Those People Love!

I have a place.

It's a little coffee shop on East Jackson. Another coffee shop out on highway 120 used to be my place to sit, outline a sermon, have a cup of coffee and breathe. But the old place closed up. The new shop is called Heavenly Brew. It's in a little, old house that used to be a florist shop.

HB is just right. Safe. Cozy. They know my name...and they know I like warmed-up 2% milk with my baked oatmeal.

I have a place.

This morning I noticed a woman noticing me. She was sitting with her college-age daughter, having a conversation, and as they got up to go she approached me. Held out her hand. Said, "Don't I know you...you're the pastor at the church?" I nodded and introduced myself. Told her, yes, that I was down the street at Trinity United Methodist.

She told me she lives a few blocks from Trinity. The woman belongs to a small church in Goshen. But she has slipped into Trinity a couple of times for worship or a class or a women's ministry thing.

Her face lit up. "Oh, that church!" she said. "There is great stuff going on, and the people are so welcoming...so loving! As soon as I walked in I could tell they cared...loved one another. And I felt so welcome."

Before the woman left the shop we shook hands. She threw her arms open wide and said, "Those people know how to love!"

I'll tell our people that, this weekend. Remind them about what others see and we may take for granted.

I have a place.

I think everyone wants to have a place -and often they are looking to the church to be just that place.

Do Distracted, Tired Angels Still Sing?

If you look up the word angel in the dictionary you're certainly not going to see my picture. I'm not sure I'm qualified to do certified, angel-type work.

I'm sure the shepherds, in Luke's account of the birth of Jesus, probably felt the same way. They were sort of among the "untouchables" of Palestinian society. Their work kept them dirty and prevented them from keeping Jewish kosher laws and observing many of the religious rituals. The closest thing to shepherds in modern-day life in the Midwest might be carnival workers. That interesting tribe of folks who move from town to town and set up the rides.

Even though I'm not qualified to be an angel, God asks me to show up every Christmas and tell the story. Explain to a room full of people what the birth of Jesus means. Some of the folks are half-asleep, still trying to recover from that second slice of pie at dinner. Some are grouchy because they have been dragged to church against their will. A few are intoxicated. And there are a few who are leaning forward on their chair, longing to hear a word from God.

This Christmas I was fighting a cold. I was tired and distracted. If I were a pitcher -and I suppose every preacher is a pitcher- this Christmas I would have told my "manager", "I don't think I have good stuff, Skipper."

So I felt off my game. Wooden. The music was astounding...beautiful... inspiring. The dancers were a delight. The Christmas video was just right. And I felt tired. Wooden. The words tumbling out of my mouth and falling to the ground. Instead of soaring what I had to say seemed to fall to the ground...nearly lifeless.

The good news, of course, is that Jesus is still born. Despite what I may feel like or the quality of my work. Jesus is still born. God still comes. Salvation has to do with the grace of an all-powerful love and is not dependent on my ability to be always "up." Always "on." Always able to bring the 90-mile fastball.

Sometimes God calls unlikely characters to carry a message. I wonder if any of the shepherds were distracted or tired. I wonder if they were feeling the cold or worrying about the sheep that had been left behind.

It's cool that they still showed up, isn't it?

The Devil and American Bandstand.

Some of us are old enough to remember when Dick Clark's "American Bandstand" was a big deal on Saturdays for teenagers. There was this playlist of top songs. They'd change from week to week. Sometimes a song was "hot" and climbing "up the charts." And sometimes the song was stalled or dropping. People just weren't buying it the way they were the week before.

Those of us who grew up in the Chicago area in the 1960's used to listen to the disk jockeys on WLS-AM and WCFL-AM play down (or up) the top 30 popular songs every afternoon. You went from #30 to #29 to #28. Until, right before the end of the show, the hotest song in the country was played.

Today my copy of Outreach magazine came in the mail. It's a pretty good resource for Christian leaders looking for creative ideas about reaching out...serving people in need...putting the Christian message to work in tangible ways...welcoming guests.

I'm sure the folks who put Outreach together are good folks. No doubt about that. I'm sure they mean well. But this special issue is covered in red and the headline on the front cover says: The Outreach 100 Largest-Fastest Growing Churches in America."

The churches are listed. Fastest growing. Largest. Overall. By denomination.

I was tempted to toss the magazine in the trash because nothing good can come from a list like this. Especially if your church -as our's last year- is on an attendance plateau. No one is beating down my door to ask how we are setting attendance records. God is doing some cool things at Trinity. Amazing things. Ordinary people are falling in love with God and putting their lives on the line in good ways. But we're not going to be among the top 100 in Outreach. We wouldn't be in the top 200 or 300. We're pretty big but we're not that big and we're not that hot.

