wingtips

How To Use a Paper Towel

Thinking Missionally

Remember Goldilocks? At the three bears’ house, she tested the porridge, the chairs, and the beds until she found the ones that were “just right” for her. Not too hot or too cold, too big or too little, too hard or too soft. Just right. Goldilocks knew what she liked, and she kept looking until she found it. I wonder what would happen if Goldilocks came to church.
Some people shop for a church the Goldilocks way. They visit churches’ worship services with their list of preferences. Is the music too loud, too soft, too fast, too slow, or just right? Is the sermon too long, too short, or just right? Are the people too friendly, too cold, too wild, too calm, or just right? Is the congregation too big, too small, too old, too young, or just right? If one church is not just right, they visit the next, and the next, until they find the one that lines up with their preferences.
Church leaders have caught on to the Goldilocks method of church shopping, and so they do demographics studies to discover people’s preferences, and design their worship services accordingly. Church-growth practitioners become experts at custom-designing Sunday services that will meet the preferences of the largest number of people in a given area. They call them “seeker sensitive” worship services. A church-growth expert would find out what kind of worship Goldilocks likes and make sure she gets it.
The problem is, different people have different preferences. In any given community, there are devoted Christian people with opposing worship preferences. There are those who prefer traditional worship with hymns and choir robes, and those who prefer contemporary worship with choruses and projection screens. Some want suits, pews and stained glass; others prefer blue jeans, folding chairs and coffee-holders. People choose a local church based on worship preferences like they choose a particular model of automobile or a grocery store. Like Goldilocks at the bears’ house.
Division is an unfortunate byproduct of worship preferences. People tend to make idols of their preferences and refuse to compromise them, even if it means excluding other members of the Body of Christ. These exclusive attitudes are often justified by the explanation that “They don’t worship like we do.” It’s almost as if church people are saying, you have to worship like us, or you can go find another church. Ironically, the worship of God in Christ becomes divisive, when it should be the most unifying activity of all.
Now I know that preferences can be good, and necessary, because they help us navigate through the myriad of choices facing us at every turn. In a choice-crazed culture, my preferences act as my guide. Without much thought, I drive by Starbucks because I prefer Panera Bread. At Panera Bread I easily focus on the triple-berry, low-fat muffin, because it is my preference among all those delectable offerings (at least it was, until it was discontinued, but that’s another story).
But preferences can hurt us and the cause of Christ when we cling to them at the expense of unity and hospitality. People who are “not like me” should be welcome in my church, even if it means that I will have to learn to worship in different ways. Perhaps worship would be richer, broader, and more challenging if we gave up the notion that it must be done only in one certain way. Is it possible that we could love people more than our preferences? Could it be that diverse modes of worship might be a sign of our hospitality, and our willingness to expand our worship preferences could result in a church that more accurately represents the diverse community in which it is located?
Perhaps we need to remember the words of Jesus when He said, “Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth.” Welcome to our church, Goldilocks. Let’s find out how we can worship together.

October 15 was a Sunday we will all remember.  It got off to a very good start when we welcomed a new Covenant Participant during our morning worship gathering at our church, Fellowship of the Valley.  Then it just kept getting better. 

Immediately following worship, we trekked over to Tannehill State Park for a blue-ribbon pot-luck dinner followed by a moving (and chilly) midstream baptism.   The first baptism ever for Fellowship of the Valley! It was a brilliant day with crystal blue skies and a hint of autumn color in the treetops.  With great joy and lively conversation, we shared our feast on well-worn picnic tables under shed number three, which was ideally situated amidst a gurgling stream, a dusty road, and a grassy knoll.  The kids couldn’t wait to run and play in such a compelling spot on such a lovely day.    

After we had eaten our fill, a search party went upstream to find the perfect site for the baptism.  When they came back with a good report, we gathered everything up and made our way over to the chosen spot.  It was everything we could have hoped for!  A gentle bend in the clear-water stream was framed by sheltering trees and lined with gently-sloping banks.  The congregation gathered creekside to witness the much-anticipated baptism of two of our beloved “Fellowship Folks.”   

