You’re from the Church aren’t you?

“You’re from the Church aren’t you?”  Two very different people have asked me this exact question in two very different situations in my life.

The first time occurred when I was a teenager. My father was pastor of a small community church in the Chicago suburbs.  The parsonage was physically connected to the church building and there was almost no separation between church life and the privacy my family probably deserved.

One day I was working in the front yard of the parsonage and an elderly man approached me.  He was apparently a neighbor, but one whom I had never seen before.  He was somewhat disheveled and seemed angry.  He strode over to me and demanded, “You’re from the Church aren’t you?" “Yes, I go to this church,” I replied.  He harrumphed, “Well tell your church that they’re too loud on Sunday mornings and they take up all the parking!” And then he turned around and made his way back.  I was speechless and couldn’t even manage a look of shock at this man’s annoyance. I told my father and some people from the church about my encounter and they informed me that he was not only nearly deaf but he also couldn’t drive anymore.  His inability to hear or park didn’t stop him from lodging a complaint to only person he saw outside of the church.  To him, the church was a nuisance and the church goers were a group of itinerants, bothersome and noisy.   In and out on a Sunday morning, we were a blight on his community even though we had co-existed for decades.  For all that time, the church did not make a convincing case for its existence to the old man didn’t seem like he had any interest in changing that opinion.

I’m sure anyone who’s been around the neighborhood in a front-door “evangelism” call has felt the same icy reception.  Doors slam in your face.  People don’t want to “buy whatever it is you’re selling!” Or you get locked into a theological discussion that leads nowhere, “What does that church say about…?”  And you leave the neighborhood feeling like you have no impact. 

The second time I was asked that question was very recently.  My church has the extreme fortune of being at the crossroads of two very busy bus lines in Chicago.   As a result, we get a lot of visitors.  At each service, there are usually a few visitors who don’t fill out contact cards because they have no permanent address.  They are homeless or, at least, homeless for the day.  In some congregations, these people would not find welcome.

On the other hand, my congregation takes our welcome very seriously.  We invite the people in and pass the peace with them.  If they are not comfortable sitting with the congregation, we find a place where they can participate to their level of comfort.  We invite them to coffee hour.  We share the leftovers with them.  We offer bus passes.  We chat with them.  In short, we treat them as God wants everyone to be treated when they enter God’s house: as a precious child of God who’s returned home after a long journey.  I am very proud of my congregation’s welcome. 

A homeless man has recently coming to our congregation since Easter.  He is elderly and dresses formally for the occasion.  He wears the best of the meager possessions he carries with him.  Yet, the past few weeks, I've had to wait in line behind two or three people to say good morning to him.  Although he appears embarrassed by the reception, I like to think our welcome touches him as only warmth and generosity can.

Last Sunday, I had to count the collection after the service.  I had to stay late and missed coffee hour.  As I was walking back to my car with a large envelope with lots of cash to deposit, he approached me and asked me for bus fare.  Then he looked up at me and asked, “You’re from the Church aren’t you?”  This time, there was no harshness or anger.  There was a slight pause, as if to say, “Wonderful, I’ve found someone who might help me”.   Unfortunately, I don’t give cash to people on the street.  But I did lead him to our pastor’s office, where there are pre-paid bus passes, which he greatly appreciated.

At first, I was tempted to look back on the two men who asked me the same question at very different times in my life.  Who were they?  What condition were they in when they approaced me?  What was their status?  Then I asked myself, Who was I?  What condition was I in?  These are interesting questions, but these are not spiritually challenging ones.

Maybe the difference in the men's asking has less to do with them and more to do with the two churches. Were they seen as sources of help and assistance or places where annoying, self-serving people go to celebrate themselves? 

I'm afraid that the church of my teenage years was not very welcoming.  It was very satisfied with it membership and didn't attempt to make any changes.  It was an historically significant building but not a socially engaging one.  It was a cloistered enclave, protected by its self-satisfaction and imposing masonry.  As I suspected, a recent Google search proved that it is no longer in existence.  The neighbor finally got his wish: quiet Sunday mornings and plenty of parking.

Please don't misunderstand me, my current congregation has a long way to go in extending its welcome to everyone.  There are many who are within the shadow of our building yet are leagues away from our community.  We can surely do more to provide the same radical welcome with which Christ invites us to the Eucharist. But I believe that the people of my current congregation share this idea.  Until all the millions and millions of broken and shattered pieces gather under the unity of the Cross, we cannot declare our church to be One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic.

Be radical in your welcome as Christ radically welcomes you.