Church hoppers seeking Big Gulp communion cups

During the years I served as a healthcare chaplain, I was sometimes asked to recommend a local place of worship. Sometimes, the question came from a new resident who was genuinely seeking; other times, the question came from what I call "hoppers." Like Easter bunnies, hoppers often came in the spring. These hoppers were really just discriminating shoppers looking for a perfect worship place. They wanted my help to find a youth group for Johnny, a children's program for Sissy and a nursery with closed-circuit television monitors and daddy pagers. Throw in Big Gulp communion cups and pews with first-class legroom, and you have what many would consider the perfect faith community. The problem with asking me to help you find the perfect church or place of worship is that I'm an "insider" who knows too much about the inner workings. I'm much like the meatpacker whose knowledge of the meatpacking process will cause him to avoid his own bologna. In some churches I've visited, I sometimes feel like the ecclesiastical quarterback who has been benched. From my pew bench, I wonder things like, "Where did this guy get his degree?" Or, "Does she really think she can pull off a 45-minute sermon?" Or, "Is he going to quit preaching before the guy sleeping beside me cracks his skull on the pew?" If you were to ask that question today, I'd send you to 300 Main St., where I preach fresh sermons every week at Community Church Nevada City. Of course, our church musician Nancy Patterson may tell you my "fresh sermons" sometimes inspire me to nap in my church study. When she sees that, she'll ask, "How do you expect people to stay awake if you fall asleep writing your own sermon?" That's always a stumper. Maybe I should give hoppers some credit. At least they are looking for a place to belong. There are many folks who don't see the point in searching for a worship place at all. They seek a spiritual life but without an accountable spiritual community. They often tell me they don't belong to a faith community because there are too many hypocrites there. To that common complaint, I'm always tempted to say, "Don't worry, I'm sure they'll have room for another hypocrite." Hold your e-mails. I think it, but I've not yet said it. Instead, I try to get folks to see that faith communities are very unique. They remain one of the few places in the world where people assemble for the sole purpose of publicly acknowledging they are not perfect. In fact, a good place of worship often will celebrate that their congregants are far less than perfect. I like to explain it this way: I've often visited Rotary clubs around the country to tell them about Chispa Project. Like many community service clubs such as the Lions or Kiwanis, the members naturally will boast about being the best club in the world. And they should. These are fine organizations. Within the community of faith, however, you should find the opposite. You should find a group of people who will admit they are a fatally flawed group – all sinners in need of a higher power than themselves. Indeed, one day I'd like to begin our worship service in much the same way the Alcoholics Anonymous begin their Monday or Tuesday meeting in our church. Our Sunday service could begin with our congregants forming a single-file line to the lectern. And from the lectern, each could take a turn saying something like, "Hi, I'm Norris. I'm fairly messed up, but I'm still going to need a place where I can experience nurture, love and acceptance." On Sunday, Oct 5, my congregation will "celebrate" three years with their perfectly imperfect pastor. If you are looking for a new community of faith, come join us at 10:30 a.m. If you let me know you're coming, I'll save you a pizza slice at our after-church fellowship. All of my books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on my website www.thechaplain.net or by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Road, Suite 6643, Auburn, CA 95602. Buy them off the rack at Combie Mail Services.