Holdfast

I’ve come to realize that for some, the word “community” is a scary word.

We moderns seem to be more interested in the individualistic way of life that carrot-and-sticks us slowly to death than the scary, proximate life that gives longevity. For those that do find some kind of community, ghosting and non-confrontation are a common element. Relationships have become fragile and prone to injury.

If the word “community” begins to sound more like “minefield” in our hearts, we’ll naturally avoid it. But, some experiences lately have given me hope for the future, and in turn, hope for the Church’s presence in culture and society.

As a gamer, my recent obsession has been “Holdfast: Nations At War,” a massively multiplayer experience in which two teams of players take on the role of a different Napoleonic-era army. Through coordination, command structure, and discipline, the players engage in Black Powder–era warfare. It’s truly a sight to behold.

Upon initial foray into the game, I found that the experience of playing on public servers was, to put it mildly, a complete and utter nightmare. Everyone opted to play the game as a “Rambo '' who attempts to take on an entire army by themselves. No one coordinated in a game that needed coordination to win. Most people spent their time trash talking each other over voice chat. Some chose the classic troll move of blasting meme music over the shared audio channels, making team communication next to impossible. I’m pretty sure The Duke of Wellington, marching to battle against Napoleon Bonaparte at Waterloo, didn’t instruct his army band to play the chorus of “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley over, and over, and over, and over.

This interesting experience led me to do some deeper looking, which culminated in me joining an online regiment through the community-based app Discord. There I found committed groups of players who had formed different “regiments” with the express intention of playing Holdfast with focus and coordination. 

After some searching, I found a good-looking group, and I was encouraged to sign up for military drills. The drills entailed me getting instructed in the ways of battle by an officer in the regiment. I’d be shown maneuvers and commands, and given tips and tricks on how to survive a battle.

My commanding officer, bedecked in his early-18th-century coat and hat, began running myself and other recruits through movement drills. The immersive experience of playing a Red Coat was slightly interrupted by his thick New Jersey accent and constant use of the word “pal,” but he was good. Really good. He clearly knew his stuff. I’m proud to say that by the end of the hour-long drill, we actually had a rather organized little group. 

And with that we were sent into battle. During the game, constant commands were called out, and we maneuvered around the battlefield quickly and with intention. We lined up to volley fire. We executed “break” commands to dodge incoming cannon fire. There was no chaos. There was no Rick Astley. No one was insulting my mother. No Rambos here. It was refreshing and winsome.

I kept wondering throughout this battle: Why would this group of clearly very young and modern guys want to play a game like this? One would think that we modern people would want the John Wick gaming experience, not the John Quincy Adams experience. 

What I was beginning to suspect is that the narrative of John Wick (the singular one-man army who defeats hordes of assassins), might actually be losing relevance with a subset of people. As much as we love those types of narratives, maybe we’re being drawn to something that more accurately reflects the reality we’re living in: that going it alone in the battlefield of life is unsustainable for long periods of time.

During a voice chat, amidst the collective remembering of the battle, there was such joy taken in the group's effort and contribution. People congratulated each other with passion and sincerity. It was a warm and inviting atmosphere, standing in stark contrast to the toxicity and nastiness I’d experienced in other games. There was a real, rare sense of cohesion.

But something else happened within that conversation which took me aback.

Without missing a beat, my officer opened up about having a chronic, potentially terminal illness. Somehow, amidst the often unsafe landscape that is internet culture, he was being vulnerable. And the response was equally as surprising: Genuine concern and care voiced by other players, and space given for this person to share some of their journey. The officer commented that they were, just recently, in an MRI for the millionth time, a detail that didn’t seem lost on anyone.

The experience has stuck with me. It gave me hope that there are younger generations out there who hunger for a communal experience of life, one that doesn't inherently swallow the individual, but one that simply acknowledges that it’s better to be together. 

I think this is where the Church can step in at a unique time in our American experience. With some people fatigued by the individualistic approach to life, we can not only provide a warm place of safety and community, but we can also do so under the truth of the Gospel. 

When culture cries out in need of something, it’s actually a connection with God at the center of that need. “Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee,” proclaims St. Augustine at the start of his Confessions. It’s a timeless human condition that spans all spaces and places, and one that will not change until the Renewed Earth. 

There are a variety of meanings to the word ‘“Holdfast”; one definition is something that roots or holds something securely. The ultimate holdfast is Christ. He roots us and secures us, and through Him we have our life, breath, and being. For a world that is so drowned in chaos, what a gift we have to give to our neighbors in being secured, and in turn offering to grasp someone’s hand who might be getting carried away by life.

Being a peaceful person, shaped by the peace of Christ, can sometimes have less to do with an airy attitude towards life and more to do with being grounded in the midst of a life that seeks to knock us over. 

We have much to think about here, and much to do as communities of Christ followers when it comes to this topic, but the exciting and reassuring thing is that we can do it together. Since day one of the Church, its shape has been a group of people living together in commitment to Christ. That should be a balm, not a sore.

May we learn how to be a church that is a true refuge in life, not just for ourselves, but for others as well. May we hold fast to Christ, and in turn, reach out to share that with others.

My Canterbury Trail

When I think about my journey in vocational ministry, I can’t help but look back at a very specific season.

The season began not in a place of comfort and familiarity, but amidst an atmosphere of faith crises.

