Showing posts with label chocolate communion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chocolate communion. Show all posts

Monday, October 14, 2013

12 Reasons Not to Come to My Church

Churches these days, in the United States at least, seem to desperately seek out new members.  That makes sense spiritually as well as practically, for Christians are called to evangelize, that is, to spread the word of God’s love to the world.

And in the face of dwindling numbers, as a church professional (translation: I’m a preacher/pastor), my FB page is full of posts about how to attract more people into the church, how to go where the people not in church are, how to be ‘relevant’ to the unchurched, how to market one’s church, etc., etc., etc.

But every church is not for every person.  So if you’re thinking about or looking for a church community to call your own, be warned: this may not be the church for you.

My own list of 12 reasons why you might not want to come here:

1. We’re small. . . really small . . . tiny even.  And small ain’t for everyone.  Because here’s the thing about small: it really is up to you.  So if you want a church where you can plug in to what’s already going on, slide in and slide out with little fuss, well, we’re just not the church for you, for the fact is that if you’re coming to this tiny church, you will be called on.

2. As a corollary to #1, there is no anonymity here.  There’s nowhere to hide, to be invisible, in a church this size – there just isn’t.  You will be noticed.  You will be welcomed.  And hugged.  And while hospitality is a good thing, not everyone is comfortable with being noticed.  That’s okay.  We’re just not for you.

3. Another corollary to #1, if you’ve got a great idea but no time or energy or interest to implement it, this place is definitely not for you.  This pastor loves new ideas and most times, we’ll all jump in behind someone who’s got one – but, and it’s a big thing – really – if it’s your idea, it’ll be up to you to make it come true.  We’ll help you.  But if it’s yours, baby, you run with it or it won’t happen.

4. If you insist that the church you attend have a predictable ending time, you really need to go somewhere else.  You can stare at your watch all you want; you can even install a clock where the preacher just has to see it (trust me, it’s been done) – it will make no difference.  Services end when they end.  It’s not an all-day thing, but I’m told it can feel like it.  So if you need an hour a week and no more for your spiritual sustenance, you really need to be somewhere else.

5. If you don’t want to hear about money, or be asked to give of your money, go somewhere else.  Enough said.  (I can give you the longer version some other time, but chances are if this is a deal breaker for you, we won’t get that far in the conversation, will we?)

6. If it’s all about you and your needs, please do me the favor of going somewhere else.  I have neither the time nor the energy nor the ability to meet all the needs of all the people all the time.  And it’s not my job.  Nor is it church’s job.  So you’ll just end up disappointed and angry and who needs that?  You don’t and neither do I.

7. If you need things spiritual to be clear cut, with no room for differing views, this is definitely not the place for you.  Doctrine and dogma may have their place, but we’re a rag tag bunch of current and former Catholics, Baptists, Methodists, Lutherans, Unitarians, Reformed and Presbyterians, gathered under the Presbyterian umbrella.  And most of us are just way too old to want to arm wrestle ourselves into one worldview.  We’re pretty content, most days, to make room for each other.  We’ll make room for you too.  But none of us get to design the room alone, so it can end up looking pretty funny after awhile, with windows where there should be doors and vice versa.  If you need certainty, we are certain of a few things, but they are very few and everything else is up for discussion.

8. If you’re offended by laughter, you’d better just keep on driving when you get here.  We’re the kind of folks and I’m the kind of preacher, who like to laugh.  We celebrate communion sometimes with chocolate.  We come to the table joyous.  And we like it that way.

9. If a woman preacher is a problem, better keep moving.  Isn’t it obvious?

10. If you require entertainment, this place is not your place.  While I think I’m pretty witty, nobody is that entertaining week in and week out.  I know I’m not (and when I forget that, the folks here are quick to remind me).

11. If you’re just not that interested in things spiritual or consider yourself ‘spiritual but not religious’ - definitely give us a miss.  People come to church for all kinds of reasons.  No one here will judge your reasons.  But we are definitely about our Father’s business.  If that’s of no interest to you, there are civic clubs and groups and volunteer organizations that can better feed your desire to be of help to the world.  If you’re looking for friends, there are better places to find them.  We’ll do our best to make you feel welcome, but we won’t always get it right.  We’ll make room for you, but not always in the ways you would like.  And we are unapologetically religious as well as spiritual, spiritual as well as carnal.

12. If you think politics have no place in church or church in politics, you will not be happy here.  This is not a church that preaches on who you should vote for, but its preacher is definitely one who will challenge you to think about and enact your understanding of God as the Lord of all in the entirety of your life, which includes your life as a citizen.  So if it’s personal piety to the exclusion of public concerns that you seek, this is not the place for you.

