Seeking a Friend in the Church Pew

This week marked the end of a unique 12-week program at my church that focused on rediscovering our creative selves. And while it was a wonderful, engaging and challenging course, full of lively weekly small-group based discussions about rekindling our inner artists, it became clear to me, week after week, as discussions moved from the parish house to friendly run-ins in the churchyard after Sunday service, to emails and invitations to non-program events and impromptu ride-sharing, that this mostly female group was looking for something beyond this 12-week course - we were looking for friendships. 

It started me thinking about how many of us have wandered into a church on a Sunday morning looking for God but really wanting a friend? And how many of us have avoided going to church because, in a sea of friendly faces, none of those people were our friend? 

I know way too many people who have stopped attending church because they're going through a divorce and are uncomfortable sitting alone in the pew. I know single people who have avoided church altogether because they feel hostility and judgement from those in the pews, but, I'm betting that if they had one solid friend in that church, they would be there every Sunday. And while churches are not responsible for playing friendship yenta, they are getting better at creating experiences wherein organic friendships may form and where personal boundaries are respected - a place beyond the coffee hour. We parishioners must also do our part by recognizing our own friendship needs and being sensitive to those uninterested in or unable to expand their circle to include us, and those on the outside just waiting for a friendly face to appear and hold out their hand in friendship.

Our Lady of Starbucks: Coffee Cups and Building Community

A few years ago, the Panera Bread in my neighborhood went through a controversial remodel. Out went the nest of individual four-top tables in the middle of the restaurant, and, in their place, came one long community table in Last Supper dimensions. Apparently, large Bible study groups who frequently used the Panera for their meetings were also cobbling together one long table from the old individual four-top tables, causing a lot of disruption for the other restaurant patrons who were, perhaps,  more interested in their Asian Chicken Salad and not so much in the book of Kings.  

It's not unusual for church meetings to spill out into the parking lots and cafes that are nearby. I can't count the number of times that a post-Sunday service chat in the churchyard turned into a longer coffee conversation at Le Pan Quotidien. But, just this week, while I was standing in line for my double espresso at the neighborhood Starbucks, I witnessed something amazing. It started with the woman in line in front of me. I've seen her there often, and as I got into line, she was mid-conversation with two gentlemen who were sitting at a table opposite the cash register. One of the gentlemen, an Ethiopian man in his 60s, was reading a newspaper, and the other was a younger white man who looked to be in his 30s. They were asking how this woman's husband was doing. It sounded as if he'd been plagued by some health problems of late. She asked after the older man's children, to which he responded with a nod and a quick, "they're OK". Soon, it was the woman's turn at the register and Mary, the barista who's been there for years, also asked after the woman's husband.  By the time I'd gotten my order and was on the way to the milk station, the woman had joined the two gentlemen at their table. There was a crisis, involving another of their coffee club who hadn't been seen for a few weeks, and soon the talk turned to putting together money to send to him and his family. These people had all met at that Starbucks and had forged their own community where they come together, take care of each other, discuss their joys and concerns and cares, and do good works. That sounds an awful lot like a church to me! 

So what does this mean for church life? Is the Starbucks my church's new competition? Does my church have to up its coffee game for the coffee hour? Should Sunday service abandon the church pew and opt, instead, for tables and chairs set to the sonic backdrop of the latest Beck CD? Maybe.

Yes, I said maybe, but it's not as absurd as it seems. We all just want to be more connected to each other. We hunger for that connection. Facebook and Instagram, with their infinite tagging, are the electronic equivalent of me grabbing you by the shoulder and saying, "look, we share something, we are connected!" But walk into a traditional church on a Sunday and you see the architecture of disconnection and separation. Rows of pews and an aisle cut right down the middle separate us from each other. And so we go to a Starbucks, or Mischa's or Cosi, grab a coffee, pull up a chair and create community. We talk to each other and we listen to each other, and the barriers of race, class, age, and education recede into the background as we break bread together (or a slice of Starbucks iced lemon pound cake). Maybe we can take these lessons of caffeinated community and bring them back into our sanctuaries. Until then, may Our Lady of Starbucks fill the cup of life with a double shot of love and joy and community:)

The Stranger: Why Your Church Isn't As Welcoming As You Think It Is

When was the last time you attended Sunday service at someone else's church? For those of us who regularly attend a house of worship, the answer to this question may be, "not in a long time." And if it's been a while since you were a guest at another church, I suggest that you try it. As churches struggle with declines in new membership and declining attendance by current members, church leaders are really looking under the hood at their churches for reasons why. One area that is coming under increasing scrutiny is the issue of welcome - how do we make potential members of our churches feel welcomed and wanted. 

Giving "good welcome" is more than greeting someone at the church door, although you'd be surprised how often even that one simple thing is overlooked. Good welcome includes everything from bulletins printed with explanations and order of service and instructions for receipt of Communion, to words of welcome from the minister during announcements, to the helpful usher alerting you to the location of restrooms and sitting you and your vocal 6-months old infant on the aisle nearest those restrooms. Good welcome is a chorus of cheerful "good mornings" said to visitors during the sign of peace and an invitation to coffee hour as you pass them at the conclusion of service. 

