This church is trying really hard. The greeter at the front door had on a used car salesman’s face. “What’s it going to take to get you inside the doors of this church?” he grin said as he pressed the flesh. He purposefully altered his statements to each person, as if being relevant was more important than knowing people’s names. When he tried to fist-bump to an 11 year-old girl I could almost hear the Black Eyed Peas lyrics through her wordless stare – “I’m so 3008, you so 2000 and late.”
Not wanting to be late myself for the service I moved quickly through the foyer and found a seat in the sanctuary. The worship band began playing modern-styled worship songs, but I wasn’t familiar with any of them. When the band stopped playing so they could give the congregation a chance to hear themselves, I could detect no vocals. People were just lip synching with the band—no one else was hitting the high notes or singing from their diaphragms.
The band was good though. They had a sax player that seriously belongs in an upscale blues bar. The female vocalist sounded like the British singer Adele, belting out Chasing Pavements. When the song was over I wanted to clap, but the pastor, who was playing lead guitar, told us we needed to clap “for Jesus.” We all obeyed, but I wasn’t sure why we were clapping for Jesus when he was neither playing nor singing in the band. I get the whole “deflect any glory that would be given to us and give it to you, Lord!” but honestly it’s pretty weird. We had to stop after every song and either pray or give a “clap offering to Jesus.” I’m not so sure that Jesus is the glory-hoard that we make him out to be. If he was listening to the same song service I was I bet he would be happy to clap for the sax player and vocalist too. I think God is delighted in us the same way I am when I see my kids doing well. I’ve never once tried to take credit for the touchdown catch my son made, or been upset at him for not pointing to me in the stands after scoring.
The service did make me want to pray—especially this, “God, please bless Pastor Alex. He really needs it.” This minister did everything on Sunday morning: he was the worship leader, he gave the announcements, he led prayer for the offering, and then gave the message. I think he is so used to having to run things on his own that he would even fill in the empty blanks he’d insert into a sentence to try to get audience participation.
“Jesus said he is the Way, the Truth and the what?” he’d ask, giving a half second pause, “Life! That’s right!” Not giving us a chance to buzz in and say, “What is Life, Alex?”
I know this pastor meant well. It must be hard when your expectation for what successful ministry looks like isn’t matching what you see in front of you, especially if it is what you’ve had in the past. I gathered that his church had once been larger, with several different successful ministries, and now they were in a “rebuilding period” as several people pointed out. Even Alex mentioned it, in sort of an ashamed voice from the pulpit. I caught up with some friends right after the service and they apologized to me for their church, thinking that I would compare it to experiences of my own. Size isn’t everything, but many pastors fear it is.
This church is scrambling—scrambling for winter camp drivers, youth staff, Sunday school workers, and nursery helpers. They were trying to recruit people into the spiritual disciples of fasting and prayer that week too. While they were dealing with their inadequacy the pastor was too busy to great me after the service. I think he had to go make coffee in the reception lounge for potential visitors.
I don’t think I experienced much of what the Foresquare denomination is really about. What I did recognize is that I have some hurting and exhausted church-goers right here in my own neighborhood. I left wondering what I could do to help Alex – not by working in the nursery for him, but by helping him step back from the edge and just breathe.
