Today’s excellent post by Jamie Arpin-Ricci about confession at A Living Alternative reminded me about this rather old blog post of mine from about 2005. Back then I was in a different church, in a different state, working as a paid ministry professional (and believed in that sort of thing). It’s not the most flattering self-portrait, but then, I suppose none of my blogs are these days.

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It’s just before the 9AM worship gathering, and I’m chatting with people in the lobby when one of our Hospitality Team members waves me over.

“Jason,” she calls, beckoning me toward an unfamiliar middle-aged woman as I approach. “This is Lisa. She’s visiting us today and I thought she should meet one of the Pastors.”

I smile, and as we exchange pleasant introductions I immediately notice that she is someone who generally doesn’t fit. She’s less than attractive and overweight. Her teeth are stained and haphazardly scattered across her palette. Her mundane cotton dress is decades out of style and she speaks rather poorly. Most telling, she won’t quite look me in the eye – at least not for more than a second or two at a time – and she exibits an affect I can only describe as the subtle head-shyness of someone who is accustomed to being occasionally struck without warning.

In short, Lisa is a person accustomed to rejection, and I realize in that moment she is exactly the type of person we are very good at accepting in our church.

People like Lisa are judged, overlooked, and abused virtually their whole lives. Attractive people, on the other hand, simply have it easier; they’re better liked, land better jobs, marry “beautiful” people, pay less money for goods and services, have more friends…and are generally more readily accepted at churches who assiduously reflect the selfsame qualities of brilliance and beauty. People like Lisa just don’t fit well in carefully crafted church environments, and to be brutally honest I think those churches are secretly pleased to see folks like her quietly disappear forever.

Our church is mostly blue collar and almost intentionally plain and pedestrian. We have good-looking people and not-so-good-looking people, overweight people, underweight people, white, black, brown, and yellow people, wealthier people and some very poor people. But, as a rule, we’re mostly blue collar, and God has used that bluish hue to develop an atmosphere of remarkable acceptance, particularly toward those who are notoriously rejected. Lisa is such a person. She is timid and unwanted; she is the image of God in a form that is inherently reviled and unrewarded by our world, and therefore, she is Jesus standing before me. I am in love with her for it.

Right about now my little daydream is being interrupted by the distant realization that there are words coming out of Lisa’s mouth, and I’m jolted from my contemplative sortie just in time to hear the trailing edge of a question, “…tell me about your church’s belief’s?” I quickly fill in the gaps and cheerfully say, “Sure, I’d be happy to answer any of your questions about our beliefs. Fire away!”

“Do you guys believe in the baptism of the Holy Spirit?” she blurts uncomfortably.

Hmm. I’m pretty sure I know where she’s going with this, but i need clarification. “Well, yes, we definitely teach that believers are baptized in the Holy Spirit…” I leave an opening for her to jump in since i’m pretty sure this isn’t what she was asking. But she doesn’t, so i continue with, “…but what exactly do you mean?”

Apparently I’m already edging her toward mild irritation. She deftly switches to interrogation mode. “You know, do you guys speak in tongues and stuff like that?”

Bingo. She want to know if we’re holy-ghost-fire-baptized-new-apostolic-five-fold-revivalists. She either needs reassurance that we are those people, or she wants to make absolutely sure we aren’t. Either way, she’ll be disappointed with us. It’s just one of the fun little quirks of our church. Well, that’s okay, I say to myself. She’s clearly hurting, and therefore deserves whatever hospitality we can offer until she finds what she wants. Maybe we can be of some help in the meantime.

So I say, “Yes, we definitely teach that the gifts of the Holy Spirit are in operation today. but you might find that we are fairly conservative in our practice of…”

“Oh good!” she exhaled emphatically, stamping out the latter half of my sentence. “My last church was ON FIRE for THE LORD,” she continued, lifting her upturned palm ever so discreetly toward the heavens. “We raised our hands and danced in the aisles, and shouted in tongues, and it was wonderful, but…,” her face dims, “…we just had a bad church split.”

Huh, big surprise, I think to myself. But out-loud I say, “Why don’t you read this,” handing her a copy of our Statement of Faith. “If you have any questions at all, just feel free to ask me. In the meantime, I think the best thing would be to join us for worship and you can see for yourself what it’s like here.” Boy, is she going to be disappointed. “I think you’ll find that we’re a little different than a typical charismatic church in that we…”

“You don’t allow HOMOSEXUALS to come to church DO YOU?!!” Lisa practically screeches this from the seat of her heels, her entire posture announcing complete revulsion at even the hint of a homosexual somewhere in the vicinity.

Lisa is seriously bursting my bubble now. My well-crafted romance about brokenness and rejection and Jesus in a cheap flower-patterned thrift store dress is being bludgeoned by this wild-eyed pentecostal homophobe.

I can actually feel myself giving in as something a little indulgent eases into the driver’s seat for a moment, and, feigning innocence, I hear myself slowly yet emphatically saying, “Well, of course we do.”

Lisa is visibly stricken and apparently speechless, so I let her off the hook. “We do believe that the bible teaches homosexuality is sinful, but we would certainly never keep someone from worship because they’re a sinner. How would any of us find a reason for repentance if we don’t first find a place of acceptance?”

She’s profoundly relieved, and stammers, “Oh, well, yes of course…” and proceeds to make nice. But I don’t want to make nice. I want Lisa to go away. She’s fat and ugly and classless – and I wonder how often she brushes her teeth – and I definitely don’t want anyone in our church who is quite so harsh and judgmental. She is the devil standing before me. I thank her for coming, encourage her to enjoy the worship service, and politely excuse myself – but I’ll be secretly pleased when she quietly disappears forever.

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A little later, just before taking the stage to conduct announcements, I notice Lisa worshipping. She’s seated in the second row dead center, singing steadily with her hands gently reaching for the ceiling. Her eyes are closed and she seems rather peaceful. Really, very peaceful. I have this nagging sense that I’ve forgotten something important, so I double-check my microphone and notes, and head up the steps of the stage absently thinking to myself that I don’t remember Lisa being quite so pretty when we spoke in the lobby.