Pastor Mike waded into the water first, Bible in hand.  After reading Romans 6:4-10, he stood still in the flowing stream while Scott led in prayer.  As the church quietly sang “The Doxology,” Brian boldly invaded the stream.  Mike, resting his hand on Brian’s broad shoulders, said, “Brian, I baptize you, my brother, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit; buried in likeness to Him, and raised to walk in newness of life.”  Then he dipped Brian backwards into the stream, immersing him completely under the waters, and raising him straightway up.  Murmurs of joy and approval rose up from the congregation. 

Kay was next, and her face registered shock as her bare feet rudely took her into the frigid flow.  After repeating the baptismal prelude, Mike plunged Kay beneath the flood.  She sputtered something unintelligible when she first rose up out of the water; later she told us that she tried to shout “Hallelujah,” but some water got in her throat.  As it turns out, words were unnecessary.  We all knew, and shared, what she was feeling.  

 It took a long time for everyone to leave that newly hallowed place.  It’s funny, isn’t it, how a state park can become a cathedral.  Last Sunday, at Tannehill, it did.  Hallelujah!  

The touring company of the Broadway play, “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” is in Birmingham this weekend, but I’m not going. 

It is not because I don’t want to go.  After all, it is one of my favorite plays (I saw it once in Providence), with some of Andrew Lloyd Weber’s best music and lyrics, and it is based on one of my favorite Bible stories.  It is an impressive production, and I would enjoy seeing it again.   

The reason I’m not going is because of the cost.  Tickets are $58.00 each, plus a $7.50 “convenience fee” if you purchase them online (which nullifies the convenience, if you ask me).  And that is for a seat somewhere in the nether-regions of the BJCC.  And believe me, the BJCC has some mind-boggling nether-regions.  The last play I saw there was “Mamma Mia,” and from where I sat, the stage was the size of a postage stamp.  People look bigger on my 19-inch television screen.  For most of the play, we were distracted by the woman, two rows in front of us, who insisted on dancing (badly) to the music.  I can assure you, she was no “Dancing Queen.”    

Compare that with my experience last Sunday.  A friend and I went to the Birmingham Festival Theatre to see “The World’s Oldest Profession,” a  local community-theatre production.  I wanted to see the play mainly because one of my friends had a lead role.  A refined, upstanding Episcopalian lady playing a woman of ill-repute.  Who could resist? 

It was a “pay-what-you-want” afternoon performance, so the tickets set us back twenty bucks, total, for the two of us.  We found a free parking space right across the street from the theatre.  The seats were not assigned, and the place was almost full when we arrived.  Even so, we found seats center-stage about 15 feet from the performers with an unobstructed view.   We could see every expression on the actors’ faces. 

The play was baudy, sometimes funny, and thought-provoking.  The amateur actors were impressive - they could really sing - and the audience was engaged, involved, and responsive.  We all laughed out loud and often, and gave the cast a standing ovation at the end.  We shook the hands of the actors on the way out.

I have reflected on the experience all  week.  The play, as all good plays do, caused me to think.  It addressed many themes; the hypocrasy of Christians, the ways people experience family, the roles of women in our culture, and who goes to heaven (and why), among others.  Additionally, my friend’s participation in the play allowed me to see her in a new light.  I have a greater appreciation for her as a three-dimensional person.  And, boy, is she brave!  

Here’s my point.  Community theatre is accessable performance-art.  It is evocative stories told well.  Every production is a community-building event, and all who participate grow.  It is good for the local economy.  People develop skills and cultivate relationships.  In good companies, important topics are addressed and local issues are examined.  Audiences are not only entertained; they are often challenged and provoked.  And sometimes disturbed.  Good stories tend to do all those things to us. 

Best of all is the cost.  I could see five community theatre plays for the price of one professional production.  An afternoon or evening at the theatre does not break the budget.  All that entertainment, culture, education, and fun for about the price of a movie at the “Rave.” 