But, a lot of us have forgotten what it's like to be the stranger and so we assume that our church home, that familiar place in which we feel welcomed every Sunday, is a place of good welcome when it is not. I recently visited a church on a Sunday morning and within the first few minutes of my arrival, I knew it was going to be an interesting experience. The main door to the sanctuary was closed so it was impossible to assess if there was a church service in progress. A simple "Service in progress" sign near the entrance would have helped, but there was no sign posted and so I walked around to what looked like a side entrance, just in case. That entrance also had no signage posted, but the door was open and so in I went. There were parishioners around, but no one said hello, they just looked at me. When I offered a "good morning", I was given one head nod, and one mumbled, "hi" and that was it. It didn't get better.

That morning I witnessed a lot - from choir members fighting with guest choristers over choir robes and actually saying the words, "well, you don't belong here", to coffee hour volunteers telling a parishioner "no" when asked if they could have a cup of tea before set-up was complete. I spent the sign of peace looking like the failed debutante whose dance card was blank as those around me made their way out of the pews and into the aisles for a sign of peace that lasted some 10 minutes and left me stranded. There were so many missed opportunities to make this stranger feel welcomed. At the coffee hour, there was no attempt to ask me the name/rank/serial number that you'd think would be asked of a stranger showing up at your church. As I was leaving, someone asked if I had plans to come back for another Sunday, and you can guess the answer that flashed across my brain!

You'd think that I would have left and said, "forget them!" but it really just made me sad, and then mad, and then curious. Did the people of that church think that they were welcoming? Did I have an unfair expectation as a guest at a church? Does my own church make the stranger feel welcomed?

This last question caused me the most introspection. My husband and I have brought many guests to our church over the years and they've enjoyed their experiences, but we were with them introducing them to other parishioners, retrieving extra copies of the Book of Common Prayer and the hymnal and walking them through the order of service, telling them where the restrooms are, and filling them in on how we do Communion and the joys of Intinction. But, I also remember how a friend of mine, along with her husband, had come to our church on their own for a Christmas Eve service and how their experience was as uninspiring as mine was at that other church I had visited a few weeks ago. My dear friends were greeted as they entered the sanctuary, but that was it. They were overlooked during the sign of peace and ignored at the service's conclusion as they made their way out of the church. No one asked them who they were, where they were from, what church (if any) they attended, or what brought them to our church. I was embarrassed but I chalked up their experience to a very crowded church that was probably filled with other strangers also seeking the Christmas Eve experience. 

I think about that terrible Christmas Eve every Sunday when my husband and I are hurrying (late) into the churchyard and rushing into the sanctuary and I stop and remember to take a look around and notice those strangers sitting around us. I remember to seek them out at the sign of peace to introduce myself and wish them a good morning. My husband never fails to step in and proffer a hymnal to a confused stranger who may not know the rituals of our church. We remember to thank that stranger with whom we've shaken hands and sung hymns for coming to our church, invite them to come again, and direct them to the coffee and the forum. And, we remember each Sunday that we were once strangers here ourselves. 

The Party's Over: Getting Over the Post-Christmas Hangover

There's something a bit sad about a church after Christmas Day. Sure, the decorations usually stay up, at least until Epiphany, but it's just not the same. The pre-Christmas, Advent build up is mighty impressive, in terms of brand development and marketing. The hymns go into that "glad tidings" mode on the road to Christmas. The prophet Isaiah goes into heavy rotation and there seem to be angels everywhere. The secular world helps out, too, with supermarkets taking over whole aisles devoted to the King of Kings' sub-brands - jolly inflatable snow men, candy canes, red bows, wrapping paper tubes, and Christmas wreaths, and department stores exhausting themselves with endless sales and 24/7 hours. Cable TV dusts off holiday chestnuts so that for at least a month or two all of the world gets to know Jimmy Stewart and wonder just how wonderful his "Wonderful Life" really was. Car companies trot out giant red bows and radio stations throw out their formats, opting, instead, for the Beach Boys crooning about Christmas. This total and complete saturation brings people into churches in droves with seating at Christmas Eve services putting sanctuaries at or over capacity. And then the clock strikes midnight, and as the crowds head home, and the churches, awash in Christmas greens and flourishes of red, go quiet, an emptiness begins to creep into these houses of worship. It's as if the rush to Christmas was one, big party, but what happens when those revelers leave and the clean-up begins?

Those practiced church goers are familiar with the phrase C&E Christians, meaning those who show up for Christmas and Easter and that's all. Pastors seem flummoxed on how to get these infrequent guests to come to the church's weekly "party", to extend further the metaphor. Much attention is given over to figuring out how to convert this attraction into retention, and while this is important for church growth, in terms of a church's health, I'm more interested in those who always stay after the party. Growing up Roman Catholic, I grew up with the concept of Ordinary Time - that time in the liturgical calendar outside of the major seasons (after Epiphany and after Pentecost). And while there is a more scholarly explanation for the term "Ordinary Time" that refers to the numbering of the weeks in Ordinary Time using ordinal numbers (ordinalis in Latin, if you'd like to be fancy), calling something "ordinary" is like calling something boring/dreary/bleak. 

But not everything is ordinary in Ordinary Time. The passionate volunteers who show up to make the coffee for coffee hour, who teach your children in Sunday school, who greet you with a friendly smile every Sunday - these people do ordinary things to bring us into the mystery of the extraordinary. 

I know it can be hard to look around your churches on those post-Christmas Sundays remembering those heady Christmas Eve services where worshippers were turned away to the overflow space in the auditorium! Any host who throws a party wants guests to show up and have a good time, and nobody wants to be at a party that's a bust. But, before you start weeping bitter tears into the communion chalice, dry your eyes and look ahead. If you've been sitting on the sidelines, volunteer. The Christmas party might be over, but do you know what's better than the party? The After Party!!