Motives and Morals

Boris and Valerie were visiting Pastor Boris' parents in Russia. The bright red Lada arrived at Vladivostok Airport. It was driven by an old man with long hair, a beard and a pair of denim jeans that would have seemed rebellious and outrageous in the Soviet Union, a Russian hippy. He drove them out into the Russian countryside for several hours.
"They had a hippy movement in Russia in the 1970s. It was persecuted. Even wearing jeans made you suspiscious. And they would send you to prison for not having a job."
"Blimey," said Boris.
"If they found you living in a van they put you in a mental hospital."
"I wonder how you managed to live that way at all," said Valerie.
"That's why we moved out into the country. If you're 200 miles from the nearest city and 30 miles from the nearest railway station, you don't get disturbed by the - how you say? - local bobby on the beat?"
"Local bobby on the beat, that's right," said Boris. "We know exactly what you mean."
"So there were hippy communes in the Soviet Union but way out in the fields, well away from human civilization, where no one would ever find them."
"Places where real communism was practised," said Boris.
"Boris' parents were farmers," said Valerie. "They moved to a farm in 1973."
"Yes. Your parents helped us a lot. They helped us practically and they brought many of us into the church. But there's not many young people there now."
"I wonder why that is," said Pastor Boris, clenching his fist. "They just don't see it."
"Young people don't seem to be searching for anything, except Jesus."

They arrived at the farm. Boris' mother Galina opened the front door.
"Hello, Boris and Valerie. I trust you had a pleasant journey."
"Very pleasant," said Valerie. "A long journey but interesting. Very interesting. I come from St. Petersburg but I haven't been this far out in the Russian outback before. I didn't know this part of my country existed."
"Siberia," said Galina. "My fatherland is wide. Isn't that right, Vladimir?"
"Yes," said the ageing hippy. "From the Polish border to Vladivostok, my fatherland is wide. Boris, why didn't you plant community houses all over Russia? You couldn't in the communist era but what about the 1990s, when the country opened up?"
"We are a church of the UK."
"How you say? - Bullocks?"
"Bollocks," Valerie corrected him. "You mean bollocks."
"All right, Pastor Boris, that's bollocks. There's a great big world out there, full of billions of people who've been waiting thousands of years to hear the gospel. Don't you have a vision for world mission?"
"We are too small. We are a church of the UK until we reach a sufficient size."
"How big is that?" asked Vladimir.
"How big is a major English denomination? The Methodists numbered half a million in the 1900s. When we have half a million people in our community we will send out 144,000 evangelists to evangelise the whole world."
"144,000 community houses?"
"No, 10,000 community houses, approximately one for every million people. That should be enough to reach the lost tribes of the Caucusus mountains."
"Boris," said Galina, "do you really think we're so important? Are we really in the book of Revelation?"
"Yes Mum, we are the restored New Testament church. In the 16th century you had salvation by faith and adult baptism. In the 1900s you had Azura Street and the gifts of the Holy Spirit. In our lifetime, God has revealed community. If believers are all together and have everything in common, that is the last missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle. With us, the protestant reformation is complete. The true New Testament church has been restored. For the first time in 2,000 years the real gospel will be preached."

The meal arrived. Two elderly women entered the room, one carrying a tray, one carrying a big pile of plates. An old man picked up a battery operated loud haler.
"Gathering in the dining room," he shrieked. Twenty people came into the room and sat around the table. One of them was Boris' father.
"Hello Boris, hello Valerie," he said.
"Hello Karl," said Valerie. Karl sat down beside them. The meal was served. Pilchards with three different kinds of beans in a mashed potato and mayonnaise sauce.
"I like pilchards," said Galina, "they're a poor man's tuna."
"Are the beans home grown?" asked Boris.
"No," said Karl. "And the fish isn't even Russian. The cheapest tinned food from Vladivostok. Comes in a lorry every Friday. The potatoes are from the farm and so are the eggs in the mayonnaise, that's all." After the meal a team of volunteers descended on the kitchen to do the washing up.
"Dad, that's an interesting strap you have hanging on the back door," said Boris.
"Spare the rod and spoil the child. Anyone may use the strap but if you use it too often, or hit the child too hard, you are no longer acting in love."
"Isn't it reassuring to know that no one will ever do that. Is corporal punishment still legal in Russia?"
"I've no idea. What difference does it make? No one's going to complain. We're 200 miles from Vladivostok. They don't even have mobile phone masts here."

