ways to invite our neighbors into our physical location, as well as become a part of their space and common areas. This includes community potlucks, family movie nights, using the parks as venue space for free music events, neighborhood cleanup efforts, art walks, and simply just meeting people and asking them their story. In this, I have witnessed a new sort of Christianity. A faith that seeks to be informed by its location and not one that desires to create social homogeneity. One that is void of overspirtualizaiton and “soul-winning.” One that is closer to the church we read about in scripture.
Axiom is considered a church for the unlikely. Those who are weird, different, forgotten about, misunderstood, and those who don’t fit into the mold of cookie-cutter suburbia. Because of this, I believe that we are a community of believers that have a keen sense of the damaging effects of “sameness” and uniformity. The church is a place where God is forming a family out of strangers (Leong 159). Welcoming and communing with “different” people necessitate patience and perseverance-this produces true kinship (161). This is the beginning of reconciliation and a clearer image of the Kingdom of God.
Jesus modeled this very character of meeting strangers with hospitality, acknowledging differences and redefining the idea of “neighbor,” all while understanding and functioning within the framework of the local environment. Nowhere is this clearer than in Jesus’ well-known and controversial conversation with a Samaritan woman at as well (Leong 54). Jesus undoubtedly understood the history of Samaria and what kept them as “other.” However, he acknowledges the cultural conflict and reframes the story by allowing the Spirit to prompt radical neighborly interaction.
Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” (John 4:7). Why would Jesus, a Jew, make this request from such an impure and immoral Samaritan woman? Furthermore, on a more intimate level, Jesus “sees” this woman, her history and her lifestyle, addresses it and provides grace in spite of her circumstance, culturally or otherwise. I believe this was (and is) the foundational work that led to the reconciliation of the Samaritan people. Leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?” (John 4:28-29). I believe that Jesus’s tendency to push social boundaries and boldly engage with those who were racially, culturally, and biologically different is the rootedness of salvation and social reconciliation. It is the clearest visualization of true discipleship.
Though, in no way is Axiom a “perfect church,” (and thank God no church is) it is a place where we belong. I am continually affirmed, though sometimes uncomfortably so, that this is the place where we have been sewn and the place where God requires us to take root. And with a community of radically different believers who are patiently working toward reconciliation through neighborliness and hospitality, I am hopeful that the future of the place I now call home will have a growing number of scattered people. People who intentionally occupy space with whoever is considered “other” and begin to create a new city narrative through the common experience of shared space.
Bibliography
Leong, David P. Race and Place. Downers Grove, InterVarsity Press, 2017.
New International Version. Bible Gateway, www.biblegateway.com. Accessed 20
April 2019.