The new geographic “center“ of Christianity has shifted slightly. Anyone want to guess where the global geographic center of Christianity is now located?

No, it’s not Vatican City.

No it’s not some football stadium sized sanctuary in Texas.

No, it’s not in South Korea, South Africa, or Southern Jerusalem.

The wonderfully revealing new global center-point for Christianity, the new center of gravity for the Christian religion, is . . . Timbuktu.

That’s right, Timbuktu in Mali. Can anyone locate Timbuktu on the map? Timbuktu is the ultimate, classic definition of “the middle of nowhere.”

What better place to locate the heart of Christianity?

Where is the hope and love of Christ needed more . . . than in the midst of all our “nowheres?”

The good news is that from its central point of Timbuktu, Christianity is the largest and fastest growing world religion. There are now over two billion Christians scattered across the globe. But “scattered” is the operative word to describe these Christian communities. They are scattered geographically across the planet. And the cultural diversity among these different populations is huge.

The uniquely incarnational feature of Christianity, in which the Christian faith spreads not as a potted plant but as a seed, means that each expression of the Christian religion is shaped by the environment in which it is planted. There truly is no one “Christianity.” Instead there is a groundswell of many “Christianities.” Conservatively there are about 34,000 different “denominations” recognized within twenty-first century “Christianities.” But some other faith-counters put the number much higher, parsing Jesus’ flock into as many as 122,000 different tribes.

There are two dangers in this fracturing of the faith. First, if we call everything “Christianity,” then eventually nothing is Christianity. Not every spiritual sputtering can be declared a new incarnational expression of Christ-centered faith.

The second danger is the hazard that every baby chicken faces. If one chick in a flock looks or behaves as somehow “different” than the rest of the baby chicks, its days are numbered. Eventually somebody will peck at it, pulling out some feathers, maybe causing a red sore spot to emerge, making it look even more different. Now all the other flock members will start pecking at the offending chick. Pecking, plucking, and persecution will continue until the chick is killed. Individuality is not tolerated in a flock of chickens.

Unfortunately, the church of Jesus Christ is increasingly exhibiting that second danger. There is a resurgent Calvinism that says if you aren’t TULIP bred and dead (where TULIP is an acronym for T=Total Depravity, U=Unconditional Election, L=Limited Atonement, I=Irresistible Grace, P=Perseverance of the Saints), you’ll never get into heaven. There is a resurgent Pentecostalism that says if you can’t speak in tongues, you really aren’t “saved” or a true disciple. There is a new Wesleyanism that says that if you don’t follow John Wesley in every jot and tittle of his theology, you shouldn’t call yourself a Methodist. There is a new Anabaptist movement that says if you don’t live a countercultural life in every detail of your existence, you are selling out to the culture (zeitgeist).

Wait a minute . . . in nature differences and adaptations are the way populations of the same species learn to survive and thrive in a variety of environments. Climate changes, shifting food sources, and population density all challenge species to change in order to succeed and reproduce. Successful species are always “locavores.”

Have you heard that word? It was one of the top new words of 2007. There is even now an iPhone app named “Locavore.” But actually the concept behind the word, if not the word itself, is very ancient. “Locavores” is the trendy term for how people always ate and lived until sometime in the mid twentieth century. You ate what you could grow, harvest, or hunt in your back yard. You ate differently during each season of the year. In today’s parlance, a true “locavore” will only eat food that is grown in a 50 mile radius of where you live.

Today our mega-grocery markets offer everything all year long. We can buy raspberries in December, corn-on-the-cob in January, on-the-vine tomatoes in February. But it feels wrong. A hot steaming ear of fresh corn needs to be eaten on a hot, steamy day in August. Raspberries should never be eaten unless you’re wearing shorts and sandals. Tomatoes should smell like the sun and be served on picnic tables. Authentic flavors reflecting and enhancing our environmentally harmonious existence, is what being a true “locavore” is all about.

When Jesus described himself as the “good shepherd,” he promised to care for his “flock” completely, even to the point of laying down his life for the sake of his “sheep.” Jesus’ “sheep” were not identified by color or size or attitude or ability. Jesus’ sheep, those that belonged to the good shepherd, were those whom Jesus “knew” and who “knew” Jesus.

Being in relationship with the good shepherd, not being some right size, shape, or color, made the good shepherd and his flock One.

As the “Good Shepherd,” Jesus cautioned those all ready gathered that there were “other sheep that do not belong to this fold.” These “other sheep” would also be joined into the one flock of the one shepherd (John 10:16).