I hope I will have the opportunity to see more Broadway plays on special occasions.  I might even see “Joseph” again if I get the chance.  But in the meantime I plan to see many local live theatre performances.  I hope to meet many Birmingham-area people who value the performing arts, and I want to have deep conversations with my friends about the meanings of the stories. 

Oh, and that great story about Joseph in the Bible?  It can be found in the same ancient Biblical book as a story about a woman of ill-repute.  I wonder how Andrew Lloyd Weber would stage that?  I might even pay $58.00 (plus a $7.50 convenience fee) to see it.  Nah…   

For introductory purposes, you should know why I call my blog “Wingtips.”  There’s a story behing the name.  Here it is.

My mother sold shoes for thirty-five years at Meyer’s Shoe Company in Selma, Alabama.  The employees and management at Meyer’s became part of my “extended family,” and I worked there myself, off and on, during summer breaks from school, at holidays, etc.  Meyer’s was an old family-owned business that offered full service to its customers.  Mother knew all her regular customers by name and shoe size. 

One of the brands of men’s shoes they carried at Meyers was “Florsheim.”  I don’t know much about Florsheims now, but back in the ’70s, they were beautifully designed shoes made of the best quality natural leathers with hand-stitching.  The cost was high, so I wore other brands.

My sister got married in 1971, while I was a student in college.  My mom bought me a pair of cordivan Florsheim wingtips for the wedding - my first pair.  She was able to afford them only because Meyers sold shoes by “holding tickets” for their customers, which was a ”buy now, pay as you can” arrangement.  She also got an employee discount.

Whatever mom paid for those shoes, she got her money’s worth.  I still have them.  Moreover, I have worn them on many Sundays for church and almost always for formal occasions.  I have never had them resoled or repaired.  When I wear them, I almost always get a compliment or two, telling me how great they look.

I was in Nordstrom’s department store in Providence, Rhode Island, one Sunday afternoon, wearing my wingtips.  They have a shoeshine station there, so I treated myself to a hand-rubbed shine.  The shoeshine man was thrilled to see my “old” Florsheim wingtips and got me to tell him the whole story about the shoes.  After I did, he wistfully said, “They don’t make them like this anymore,” and promptly chastized me for my lack of proper care for them.  Shoes like these, he said, need to be cleaned and polished after every wearing, lest they get dried out.  He said that, with the proper care, the shoes could last me for the rest of my life, never going out of style.

Since that encounter, I have a greater appreciation for my wingtips and I try to take better care of them.  I’ve never had another pair of shoes that were even in the same league as those.  They are comfortable, perfectly formed to the shape of my big feet, and indestructable.  I joke with people that if there is a global thermonuclear holocaust, all that will remain on earth will be cockroaches and that pair of shoes.

I have a myriad of great memories of wingtip-clad occasions.  On the day of my Auburn University graduation, I proudly strode across the stage in my wingtips.  At subsequent graduations, for M. Div. and D. Min. degress, I was there in my caps and gowns and my wingtips.  For most of the weddings and funerals I have conducted, I’ve worn them, and I have taken them with me on all my travels overseas.  Just in case.

I think I know why someone named this particular style of shoe, “Wingtips.”  The design is somewhat ornate, with curves and patterns that, without too much imagination, could suggest the appearance of angels’ wings.  A very appropriate name for such noble shoes, if you ask me.   

So “Wingtips” is a good name for a blog that, I hope, will be high quality, timeless, enduring.  Not trying to be trendy, but never out of fashion.  Trusted and true.  My intention, as I start out, is that the blog will, like my shoes, reveal  something about me and my life-story.  I may step on some feet sometimes, and I may get mine stepped on.  But I’ll try to polish them off, and continue on.

To celebrate the launch of my blog, I’m wearing my wingtips right now.  And I want to say thanks to my mom for giving me such great shoes.  Thanks, mom.  You’re an angel.