Back in England Joanne had been living in community and working in the sandwich shop at Millstone Farm.
"You've still got your own bank account," said Barbara.
"So I have," said Joanne.
"You have to close it down and give all your money to the church."
"But I don't feel complete peace about this."
"Do you think anybody else feels complete peace about it?"
"Barbara, if you don't feel at peace about living in community, why are you here?"
"We didn't like living in a shared house."
"No, we didn't live in a shared house," said Tom. "We slept there, you could hardly say we lived there. We lived in the gym."
"How can you live in a gym?"
"We could never get into the bathroom," said Barbara, "so we got the first bus and got to the gym in time to swim a few lengths and go in the shower."
"I lifted weights," said Tom. "They did meals in the gym. Not hot meals but sandwiches, protein bars and plastic tubs of porridge."
"Is that healthy?"
"Very healthy. I lost a stone in weight. Healthy sandwiches in the gym. Not just ham and cheese. And then there's a quiet corner where you can sit at a desk and use your computer on the free wi-fi."
"And the gym was a two hour bus journey from where we lived," said Barbara. "But that was all right because the bus was warm, not like that freezing cold house. Carol wouldn't let us put the heating on."
"She would sometimes," said Tom, "but she argued about how long you could have it on for. We had an electric blanket."
"You're supposed to feel the call to New Creation Christian Community," said Joanne. "You can't live here just because you've got no money and you've got nowhere to live."
"Of course you can," said Barbara. "Why do you think anybody else lives here?"
"What we're telling you is in the Bible," said Tom. "The believers were all together and had everything in common and there was not a poor person among them. Come and live in community and  be better off."
"It's supposed to be a lifestyle of poverty."
"You call this poverty?" asked Barbara. "Joanne, you don't know you're born. When  I was at university, I was living on a bus. Just £90 a month and the bus is like your home. Eat your sandwiches in the bus station, get washed in the toilets there, do your homework on a little tablet as you travel 30 miles to your parents' house, which is where you take a shower and sleep."
"It used to be like that," said Matthew. "Now the church is getting bigger, I think we've lost our original vision."
"What vision was that?" asked Joanne.
"That old man who used to keep all of his possessions in a tea chest."
"Matthew, what has keeping all your possessions in a tea chest got to do with Christianity?"
"It shows you've given most of them away. Sell all you have and give the money to the poor."
"Jesus told the rich young ruler to do that, I'm sure he doesn't want everyone to do it."
"Joanne, when I first came to this church, we were sure he wanted everyone to do it. Then the Housing Act came. People had to have their own bedroom. You couldn't have someone in a sleeping bag under the stairs anymore. And now those bedrooms are full of CD players and radios and people buy decent mobile phones so they can watch free film channels. Worldliness. And now the government want us to have all our houses upgraded to band C. People will have no idea what it feels like to be cold."

