weekend service.
We all showed up at the announced time. Many got there early to get a good seat.
It’s amazing how so many people from so many backgrounds can come together, and for an hour, choose to journey in the same direction. I guess all of us realized that we needed this, and without it, we’d be lost or stuck.
Still, it was obvious that what bonded our unity was actually what bothered us…
The congregation all agreed that the service was unimpressive and that we all had a right to be annoyed about it. I noticed the conversation picking up as people felt increasingly more free to “share” how they were feeling. Frustrations moved from muttering to loud banter. People talked most about the weather and they seemed to blame it for a multitude of things. Many enjoyed telling their stories. And though the next story was usually more dramatic than the previous, all were affirmed with a hearty “amen.”
The speaker was main target of anger and was expected to solve everyone’s problems. Comments were framed in such a way that made everyone on the outside of this congregation sound lame, uninformed, less important, or stupid.
I noticed that sarcasm was the most popular mode of communication. Sarcasm seems to be the way to make a point while still hiding one’s deep feelings and the easiest way to “bond” with someone while keeping a safe relational distance. It didn’t help that most wished that they were somewhere else.
Still, I observed a mystical unity created between strangers– sarcasm, cynicism, frustration, anger, and complaining seemed to bring the congregation together. With one majority voice, cries were validated and people were drawn to each other’s condition.
As we took our seats, the service began with a familiar rhythm. The regulars didn’t seem to pay attention– they heard it all before. The first timers looked around with noticeable anxiety. We all faced straight ahead trying to manage with as little communication with our neighbor as possible. And when the service was over, this once bonded community walked out as individuals, clearly as strangers.
I walked to my car, and drove home.
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(I’ll let you guess if I just described my delayed flight from Chicago to Grand Rapids, or some of my Sunday morning experiences. I pray for less similarity.)
You (plural) are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. – Mt 5.14
posted by steve @ 12:24 AM
2 comments
2 Comments:
the sad thing is, i dont have to guess. I experienced and questioned the same thing. However, i am one of them because all i have done is complain, express frustration, and participate. it will not change unless i change.
It's sad if the typical crybabies in an airport can't be differentiated from many of the souls in the pews. Seems too many want first class service at happy meal prices. Flying used to take financial means, now grad students and Vegas bound gamblers in wife-beater t-shirts are frequent flyers and the 80/20 rule applies to the smaller percentage of believers who are doing the larger percentage of the ministry labor. Maybe we ought to ask ourselves if we're "that guy" with the cheaper-than-Greyhound $99 coast to coast airline ticket complaining about the lack of free 1st class upgrades and Filet Mignon--or the ballast in the pew taking up valuable space whining about the music in the service because it doesn't sound like the stuff on the christian radio station. I've been "that guy", don't want to be again. I work/serve from the other side of both those worlds. Within reason, I try to please those audiences and don't see much difference between them. There are the "regulars" in each that quietly forge on the journey with dignity and wisdom, knowing in large part that snags and complications are just part of the landscape, but that overrall, the journey will be made and it will bless them and reward them in the end for their investment. I salute those with the grace and endurance to serve in church or christian ministries full-time i.e. ministries where you have an audience or customer base for lack of a better description. I don't know how you guys do it, but you're good soldiers for hanging in there. I appreciate your sacrifice. You're on to something steve.
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