I handed in my "Traditional Ministry" lapel pin years ago. As a long-time member of that club, I woke up one morning and realized I was a maintenance man for the church rather than a participant in the mysterious dance that shapes us all into disciples of Christ. The "growth" my churches experienced during that time most often occurred when disgruntled insiders from other congregations decided to jump ship and try something new. Not all of that was bad. In fact, one of my best friends fits that description, so I am grateful for people who find a home, however it is they do so. Truth is, I fit that category if you look at it from a certain point of view.
What I gave up on, however, was not the church. It was my approach to church. Instead of a place where every decision was made by the budget, I wanted to imagine a group of people that might welcome those who do not exactly fit the typical southern Christian mold.
This morning, I found myself in an unlikely conversation. I already planned on being home today to get some touch-up painting done around the house. What I did not predict last week was that I would be confined to the blue recliner nursing a slowly-healing back injury.
The phone rang.
"Hello."
"Yes, Mr. Christian, this is Linda." (I changed her name, by the way.)
"Okay, I'll meet you at the front door."
Linda the house painter. Speaking of atypical southern molds.
I walked her around the house showing her places that needed touching up, then told her I needed to go sit back down.
"Just come to the living room and get me if you need anything."
"Sure thing, Mr. Christian," Linda said with her thick New England accent.
When she made it into the living room she started talking. The loquacious type, Linda is.
"So I saw the pictures of your family. Beautiful kids."
"Thank you."
"What do you do?" she asked.
"My wife is a therapist, and I am a minister."
Now, if you are a pastor of any stripe you know the look your non-church acquaintances get on their faces when the find out you are a member of the kah-lergy. If you are not, try to picture the look your mother-in-law got when she found out about your tattoo. That look, well, Linda did not wear that one. Instead, she teared up.
"When I was a little Catholic girl," she began, "I wanted to be a priest. But everyone told me that I couldn't, because I'm a girl."
To make a short story long, Linda has not been a part of a church family for years. She quit school in the eighth grade, and as of today considers herself "agnostic." But it was not long until our conversation turned to my church where men and women are on equal footing, where no one has the upper hand in serving God, and where "agnostics" like Linda (and even myself some days) find a room filled with those on a journey seeking something more substantive than a perfectly planned and executed one hour worship service.
"Linda," I told her, "I want you to give God another chance. Just because someone in the past told you something in the name of Jesus does not mean it was actually from Jesus."
From that point on, every conversation, including the one where she showed me a crack she repaired in our bedroom ceiling, was lightly sprinkled with her tears. I really hope I see her again on Sunday.
This May, I am going to a conference that got me interested in this whole lifestyle evangelism thing in the first place. The speakers all have deep interest in this approach to Christianity where every moment is an opportunity each one of us has to shine the light of Christ. (If you want to check it out, by the way, it is called "Streaming" at Rochester College just outside Detroit: http://www.rc.edu/pages/streaming/)
I could not help but think about that conference this morning after Linda left to go on to her next house. My expectation is that it will further equip those of us who attend to rethink what it means to be the church. And if by some wonderful stroke of God's will we get to have people in our path like Linda who long for God but just do not know what to do about the cracks in their own ceilings, well, that may be the best thing we could hope for.