Pastor Boris was preaching the Sunday morning sermon.
"If our church has 100 members, and it keeps doubling in size every year, how big will it be in 5 years time?"
"3200 members," said Matthew.
"That was quick. Matthew's very good at Maths," said Magnus.
"Easy if you can think in binary.*
"And 5 years after that?"
"After 10 years, 100,000 or so."
"How long would it be before we reach a million?"
"In 14 years we should reach 1,600,000."
"So you see, becoming a significant world denomination is well within our reach."
"Is our church really doubling in size every year?" asked Pastor David. "We've just closed down a church plant in Hastings." Pastor Boris stared at Pastor David indignantly.
"God doesn't fail, you failed."
"All right, I failed. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a church planting missionary."
"Oh, it's not my gift, oh, I wasn't called to this. It is God who does the work. God can work through anybody. The fields are white unto harvest. Don't pray for your friends and neighbours anymore, you don't need to. Tell them about Jesus. They're ready to listen. Go back to your house groups and prepare for revival."
"I'll tell you what's stopping the revival," said Matthew. "We have forgotten the original vision of this church. The disciplines of poverty, chastity and obedience. Lean your mobile phone against your radio and put your earphones in. There you are, a nice little television. And watch some stupid advert about a robotic toy dog, when you should be worshipping Jesus. The standards of the church have become the standards of the world. I challenge you to come and live with me in the old blue bus outside."
"Why the blue one?" asked Pastor David.
"Because the engine broke down. It won't be going anywhere. It's no use for anything else."
"Matthew, if the engine doesn't work, the heater doesn't work either."
"Sounds like an ideal home," said Magnus. "I'm coming with you."

After Sunday dinner, Matthew and Magnus arrived together on the blue bus.
"Magnus, I see you've brought the famous tea chest," said Matthew.
"Yes, the one that contains all my possessions."
"I think that moving house is a good time to declutter. I've taken these two suitcases and packed them with as much stuff as I'd be allowed to take on a National Express Coach. I thought that was rather appropriate. I'm sorry it's not so cold that you have to scrape the ice off the windows."
"That's all right, Matthew. I've got my ice scraper ready. We can wait until winter. Have you got your thermal suit? Cotton T shirt, polycotton shirt, cotton jumper, woolly jumper, zip up fleece and woolly hat?"
"Yes. I can't wait until it gets really cold. I've got these two big margarine tubs."
"To use as toilets?" asked Magnus.
"How did you guess? So that we can see whose margarine tub is whose, I've written our initials on them in marker pen."
"Saying as I'm called Magnus and you're called Matthew, what would be the point?"
"The middle letters of our names. I'm a T and you're a G. And I've got these little flashlights so that we can see the letters in the dark."

On Tuesday night Magnus and Matthew had joined the rest of the church for the main weekly Agape meal. Forty people from several different community houses ate together in a large hall. The meal was good, meat and gravy with vast, indigestible quantities of fresh vegetables.
"Why does nobody want to come and join us living in our bus?" asked Matthew.
"Perhaps it's because it's a stupid thing to do," said Joanne.
"What's stupid about it?"
"I don't want to spend my autumn evenings sitting on a freezing cold bus, in the dark, reading a 50 year old book from the church library with a tiny little flashlight."
"And I can't think of anything else I would rather do," said Magnus. "Would it help if I told you that the food wasn't very good? Of course, we have to come to meals with the church twice a week, Tuesday night Agape amd Sunday dinner, but the rest of the time we are sustsained by the sandwich of affliction and the orange juice of affliction."
"And when we run out of sandwiches we are sustained by the apple of affliction and the sausage roll of affliction," said Matthew.
"What is the point of all this misery?" asked Joanne.
"It's like Jimmy Hendrix said, not rich anymore, feed the poor," said Magnus.
"Magnus, you making yourself poor doesn't stop anyone else being poor. Have you done anything with the money you save or is it just piling up in the bank?"
"We haven't got that far yet," said Matthew. "Joanne, if the women want to come and live on the bus we'll let them use the portaloos. The ones we use for the big events in the summer. We still have them. They're in the car park. Just need to be towed into position and filled up with chemicals."
"If you're not using the portaloos, what do you use for toilets now?"
"Big margarine tubs."
"Yuck."
"The ladies can have their own separate bus," said Magnus. "The blue one for the boys, the green one for the girls."
"I've got a huge vision for these things," said Matthew. "Why don't we fill a whole field with  old buses? You cam buy them from bus companies for virtually nothing. And the buses belong to us, we're not renting them, so we're not landlords. No building regulations. The council can't force us to do anything. Hundreds of people can live in them and rediscover the real meaning of community."
"Matthew, I'm so grateful," said Joanne.
"Do you want to come and live on one of our buses?"
"No. You've just convinced me I absolutely never want to live in community. Now I can make up my mind what to do."