Another long #AnikaStory. Ministry Edition. (Possibly worth the read if the latter resonates with your professions and callings and you or churches complain at all about “how to get more people to come to church”…)
Tonight I was invited to a community dinner. At a church I’ve been meaning to visit (my “pulpit
supply” and “life” dance cards have been quite full post move). I’m painfully lacking in connections in the
place I now call home and so I decided to accept the invitation (which the inviters
went out of their way to extend. I
wanted to acknowledge their gracious effort with at least a little of my own).
Except I literally knew no one at this church – including the
inviters. (#AdultPK connections) I couldn’t pick them out of a line up. I exited the surprisingly full parking lot (this
church is out of town and almost in the middle of nowhere and I was impressed
by the turnout) and walked into a beautiful church building, which I had never before
entered, not knowing what to expect or even the faces of those who invited me. What
started as a genuine, if half-hearted, attempt at connection turned into a bit
of a social experiment as this life long PK and a near professional pulpit
supply (aka: I’ve been in and served in a LOT of churches) attempted to find a literal
seat at the table.
To keep an extremely long story from getting excruciatingly
long, here are the highlights:
- I entered the church to a couple of ladies who looked up pleasantly but acknowledged me only by how high I jumped when the doors clanked behind me (“Looked like that surprised you!”). They returned to a conversation while I looked for directions, expectations, where to go, etc. Their table had a note pad with names (was I supposed to sign in??) and numbered cards (were those important??) but they didn’t point me towards it. Or anything for that matter. They hadn’t actually said even “hello”. After a minute or so I located the fellowship hall down a hall. A “thanks for coming!” followed me as I walked that way.
- I wandered around the fellowship hall for several minutes. I saw many church people (identifiable by their bright shirts and aprons) but there were none to greet me or give me instructions. There was no identifiable food line and I couldn’t quite figure out where/how the flow was supposed to go. A slight bottle neck of people were by the kitchen window, but I couldn’t figure out quite what to do based on observations (Were they serving at the table? The window? What was being offered?) I saw drink pitchers on tables but no cups. A desert table with cakes being served, but no silverware. I kept wandering.
- There were two or three friendly nods from a distance, but no one spoke to me or approached me. (Yes, I fully realized I could have asked, but by this point I really wanted to see how the numerous church people would respond to me, a random community person, at a free community dinner, who looked lost – because I was.)
- I found the coffee as I circled back to the entrance – with mugs – finally something I could do on my own. Tables were set up family style (10-12 could fit comfortably around). Several were completely full. The rest were empty.; there were no half-filled tables. So, I sat down at a completely empty table, by myself, with my mug of coffee, and people watched. I sat alone for more than 20 minutes. NOT ONE of the two dozen people in bright church shirts did more than polite nod in my direction as they passed.
- I was getting ready to leave when my inviter paused to say hello, asked my name, and then, realizing who I was, introduced herself and engaged in conversation. What struck me was her excitement over how invested this church is in missions with a list of the things they do. All I could think was “you’ve mastered the ‘to’ part; you’ve failed at the ‘with’.”
There were things the church did well. Pieces I could celebrate.
But as someone who walked into a church where I wasn’t the guest preacher or
the pastor’s (or the DS’s *gasp*) daughter for once, I wondered immediately what they
are like on a Sunday morning. I want a
church that cares that I exist, not just that I’m there (though I’m not sure
the latter was true either). I want a church that wants to do life with me. That
wants me to do life with them.
And the reality is, I’ve been in some of your churches on a
Sunday morning (as the guest preacher or the pastor’s daughter and just someone
looking for a church home, honestly) and have too often gotten versions of the
same I experienced tonight. Some of you (or your churches, or just that one grumpy old lady in the back row. Please let me take a moment to note during this Pastors Appreciation month how
many of my connections are pastors and how hard your job is and that the call
to feed and shepherd your sheep comes along with the adage about bringing
horses to water... I realize most of you are the choir.) are complaining about
how to get more people in church pews on Sunday when you don’t care when they
are literally in your own building on Thursday! And they are the ones who got as far as the building!
I’ve been to churches where I was yelled at for looking the
for the bathroom when there was no one to ask, let alone put me in the right
direction. I’ve been “huh-humph!”-ed out
of more than one pew that apparently is occupied by a season ticket holder. I have filled pulpit at churches where I was asked if was a first time visitor - despite having worshipped with that same congregation more than a dozen times. There
are the churches whose welcoming committee needs a less people-y ministry if
they are going to greet first time visitors by bad mouthing other church members.
And, honestly, I’ve visited SO many churches where I have sat alone in a pew,
worshipping alone, may or may not have been given a cursory handshake by the
pastor at the end of service, and left without a single person saying so much
as “good morning”. If you don’t even
care about me on Sunday when you can include me in the numbers, I guarantee you
don’t care about me on Thursday.
I’ve been to conferences and had conversations about how to
reach the next generation. I’ve heard
well meaning speakers talk about Boomer churches valuing tradition over connection. I’ve heard pastors talk about what it means
to reach younger people. And I gotta tell you, I agree with the premise, but I
disagree with most solutions. I’m a millennial
who loves a meaningful worship team but was raised on organ and piano and
absolutely think your drums ruin “Great is the Thy Faithfulness”. And as a millennial I will tell you my
generation (and those below I’ve chatted with though I in no way speak for all
or even most), don’t actually care about whether or not you have a guitar
player or an organist (though there is a desire for quality in whatever you’ve
chosen). We don’t care about the size of your screens or even if you’ve finally
updated to Canva instead of PowerPoint.
We are looking for signs of life.
For signs of intention. For honest connection. For relationship.
The thing is the good news of Jesus Christ has been changing
lives for over 2000 years. And it’s been
done with Gregorian Chants and pipe organs and electric drums. With incense and candles and smoke machines. With
big churches and small churches and home churches and AA meetings where the
smoke is more therapeutic than atmospheric.
It’s been done with NIV and The Message and the KJV. Perhaps most confusingly, it’s been done with
Latin. And church history is RIDDLED
with problems and apologies and things that haven’t been done even a little bit
well…but the hope of Christ has carried on despite it all. Which tells me that we need to care a lot more
about the message than the mechanism.
And a relational message needs to be communicated in relationship. Emmanuel
literally means God WITH us… what makes
us think that we can communicate such love and hope with anything less?
1 comment:
Amen!
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