Annual Bleeping Conference

It's two days away. I just can't wait (insert sarcastic tone and rolling of the eyes here).
We're now looking hard at two and a half days none of us will ever get back.
We will do several things. We will be led in worship by someone who has done Spectacular Things in other places. Things that most of us would be moved from our churches for doing back home, as a result of complaints from the natives to the same conference leaders who are bringing The Star in to show us how to do things right.
We will listen to arguments about money. Specifically, arguments from pastors and members from our largest, wealthiest churches who have every bell and whistle on their properties and staffs, telling the rest of us why they shouldn't have to pay the lion's share of the way, in spite of having the lion's share of everything.
We will listen to (largely) mindless debates on way too many constitutional amendments, conducted by (largely) misguided people who think they are doing the Will of God, who will have their talking points from whatever interest group they represent well-memorized for easier regurgitation. And both ends will try to scare the middle with the Secret Intents of everyone who disagrees with them. And at the end of all of it, we will find, to paraphrase The Bob, "I looked beneath the sofa, beneath the chair; looking for them Gays/Homophobes everywhere; I looked up my chimney hole, even looked deep inside my toilet bowl; they got away!" And we will be left with nothing again, as, to quote the late, great Billy Preston, "Nothing from nothing leaves nothing."
I, for one, will leave Annual Conference calculating again at what speed Mr. Wesley must be spinning in his grave. Because we haven't done much of anything in the last decade, at least, except take the temperature of the institution that has become the bloated, dying carcass of The United Methodist Church, and find it to be lukewarm. As in "spew you out of my mouth" lukewarm.
So all is lost? Not so fast.
I went to church this afternoon.
John Kilzer played at the Italian Festival in Marquette Park on this glorious Friday afternoon.
John is like many of us, a middle-aged guy, but young in ministry, with an old soul nurtured by the collision of music that enriches our native turf. He, like the rest of us, knows some parts of the world too well, but writes, plays and sings spectacularly of the hope and promise and joy that are supposed to be at the heart of this faith we profess and are supposed to share.
John reminded me that the faith isn't Annual Conference. Hell, the faith certainly isn't my short-sighted, terrified congregation. God's ability to change lives through the presence of the living Christ is the story.
And one of these days God may even get around to bringing church to Annual Conference.
Hey, they say stranger things have happened...