So this weekend, I worked yet another women’s conference. Yes, yes, I know. Enough with the giggling. While theologically and politically I pretty much have nothing in common with these conferences, I understand that nurturing, flag-waving white-washed “I love Jesus and he makes life happy” sort of mindset. While I do love Jesus, I have come to not think the ‘makes life happy’ part of the equation really is Biblically sound. But that’s an entirely different topic. Our crew and I set up the merch, get to know volunteers, and then sell the crap out of t-shirts with bling, mugs with bling, and several tons of self-help books. Aaah. American Christianity.
Now, last weekend we were in Pensacola at a church, instead of our normal civic center. We work really long hours on this job, most of the non-performance time is spent carrying boxes, counting bookmarks and loading brightly colored t-shirts onto flatbeds and dollies.
At this particular church, you aren’t supposed to have any drinks anywhere inside the main part of the building - including where all of the merch is set up. As fast as we could get a bottle of water out of a bag, we were pounced upon by a woman from the church, chastising our need for water. Keep in mind, this is FLORIDA and it’s hot and apparently when you become a follower of Jesus, living water is all you need.
The second day, we attempted to sneak in a couple of cups of coffee, thanks to our 6:30am start time. Again, as if we were being monitored by Big Brother cameras, someone from the church (with no name tag I might add), reminded us of the line that couldn’t be crossed. Funny thing is, we weren’t in the sanctuary, we were in the foyer, with the exact same carpet as was on the other side of the sacred invisible pro-liquid refreshment line 10 feet away.
(The carpeting wasn’t all that great anyway.)
What was interesting to me wasn’t so much the amazing security this building had over bottled water. But what was interesting was that the two people who confronted me personally (there were several others who nailed other thirsty volunteers and workers-all of which had the same experience), never once asked me if I was a member of the church, if I was a Christian, or heaven forbid if I needed help unloading the box of books that I was unpacking when the water incident occurred.
A volunteer told me that some of the people at the church take their jobs too seriously.
I think maybe they need to take the people who walk into their building more seriously.
This is a conference that is supposed to be a place for women to grow, to be encouraged, to discover that perhaps a better life can be had. Isn’t church supposed to be the one place where “water” and energy (i.e. coffee for this illustration) are given? Where we can go when we are thirsty? Where we can go when we are tired and need an encouragement pick-me-up? A place where people are more concerned about the state of my heart than the state of their beloved carpeting?
Maybe we, as Christians, need to pay a little more attention to who walks through the doors of our churches. Who walks through the doors of our lives. I think church might be a much happier, welcoming place if we would admit that life is full of coffee stains. That all of us have our own coffee stains we’re dealing with. And that a little water is what we all need to keep our lives on track.
Labels: christians, church, coffee, pensacola