Years ago, when the "church growth movement" was getting up a head of steam, our denomination used to hand out awards every year to "hot churches." It was sort of like recognizing the folks, in the insurance industry, who have made the "million dollar club."

A friend of mine watched these awards being handed out, and he said, "This is demonic." I thought he was a grumpy preacher who had been turned sour by life.

You know what? I think my friend was right.

I can't, for the life of me, figure out how the Kingdom of God is served by a Christian magazine putting on a special issue on The Outreach 100 Largest-Fastest Growing Churches in America. The ones who make it may be wise enough to thank God from whom all blessings flow, and celebrate what God is doing in their midst with appropriate humility. Or they find pride an unwelcome intruder...a parasite they can't get rid of. Perhaps they start feeling the pressure to keep it going...keep it growing...push the pedal to the floor and keep it there.

Those churches that are out there, doing their best for God, blessing their communities in the large and small ways that healthy churches do, but aren't on the list of the 100 Largest or 100 Fastest Growing may succumb to some kind of despair. Find themselves looking down on, devaluing, the blessed, good stuff the risen Christ has been doing in them and through them. They may feel like failures because their tech team and resources can't compare to the half-million dollars a nearby mega-church has invested in lights and sound systems and projection screens.

It's a good thing to be reminded that God is doing good things in big ways. Yep. It's a good thing to hear stories of churches where the Spirit of God stirred people to break through all sorts of racial or geographical or attendance barriers.

I think our preoccupation with size is demonic. Healthy churches have this way of growing. Jesus talks, in John 15, about the vine that is pruned so it can bear fruit. Grow. But listing the 100 largest or fastest growing churches is evidence of the poverty of our spirituality in North America.

We're like some kind of religious disk jockey, counting down the top hits. It's a devilish activity.

Jesus wants us to focus on faithfulness: the Devil wants us to fixate on size.

"How Are You Doing?" Takes Time.

One of regular parts of life for me is the daily trip to the local YMCA. (Okay, let's be honest: It's a time I make about four or five times a week... not daily!)

After awhile you begin to notice the other "regulars." There is Betty, the woman who sits at the registration desk and "buzzes" us through the locked doors. It took me awhile to win her over with my enthusiastic "Good morning, Betty" greeting. But after a few months she started smiling and making sure I had the best towel in the stack to use after my shower. There is Dick, the retiree, who monitors the Cybex (light weights) room and the cardio area (stairclimbers and treadmills and other cool stuff). There is Ernie, the ex-Navy guy who is in his mid 70's and steps carefully, painfully, onto and off of the machines.

And there is another guy. I'll call him "Thomas." Thomas runs the laundry at the Y. He picks up the towels from the locker rooms. He replaces soap in the dispensers in the showers. He cleans out the drains when they're clogged.

I've been going to the Elkhart Y for more than 12 years, and it wasn't until about 8 months ago that I learned Thomas' name. When I would see him I would say, "Good morning, Thomas." Or I would thank him for what he does, "Thanks for taking care of the towels and the shower room, Thomas." And when I would be on my way out I'd say, "Have a good day, Thomas."

What did I get back? Nothing. Maybe a grunt. But usually nothing.

Then, a week ago, he walked up behind me and said, "How are you doing?" I didn't say anything because I thought he was talking to another guy standing nearby. Then, I realized he was talking to me!

For the last week every time he sees me, Thomas says, "Good morning." Or, "How are you doing?" Or, "Have a good day."

I am sort of surprised. I didn't think our relationship was ever going to move off a grunt. Not get to this place.

I've been thinking about this all day. Since this morning when Thomas asked, again, how I was doing.

It's a reminder, I think, that sometimes "How are you doing?" takes time. Relationships require patience. You just keep plugging away.

Sort of like putting out a humming bird feeder. You get it all set out, just right, but nothing happens. You keep cleaning the feeder, mixing the sugar and water, filling it up, and watching...waiting. It seems like a silly, hopeless thing to do. Then, oneday, you notice this small bird hovering, darting, moving, feeding.

In my line of work we encourage people to reach out to other people. Take the initiative in showing care and interest. Listening to the other person's life. In my line of work -as a pastor- we nudge people to build relationships, and invite others to swing by our church and give our donuts and coffee, our love and heart, our groups and worship, a try. "Go make disciples," we say quoting Matthew 28. "Go tell others."

I know it can be a frustrating thing. You mention to your lunch buddy, every year in November, the possibility of coming to Christmas Eve worship with you. You talk to kid on the soccer team about youth fellowship or summer camp. Nothing. Nada. (Is that how you spell that?) You feel like you are in a rowboat and you are nudging an iceberg the size of Texas.

Maybe it never moves. Maybe nothing changes.

Or, maybe, oneday you turn around and Thomas is saying, "How are you doing?"