Which church is Christ’s church?

“This is what the Lord says: ‘Will you build a house for me to live in?’ ” (II Samuel 7:5)

The story begins with a traveler’s asking a “local” for directions to the Episcopal church: “Can you tell me where to find Christ’s Church?” It ends with this punch line, “You know, I don’t think Christ has a church around here.”

The local is deeply familiar with the area’s prominent family names and church denominations.

“Now the Episcopal Church, that’s the Wannamaker’s church. The Presbyterian Church, that’s the Stricklands’ church.” He goes on through every church in town (and its matriarchs, patriarchs and old families) and ends up offering no help to the traveler. The geographical question isn’t answered, but another one is raised. Whose church is it?

Most people chuckle with self-recognition and acknowledge — whether they want it to be true or not — that there is some veracity in the local’s words. And yet, one is also left with the uneasiness of the ending line, “No sir, I don’t believe Christ has a church around here.”

As a person who can be, painfully at times, a literalist, I appreciate the story and the answers given. As a theologian and sociologist, I appreciate the wisdom and insight it offers. As a pastor, I appreciate the complexity of what it means for Christ’s body, the church, to be thoroughly filled with humans — humans who exert their will, influence, bias and desire to hold on to power and privilege.

And to be fair, if I lived in a place where generations of Hammets had lived (and worshiped) and if I had land and money, and was ordained as an elder, I would probably do the same. And perhaps not even be able to name what was happening. The answer might be “Now, the Charleston Methodist Church ... that’s the Hammets’ church ... no, that ain’t Christ’s Church ...”

The story has a parabolic nature. It probes the nature of the church. It asks, “Whose church is it, anyway?” It explores the way that, even though there may be a clear mission statement, a doctrine or some denominational banner, there are still other gears that turn. Just as our nation’s president can scoot past what “classified” means, local church members can similarly build upon, or distract from, what’s in the polity. Indeed, real power may have very little intention of following the policies of the home office.

A little over a year ago, I got a taste of what that is like. A church had a big to-do. I asked why there was no hash. The answer was that the matriarch “didn’t like that place’s slaw and the place she liked doesn’t make hash.” So, no hash, no rice. Christ, nor I, got hash that day — but the pecking order was cemented, for the present.

Israel Galindo’s fascinating book “The Hidden Lives of Congregations: Exploring Church Dynamics” can give someone who loves their church, or is frustrated with it, some tools to ponder the realities of faith groups. He reminds us to not be naive about Christ’s church.

I invite you to ponder with me what it would take for God to have a faith community that is based more, and increasingly, upon the Word of Life than upon lively forces and words — or sideways glances and eye rolls. It seems that the early church, filled by the Holy Spirit, was able to, more often than not, be intentional about being Christ’s church.

“Now the Jerusalem Church, that was Ananias’ and Sapphira’s church, but I hear tell that ... so, maybe that is Christ’s Church (Acts 5). Could that be the one you are looking for?”

So, what church are you really looking for? The one you will find will always be filled with humans. Jesus ascended and did more than leave the building. But the Spirit, the promise, the Advocate and Comforter is coming.