Not a "Rock Band" Church
P and I have been sitting in the front middle for Sunday morning worship for quite some time now. I don't remember exactly when we made the change from "someplace in the back" to "front and center" -- and I can assure you it wasn't my decision -- but there we are, most Sundays. I complain sometimes because those rows tend to fill up and we tend to get squwunched into the middle, which I hate because I always have to leave service at least once to tend to children or help in the nursery, and that leaves me (and at least one child) crawling over five or six other people in our aisle. To make matters worse, we are one of only two young families in that section, so chances are really good that I'm crawling over elderly couples or visitors, which is nothing less than mortifying for me, every. time. If we are early, P moves us to the middle of the pew and the sides fill up. If we are late, P makes us all crawl over people to the middle of the pew because the sides are already filled up and we can't make people move over (especially since they are usually elderly or visiting). There is no winning this game. I've complained about it loudly, but he is a trifle deaf to my arguments. And to be fair, I've tried to fight the squwunching on my own, but it's like an unstoppable force. Perhaps the auditorium is slanted a bit right there, and because we usually have the most stuff, counting kids and coloring books and diaper bags and the five Bibles that I insist we bring every Sunday, we just naturally roll to the center, no matter how close to the aisle I try to plant my bottom. And so, there we are, front and center and surrounded on all sides.
But let me tell you about the sweet people who surround us. About Mr. Lee, a trim elderly gentleman who always wears a bolo and greets us by name ever since the first day we met. About the Archibalds, who commiserate with us on the trials of having Young Kids in Church because they aren't too far past this season to have forgotten what it's like. About the teens who sit in front of us and who always grin and make room when one of their own shows up halfway through the sermon. About the ladies from the halfway houses who praise God and declare "Amen!" with a genuineness that often leaves me in tears. About the widows who sit a few pews behind us, smiling and cooing at Andrew and thinking that Luke and Sarah absolutely hung the moon. About Tina, a young single woman who sits quietly next to us and discreetly entertains whichever of our children has wandered over next to her. Or even those visitors, whose toes may be crushed by the end of service but who smile at us and shake our hands and don't seem to be entirely too upset to have ended up sitting next to a busy little group such as ourselves.
And let me tell you about Billie Carlton, one of those sweet widows, whose simple but precious Christmas card stands out this year among the myriad photo cards from friends and family: "May God continue to Bless your precious little family, which has brought me much joy watching the children grow," she writes. "See you in church hopefully, haven't seen much of you lately, guess your moving further back. Much love to all, Billie C." I hunted her down in Bible class on Sunday to sheepishly assure her that we haven't abandoned our regular pew section; we'd only been out of town or too late to find a seat for the past few weeks. But I also told her how much her card meant to me; the time she took to think of us and write is an expression of love worthy of the body of Christ.
Recently, P was telling me how a friend who attends another Church of Christ in town had described the difference between our churches as "more traditional" versus "rock band." Perhaps you can guess which one is ours? P and I both agreed that this (admittedly offhand) classification is terribly disappointing to hear - not because we are "rock band" -- we most certainly are not (I still hide my head in shame every time we try to sing "Get Right Church" or anything that requires any sort of rhythm) -- but "more traditional" is surely far from the truth for our little church family, one that is literally comprised of people from all walks of life and socioeconomic backgrounds, one that has focused all remodeling efforts in the past few decades on our food pantry and the building that houses a local school health clinic, and one that is constantly finding new ways to serve God in our five-mile-radius (and beyond)! Our HOPE ministry for recovering addicts and our community garden and our missions efforts are all evidence that God is using Southside in far from traditional ways, and it is frustrating to think that anyone on the outside might see our traditional-looking building and hear our traditional-sounding song service and find out about our traditionally-arranged worship schedule and never know about all the stuff that happens outside of those things. On the other hand, as I sit in that traditional worship service, surrounded by my dear family as well as my dear Family, I am astounded to realize that God is also using our oldest (and sometimes stodgiest) traditions as a vessel for His grace, as He makes this body a new (but decidedly not stodgy) creation.
Our Sunday evening programs over the past several years have changed repeatedly to focus on different efforts, from outreach and evangelism to family growth to family in service together. These "small group" programs have kept us on our toes and required us to be open to new things when it comes to doing church together. However, the other portion of our Sunday evening program -- our monthly "Generations," in which we indeed return to the "traditional" by meeting for a brief time of worship on Sunday evening followed by a meal together -- has been a powerful way in which God has worked in our family, connecting us with other partners who are not in our Sunday school classes or small groups and who may not serve in the same areas in which we serve -- and, most notably, who are not among our own "generations." On those evenings, God moves among us, binding us together with His Spirit, erasing the facade of difference and revealing a oneness that is only possible through the power and goodness of Christ. I find myself feeling at home with my church brothers and sisters on those evenings, just as I have begun to feel so comfortable squished in the middle in the front pews Sunday morning, surrounded by the family of God. I find myself thinking that this is the church that Christ prayed for, that they might be one as He and the Father are One.