A longtime friend and mentor felt called by God to host a house church, and I was invited to provide musical worship. We would host time on Sunday evenings to engage in conversation, read the Lectionary, pray, and then share a meal. 

But what made this group unique was a vision to care for two different groups: people either walking away from the Church or those journeying back into it. 

Some folks were simply looking for a community to call home.

Others had been burned by the Church and were raw and fragile.They wouldn’t step into a church building, but they wanted Christian community.

Then there were those who were on a path back to the Church. The common theme amongst this subset was a call into the liturgical and ancient traditions of the Christian faith, namely Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy.

The season of time I spent in this house church (tenderly referred to as “The Gazebo” because of its open structure and posture) was deeply impactful and life-changing for two reasons.

One: It exposed me to deeper concepts around what it means to be the Church.Two: It put me on the path that we Anglicans fondly refer to as “The Canterbury Trail.”

The Canterbury Trail is that path taken because of a longing for something deeper, more rooted, more spiritually rich, and ultimately more tied to the Great Tradition of Christian worship. 

You might guess that my entrance onto the Canterbury Trail was facilitated by reading a legendary Anglican writer like NT Wright. But it was voices from further East who ignited my spirit. My Eastern Orthodox friend, and the book Everyday Saints (a very Russian Orthodox book), opened me up to the beauty of the liturgical tradition. This gave me a hunger to learn more about Church history and tradition, and for a time I even began attending Orthodox services locally.

Over the years that followed, God guided me on a journey that has too many twists and turns to share here. It culminated in me being confirmed into the Anglican Church in August 2021. In a providential way, my expanded role at Holy Trinity begins on the two-year anniversary of my confirmation. Spooky.

Upon further reflection, it’s interesting to me that this years-long journey had its genesis in what was often a vulnerable and intense place for people. It was actually through the crisis of others that I was drawn more fully into the Church, not away from it.

I should be clear that what I was going through wasn’t a “deconstruction” in any real sense of the word. The proverbial house of my faith life wasn’t having inner walls torn down, so much as it was having the roof expanded, the basement cleared, and the foundation reinforced.

If anything it was a “reconstruction” of what was already there.

Outside of my personal transformation, my time in this house church also reshaped how I saw the collective “we.” One can imagine, when you gather a group of potentially lost, raw, and angry people together, wounds can and will get re-opened, and sometimes hurts spill out.

I’ll never forget what my mentor said to me after a particularly hard gathering: “There is nothing actually safe about community. The closer you get, the clearer the cracks are.”

Life in any community is far less “safe” than an isolated or individualistic approach. Being seen and known is beautiful and scary all at once. The point is not to be comfortable, it's to be real.

Because of my time in Gazebo, I can no longer imagine myself wrestling through hard passages of Scripture alone. My spiritual doubts or concerns are no longer a private affair to be pondered during sleepless nights. It’s with trusted brothers and sisters that I want to journey through these questions with.

Practically speaking, life in our current world is simply too difficult  to try and steel-man on my own. In retrospect, God used my Gazebo season to help me shed aspects of pride and ego that convinced me I needed to be “strong” and self-sufficient to truly have a vibrant faith. It’s actually because of my weakness that I need Him and others.

It bears saying that I in no way judge folks who have walked away from the Church. I’ve seen too closely and heard too clearly the stories of those who have been truly wounded to disregard these narratives as some kind of cultural polemic. Those stories are real, and they need to be engaged tenderly and thoughtfully. 

However, these stories are not the end, nor the full picture. For every story about deconstruction I hear, there is another about a new life devoted to Christ, a small local church being the good news, a theologian thinking deeply about and engaging the issues of our age, or someone making simple choices in their lives that reflect Christ to the world.

I was once asked by someone, “What’s your five year vision for ministry?”

Although I appreciated the question’s intended meaning, five years was far too short-sighted in my humble opinion—and the question smacked too much of American Church Lingo. 

That’s because I hoped that my ministry would be my entire life. I’ve never tried to frame my  “vision” as some new “hack” or “strategy.” I don’t intend to reinvent the wheel. My hope is to call on the wisdom of the mothers and fathers who have come before us in the Great Tradition of the Church. My vision is to seek the guidance of Scripture. Ultimately, my vision is to seek the One who is making all things new. 

Although over the years I’ve found great resources and joy in formalized and systematic curricula or methods for ministry, my plans are just that: My plans, not God’s.

I’ve often heard Rev. John quote Psalm 127 when speaking about planning or ministry efforts:

Unless the Lord builds the house,

those who build it labor in vain.

Unless the Lord watches over the city,

the watchman stays awake in vain.

The American church landscape is full of man-made plans, strategies, and labors, and I long to see us come back to the simple wisdom and truth of Psalm 127. Without seeking God in the midst of our efforts, we truly labor in vain.

What the future holds, I do not know. But I look forward with excitement and hope for what God is doing in this community of Holy Trinity, and around us as well. Already we’ve seen amazing things through God’s provision in this season and personally I’ve had my expectations exceeded in every case. 

It’s my pleasure, and truly, my honor, to step into this new role at Holy Trinity, and especially to do so in community with you all. May God give us His vision for what lays ahead.

With love and peace,

-Nik Bartunek
Director of Worship Arts and Community