Just Visiting

I visited a church today.

I am a single mom with two boys, five and seven. Yes, I see the irony of deciding to go back to church on Father’s Day.

I am a cancer survivor. It’s been eighteen months since I was diagnosed, two months since I finished up chemo. I’m supposed to be exuberant about beating the disease, but with no enemy to fight every day, I’m sure who I am anymore.

I am a doubter. Okay, a cynic. I can’t swallow mom and dad’s old-time organs and homilies. But I wonder if there might be answers. About the origins of the universe. About evil and suffering. About how my life has turned out this way.

I am gay. Nobody at this church needs to know that. I’ll slip in late and out early and get what I can.

I am a hypocrite. There won’t be a scripture quoted in service today that I couldn’t quote myself. But this is my Sunday routine. Maybe today I’ll whisper I’m sorry again. Maybe I’ll start over again. Maybe I’ll promise to do better. This is my Sunday routine . . . which follows my Friday and Saturday night routine.

I could have been any of these people when I walked through the church doors today, though I probably wouldn’t be mistaken for a single mom. I love the anonymity of church vacation church experiences. Nobody waits in line to talk to me. Nobody tenses up as I walk by. I could be anyone.

This was the “happening” church in St. Louis for young people. Reports were that Gateway shares much in common with this congregation. Because Gateway is launching a multisite church strategy in Austin this fall, I thought I’d do a little advance scouting just to see how this church does multiple campuses.

I arrived on campus a little late. Everyone else, apparently, was dutifully on time. No one in the parking lot to direct me. No signs. No one in the lobby to greet me. No reassuring nods or smiles.

The festivities had already begun, so I employed stealth to find a nondescript seat in the back row shadows. What an amazing facility! Comfortable seats, excellent acoustics, enormous stage.

The speaker, a guy, 30ish, wearing standard-issue preacher khakis was talking from I Corinthians about the Lord’s Supper and was building a compelling case for John Calvin’s view of the Eucharist. Transubstantiation. Consubstantiation. Swinglyism. All the views were represented. He cited his Reformed seminary training four times and quoted the authors right-thinking young scholars are quoting these days.

Please don’t misunderstand. This is a great church, led by talented, Christ-following, dynamic people. Jesus was present in the service. I’m sure he was pleased.

But I was alone.

I felt like a new candidate for the Masons who didn’t know the secret handshake. I was an expatriate living in Tehran. I was the junior high kid sitting alone at the end of the lunch table. Their backs were to me when I arrived, when I sat, and when I left.

I was coaching a business owner in Austin once about how to create a powerful sales meeting for his company. Of course, agendas are important. Definitely have well-spoken, confident communicators. You can’t go wrong with some strong visuals. Make ‘em laugh. Pump them up with motivation. But, I would be a pathetic advisor if I didn’t let him in on the secret ingredient – human connection, a tropically warm relational temperature in the room. Only about 1/3 of human connection that matters comes from the platform. Most of it is generated from the verbals and nonverbals of the insiders or members or in-the-know caste. At a typical sales meeting, a large percentage of folks arrive, sit, and leave alone.

And they wonder if they belonged there. They wonder if they mattered. And those nagging questions will be unconsciously factored into their mental calculus of whether or not they will go to the next meeting. “I probably shouldn’t go to the meeting this month. I’ve got some calls I need to make today.” (Subtext: “I don’t want to feel alone again, like I did last time.”

You never know, do you? What is that person’s story who is sitting near me in church . . . just two rows up and three chairs to the right? He’s well dressed. It seems like he’s into this whole experience. I wonder why he is alone.

Should I say something to him after the service? Maybe just a smile or something?

I’m sure it is a great church, this one I checked out today. I don’t even know whether or not I would have enjoyed a few questions like, “Is it your first time today? Where are you from? What did you think of the service?” I’m positive I would have turned down a lunch invitation. But, even if I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it, I wanted/needed to be connected to something bigger than me this morning.

I am a pastor from another town. I’m wondering who I am and where I belong in the Body of Christ.

I visited a church today.