If you’re someone living in the mountains of western Virginia and seeking out a church, I hope and trust you’ll consider McDowell Presbyterian Church and Headwaters Chapel.  We’re charming.  We’re historic.  We’re (mostly) pretty nice people.  We love Jesus and follow him the best we can.  We get mad at and fall in love with each other over and over again every day.  We’re part of the body human and the body divine.  And we’d love to have you.  But please, oh please, do think about whether you’d really love to have us too and if not, really, do give us a miss.


Monday, July 29, 2013

And There Will Be Chocolate

Yesterday has come and gone and it was a good day – a very good day.  Church in the morning with chocolate communion – yummm!  Ice Cream Social and Kid’s Carnival in the afternoon and I’m dunked by the first one up – a young girl who just happens to be a standout on her softball team and has an arm Mickey Mantle would be proud of (thanks, Gretchen).

Kids roamed and played and laughed in the sunlight – or did their laughter bring the sunlight?  It’s hard to say.  Old folk sat and watched and oohed and aahed the silly prize treasures won and ate ice cream to their hearts’ content.

The day ended with the annual county revival.  Testimonies were given, all special, but Tracy’s comeback from a death-threatening illness was the highlight.  Just seeing her before us was testimony enough.  The music was charmed and inspired.  And then Mark (the local Baptist preacher), leading off the four nights of shared communion, speaks to us of the Baptist way.  Mark is a good man and a wonderful pastor and friend.  He is thoughtful and clear.

As I listened intently to his description of the communion experience from the Baptist perspective, my eyes wandered – first to the cross behind and above him on the wall and then above the cross to the furthest darkened small corner where odd angles meet at the top of the sanctuary – there, just there, as Mark connected the communion table to the ultimate meeting with our Lord, was the dove-hovering Holy Spirit, whispering so only I could hear . . . and there will be chocolate . . .

And I smile.

Yes, it was a very good day indeed.

__________________
Read more here about Chocolate Communion

Sunday, July 22, 2012

Christmas in July


Retailers apparently started the phenomena of ‘Christmas in July’ as a sales pitch, offering the so-called once-in-a-lifetime great deal.  They have no idea how true their words actually are, for Christmas, the inbreaking of the Incarnate God, Jesus the Christ, into the world is indeed a once-in-a-lifetime great deal.

So for a bit of fun and lighthearted celebration of our Lord, at the church and chapel I pastor, we will celebrate in what I hope is a fitting fashion by enjoying once again Chocolate Communion.

Earlier this week, I entertained the women of the church at my home with an afternoon high tea.  The best china, fine linens, finger sandwiches and cute desserts, along with nice teas, were the order of the day.  My house was dressed better than I was.

As gratifying as the appreciations and thanks of my older gal pals were, it was Kelly’s face lit up, asking if I did this often, that warmed my heart the most.

Putting out our best for others is a task easily forgotten but well worth the effort, the call.

After all, isn’t that what Jesus did for us?

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Chocolate Communion


Last year, dear friends from Scotland sent me a chocolate fountain as a thank you gift.  Sunday at church, we celebrated Chocolate Communion.

I know, I know, if it’s not session-approved bread and wine (or at a minimum, Welch’s grape juice), it aint’ communion.  But bear with me.

The fountain ran with chocolate the entire service and the delightful smell filled the sanctuary.  Folks came up at the appointed time and got their fruit and sweet treats dipped in luxurious chocolate.  We even had a litany.

But what came after the dipping and eating and laughing . . . that was holy ground.

For our prayer time, I asked for the names of people or groups we wished were there with us, sharing in the bounty.

“The people of Somalia,” came one voice.

We prayed that those who lack so much could enjoy the sheer pleasure of more than enough food to eat.

“The people of Norway,” came another voice.

In sorrow, we mourned and prayed that those scathed by senseless violence could be surrounded by the comfort of friends and loved ones sharing even in a simple meal.

And then came Wes’ tear-filled voice, “Pam,” he said, referring to his wife who died last year after struggling against the cancer that would take her life.

We spoke of the communion of saints and the great cloud of witnesses.  We pondered their presence, as real as Jesus’, at table with us.  And as I looked at the many gathered faces, tears were streaming.

It wasn’t church in the usual way last Sunday.  The preacher went and hugged folk where they sat.  People were talking and laughing.  And crying.  Masks were taken off and we were just a family, sitting around the table, sharing our memories and our pain as well as our joys and hopes.

So much loss fills our lives together and apart.  So many treasured loved ones have died.  Too many for such a small community.  We all feel the loss.

And yet, there we were, with our chocolate smiles shining through the tears, grateful we could be together.

That, dear friends, is communion.