
I have no idea how much courage it takes to walk into a church for the first time, uninvited, curious, knowing no one, not knowing what to expect, wondering how I’ll be treated and hoping that I don’t make a fool of myself.
I haven’t done that for a long, long time. I think the last time was 1982 when I had just moved to Austin, TX, found the nearest Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod congregation, and showed up for worship at Christ Lutheran Church on the south side of the city. I am thankful for their gracious welcome and letting me be a part of their church life for the next 8 months.
I thought of this when a family I had never met before came to our evening midweek Advent worship last night. They found us on Facebook. Cool. We put a lot of stuff out there hoping that some of over two billion users will see it. They did, and they came. I was conscious of their presence all night. I may have been more nervous than they were. Going though my mind: Will the members step up and welcome them? Will my message speak to them? Will they find the service meaningful? Will they like me, our church, the experience?
All right, take a breath. This isn’t an audition. This is worship. We are responding to the presence of the Savior and his gifts of grace. The angels in heaven are rejoicing when one sinner repents, and that includes my moments. It is a privilege and a blessing to simply be a place where a family can find a moment of quiet, grace and joy in a busy, demanding and unforgiving world.
My prayer is that we welcome the people we meet for the first time as those whom our Lord has known since before they came to be. A friend of Jesus ought always be a friend of mine.
In the introduction to my sermon yesterday, I referred the HGTV show “Fixer Upper.” I knew that many in attendance were fans or had at least seen or heard of the show. Of course, you never hit the bull’s eye every time. There were some there who leaned over the person next to them asking, “What’s he talking about?”
Jesus tells the story of a shepherd that leaves a flock of 99 to go in search of one sheep who wandered, who went missing, who didn’t show up for role call. The point is, God cares deeply about the lost. But does a real, live, genuine shepherd do that? Does that one sheep matter that much?
So here’s what I learned in bible class yesterday. I am teaching a class on Dr. Howard Hendrick’s book Teaching to Change Lives, previously titled The Seven Laws of Teaching. It is part of our ongoing effort to quip our bible class leaders to become better teachers.
It’s early. Really early. It’s dark. Really dark. It’s quiet. Really quiet.
It must have been the creaking sound that got my attention. What is that noise? It seemed to be coming from the freezer in the church kitchen. Freezers don’t usually make a lot of noise. Unless someone is trapped in there. Overly cautious, I slowly opened the door and peeked inside.
My previous memories of making snack mix brought to mind the first job I worked at the seminary with Sitko Field Services. Apparently, the population of Ft. Wayne, IN, represented a good cross section of America, so it was a hot spot for market research. Our job (Lisa worked there, too) involved phone and door-to-door surveys and product testing. Sue Sitko, the owner, brought big city marketing experience to the heartland, and helped us pay the bills as I studied to be a pastor.
There is a lot I have forgotten from my years at the seminary, but one memory that continually resurfaces is one of the jobs I had to pay the bills my last year there: making snack mix. In the days before prepackaged Chex snack mix appeared on grocery store shelves, you had two choices. You could make it at home, which plenty of families did. Or, at least in northeast Indiana, you could but it bulk in a grocery story, who got it from a friend of mine who actually owned a little factory that made one product, snack mix.