And I must confess that if "traditional" means that we are a unified church body seeking to glorify God in both old and new ways -- just as so many others have done in the past and continue to do throughout the world today -- then perhaps I shouldn't be so disappointed to hear that our reputation precedes us.
But let me tell you about the sweet people who surround us. About Mr. Lee, a trim elderly gentleman who always wears a bolo and greets us by name ever since the first day we met. About the Archibalds, who commiserate with us on the trials of having Young Kids in Church because they aren't too far past this season to have forgotten what it's like. About the teens who sit in front of us and who always grin and make room when one of their own shows up halfway through the sermon. About the ladies from the halfway houses who praise God and declare "Amen!" with a genuineness that often leaves me in tears. About the widows who sit a few pews behind us, smiling and cooing at Andrew and thinking that Luke and Sarah absolutely hung the moon. About Tina, a young single woman who sits quietly next to us and discreetly entertains whichever of our children has wandered over next to her. Or even those visitors, whose toes may be crushed by the end of service but who smile at us and shake our hands and don't seem to be entirely too upset to have ended up sitting next to a busy little group such as ourselves.
And let me tell you about Billie Carlton, one of those sweet widows, whose simple but precious Christmas card stands out this year among the myriad photo cards from friends and family: "May God continue to Bless your precious little family, which has brought me much joy watching the children grow," she writes. "See you in church hopefully, haven't seen much of you lately, guess your moving further back. Much love to all, Billie C." I hunted her down in Bible class on Sunday to sheepishly assure her that we haven't abandoned our regular pew section; we'd only been out of town or too late to find a seat for the past few weeks. But I also told her how much her card meant to me; the time she took to think of us and write is an expression of love worthy of the body of Christ.
Recently, P was telling me how a friend who attends another Church of Christ in town had described the difference between our churches as "more traditional" versus "rock band." Perhaps you can guess which one is ours? P and I both agreed that this (admittedly offhand) classification is terribly disappointing to hear - not because we are "rock band" -- we most certainly are not (I still hide my head in shame every time we try to sing "Get Right Church" or anything that requires any sort of rhythm) -- but "more traditional" is surely far from the truth for our little church family, one that is literally comprised of people from all walks of life and socioeconomic backgrounds, one that has focused all remodeling efforts in the past few decades on our food pantry and the building that houses a local school health clinic, and one that is constantly finding new ways to serve God in our five-mile-radius (and beyond)! Our HOPE ministry for recovering addicts and our community garden and our missions efforts are all evidence that God is using Southside in far from traditional ways, and it is frustrating to think that anyone on the outside might see our traditional-looking building and hear our traditional-sounding song service and find out about our traditionally-arranged worship schedule and never know about all the stuff that happens outside of those things. On the other hand, as I sit in that traditional worship service, surrounded by my dear family as well as my dear Family, I am astounded to realize that God is also using our oldest (and sometimes stodgiest) traditions as a vessel for His grace, as He makes this body a new (but decidedly not stodgy) creation.
Our Sunday evening programs over the past several years have changed repeatedly to focus on different efforts, from outreach and evangelism to family growth to family in service together. These "small group" programs have kept us on our toes and required us to be open to new things when it comes to doing church together. However, the other portion of our Sunday evening program -- our monthly "Generations," in which we indeed return to the "traditional" by meeting for a brief time of worship on Sunday evening followed by a meal together -- has been a powerful way in which God has worked in our family, connecting us with other partners who are not in our Sunday school classes or small groups and who may not serve in the same areas in which we serve -- and, most notably, who are not among our own "generations." On those evenings, God moves among us, binding us together with His Spirit, erasing the facade of difference and revealing a oneness that is only possible through the power and goodness of Christ. I find myself feeling at home with my church brothers and sisters on those evenings, just as I have begun to feel so comfortable squished in the middle in the front pews Sunday morning, surrounded by the family of God. I find myself thinking that this is the church that Christ prayed for, that they might be one as He and the Father are One.
And I must confess that if "traditional" means that we are a unified church body seeking to glorify God in both old and new ways -- just as so many others have done in the past and continue to do throughout the world today -- then perhaps I shouldn't be so disappointed to hear that our reputation precedes us.
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