few weeks ago I opened up my mailbox to find a mailer from a new church that was starting in my community. One side showed an empty chair with a sign saying “Reserved for You.” On the other side it told me to set aside my “reservations” about going to church.
Very witty, I thought to myself. It then went on to tell me that they “do church” differently.
The mailer said they provide relevant sermons that help people connect with God and others, and offer an open, welcoming atmosphere.
I started thinking about what I say to people when trying to persuade them to come to my church. How do I convince them that my church is better than the rest? I quickly realized how awful that question is. Are we really competing with other churches?
While I understand the intention of those who sent the mailer was to describe their church in the most appealing way, it seems that the message they sent was also self-defeating. They were trying to convince me that most churches are unfriendly, boring, irrelevant, cold . . . the last place you’d want to be. Now that they’ve convinced me how awful church is, why should I give their church, much less any church, a chance?
It seems as though churches are fighting an epic public relations battle against one another. It’s a war waged not with weapons but with adjectives. You have to use adjectives that are bold, declarative, and demanding. My church is __________—traditional, missional, contemporary, simple, open, loving, evangelistic, organic, conservative, progressive, or dare I even say, remnant. Once we pick our preferred adjectives, battle lines are drawn and it’s time to wage war.
I’ve been toying with a crazy idea: What if we refrained from falling into the trap of PR battles? The next time someone asks you what your church is like, resist breaking out your list of adjectives. Simply say: “I’m not sure; but I’d like you to experience it for yourself.”
See, I’m afraid we have become somewhat grandiose in our descriptions of church; and in many cases the reality is that our churches will not deliver on all our promises. So, what if we allowed non-church members to determine the adjectives used to describe our church? What if we banned all churches from describing themselves?
OK, so maybe that’s going too far. But if you have to pick the adjective yourself, how about something such as “average,” “messy,” or “normal.” Let’s be honest—those adjectives tell the real story.
In most churches you’ll find people like your favorite grandmother and cousin, but also your crazy uncle. You’ll find people who provide you amazing support as you deal with a messy divorce, but then reprimand you for wearing ?a skirt that’s too short. Some weeks you’ll be inspired and brought to tears of joy. Other weeks you’ll pull out your iPhone in complete and utter boredom and play with it until the service is over. One week your jaw will drop at the most amazing voice you’ve ever heard. The next week your jaw will drop at how that person thought he was capable of singing a solo. One week you’ll join the church in meeting the needs of single mothers in the community. The next week half the church members will leave because the new building is going to have pews instead of chairs.
As much as we wish we weren’t, let’s face it: we are normal, messy, and average. But why not strive for that? Isn’t that where God meets us? The Bible reveals the story of a love affair with a perfect, faithful God and a group of sinful humans who mess things up as much as they get them right. Yet He still strives and works with them and somehow cleans up their mess.
That’s what we need to strive for: just a normal church, where normal people are able to encounter an amazing, glorious, magnificent (add your own adjective) God.
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Trevan Osborne is pastor of the Far West End Seventh-day Adventist Church in Richmond, Virginia.