This was not a new idea. The first thing God did for his chosen people Israel was to divide them up into twelve tribes. In Genesis 49:1-28, Jacob gathered his sons around him and described each of his offspring-—their strengths, their weaknesses, their unique identities, their dream futures. In 1 Chronicles 12, each of the 12 tribes of Israel parade before the new King David, presenting him with their unique gifts and attributes. All were children of Abraham, all chosen to be God’s people, each with their own mission, each with their own way to be a Jew.

There were many right ways to be a Hebrew.

There are many right ways to be a follower of Jesus.

The twelve tribes of Israel offered the template for Jesus, the good shepherd, to call and “know” sheep from other folds, as he welcomed them into the one “flock.”

Jesus’ flock is not composed of wooly-headed herbivores. His one flock is composed of the coming together of a host of unique “locavores.” Jesus’ “flock,” the followers of Christ, is going to have members that definitely look different, act different, are different. These particularities are what make Jesus’ “flock” strong, adaptable, enabled to grow and flourish in all sorts of different environments.

In the old tribalism, if you weren’t part of my tribe, I kill you.

In the new tribalism, if you aren’t part of my tribe, I kiss you because God’s truth is so complex and rich we need to “know” each other.

It’s a good thing that there are real difference between the way people follow Christ in South America, South Carolina, and Southern Italy.

It’s a good thing we have both the Protestant view of a faith that works and the Catholic view of works that faith.

A truly Christian “flock” celebrate its locavore uniquenesses.

At the same time we celebrate our “locavore uniqueness,” a truly Christian flock continually prays for unity and the “one flock.”

Not a unity that takes the smoothness of one culture to cut the spiciness of another.

Not a unity that mixes the too hot with the too cold to make some kind of a spew-worthy lukewarm faith (Rev. 3:16).

Not a unity that forces St. Roberts’ Rules of Order into communities where St. Paul’s Rules of the Spirit are free flowing.

The kind of unity that joins us into one “flock” is the “perfect harmony” of the Spirit of Christ. In Colossians 3:14, Paul says to “Put on love which binds everything together in perfect harmony.” I’ve often wondered if that is where the ad-writers for the 1971 Coca-cola commercial got the inspiration for their hit song: “I’d like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony . .” It’s known as one of the best commercials in television history.

The word “harmony” came into English from Latin, via French, but its origins are Greek. In classical Greek, “harmonia” was used for ideas of agreement, but its literal meaning, according to Liddell’s and Scott’s Lexicon, was this: “a fastening to keep ship-planks together or a “joint.” In other words, “harmony” literally means “to fit together.”

Are you ready for something really strange? The world “religion” comes from the Latin re-ligare which means literally “to fit together.” In other words, the two words “religion” and “harmony” mean exactly the same thing: to fit together. Not to melt together, or to fuse together, but to fit together . . . to take different shapes and sizes and “fit together” into one harmonious unity. Not a unity of one voice. But a unity of many voices following the voice of the ONE who knows and follows the Father in perfect harmony.

True “religion” leads to “harmony,” to concord, not to combat and contention.

There is a symbol for this. We began the exegesis of this text by mentioning how from Sunday School on the symbol of the shepherd is the crozier, the shepherd’s crook that is held by bishops, cardinals, and popes. Perhaps the earliest passage of Scripture we memorize in Sunday School is Psalm 23, “the Lord is My Shepherd” psalm. In this psalm it says “thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”

There is a difference between a shepherd’s “rod” and “staff.” A “rod” is symbol of authority. The shepherd wore it at the waste, under a belt, and used it as an offensive weapon. The “rod” was a cudgel worn to ward off aggressors and knock out invaders. The “rod” became an extension of the shepherd’s arm. It enforced conformity with the shepherd’s wishes. It sometimes was even thrown to deliver a fatal blow to the skull of a wild animal or robber.

But the Psalmist said “thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.” There was a comfort that came with the rod. That’s the comfort of rulership: the shepherd let everyone know who’s in charge. But there was another comfort that came with a staff: the comfort of relationship. It was a different comfort, but it was the comfort that Jesus appropriated in his image of “The Good Shepherd.”

The “staff” was quite different from the “rod,” as different as relationship is from rulership. The “staff” was a protective device: it was used to guide the sheep, to nudge them in directions they may not wish to go, to rescue them from cliffs, to steer them lovingly and to bring them home. The “staff” was a symbol of friendship, of care and tenderness.

The “crozier” is a fancy ecclesiastical name for a “staff.” Bishops don’t carry “rods” to beat people into line, or to enforce conformity, or to symbolize a high-handed rulership.

Ecclesiastical officials carry “staffs” to symbolize the relational nature of their office, staffs [like this one] which should be used to loving care for the sheep of your pasture, but also to bring different sheep from different pastures together into one flock behind the true One Shepherd.

Life is cosier with a crozier.