The Church Visit

I visited the local American church, Mission Baptist Church with unfavorable results. It was the standard blend-it-all-together-so-that-a-message-is-difficult-to-see type of place. I walked to the church and sat in the back. The pastor beelined his way to me with a heavy southern drawl in tow and let me know that he “was so happy that I could visit today.” The associate pastor (I immediately knew that he was the associate pastor because his drawl was inferior to the first guy) followed up to greet the poor wanderer who came in from the wilderness. A Korean couple sat next to meet, but we carefully avoid eye and physical contact.

Here’s the measure of a church, plain and simple. This is the yardstick in which everything else is measured: how does a church welcome visitors. If the pastor stands up and gives a warm, toothy greeting to people who made it in for the first time, then that is a church I’m eager to continue learning about. If the pastor in any way makes me stand up in front of 100 other people to say my name, then I will not go back. In this simple test lies the heart and soul of sound doctrine. I think you already know which church this is.

During the pleading to stand and introduce yourself to a crowd of people who will not even attempt a stab at memorizing your name, I sat silent. But, they had these damned name tags. I didn’t have one so that labeled me. My bare chest was my Star of David awaiting persecution. The Korean lady turned to me and said, “Is this your first time?” I nodded, then she said, “You can stand up and introduce yourself.” I said, “No thank you,” as if she offered me another helping of chimsee. “Go ahead,” she urged. I replied, “I don’t want to.” She then broke all kinds of social ettiqutte when she waved to the back at the pastor while tapping me on the back with her other hand. She was flagging down the head pastor as if it the Gospel Ship was leaving station and she was in the snack bar. I turned to her and in my mean-yet-quiet voice said, “Please stop that.” She followed my command and faced forward looking for other visitors.

We shook hands during the greeting part of the service (that was after eviscerated choruses and before the sermon on “Great Leaders are Humble Servants”), but continued avoiding each other. After the final greeting was pronounced, I turned left out of the pew and headed for the exit door. She called out to me, “See you next Sunday.” I cursed with my smile.