Church People, Prequel
When I moved to Chapel Hill for grad school, I wanted to find a local church where I could settle in for the duration. One of the first churches I visited had experienced a lot of growth and had recently built a new building, or at least a new wing--soaring ceilings, lots of light, white tile that everybody's dress shoes clicked on . . . a beautiful place to worship. The preaching was consistently outstanding, each sermon an eloquently written exhortation, punctuated by the kinds of observations that make you nod your head in agreement--yes, yes, I think so too. Thank you for that insightful reminder, minister. The congregation was made up of improbably attractive young professionals, pre-professionals, and graduate students from UNC and Duke: serene young moms and dads with a couple of towheaded kids in patent-leather shoes, well-groomed engaged couples holding hands (she from the med school, he from the business school), etc. It was lovely.
And it bored me out of my freaking mind. Well, at first I liked it--I felt a certain sense of relief that God had some normal, well-adjusted people in His family, especially after some rather wacky past church experiences (can anybody relate?). But after a few weeks, I found my mind wandering during those elegant sermons. And after a few more weeks, to my surprise, I realized that I didn't even want to go when I woke up on Sunday, didn't look forward to it. I noticed that I felt the same when I left, as if I hadn't been to church at all; I could only tell because if I looked down, I was wearing a dress and it was precisely one hour later. And I wasn't sure about the dresses either--I wondered, where were the people with poor fashion sense, or women whose children didn't have handsome dads or patent-leather shoes, or people with problems. If you had a problem and came to that church, I wondered, what would happen to you?
So I went back to the Vineyard in Raleigh--25 miles away, a different city; I had visited before but had wanted to find a church nearer to Chapel Hill. The Raleigh Vineyard met in what looked like a converted CVS, with lower ceilings but the same fluorescent lights in aisle patterns on the ceilings. No windows, but velvet drapes up at the front with some fake ficus trees behind the dark jumble of cords and music stands. There was a guy who sat behind me and talked to himself. I think he may have been wearing swimming trunks with his T-shirt, or maybe that was somebody else. The preaching wasn't flashy, and it didn't draw attraction to the pastor. It was simply wise and deep and sweet and honest, like home cooking when you've been eating out all the time. I'm feeling tears well up as I write this; it's like writing about falling in love.
Both churches were spiritual homes for somebody, and I knew which one was mine. The people at RVCF did not have exceptional problems in their lives, but they sought God faithfully and with utter transparency as they lived out their lives together. Their simplicity and earnestness and kindness called me back. If my math is right, I drove about 25,000 miles on Highway 40 back and forth between Chapel Hill and Raleigh in six years of grad school, and every mile was worthwhile.
And it bored me out of my freaking mind. Well, at first I liked it--I felt a certain sense of relief that God had some normal, well-adjusted people in His family, especially after some rather wacky past church experiences (can anybody relate?). But after a few weeks, I found my mind wandering during those elegant sermons. And after a few more weeks, to my surprise, I realized that I didn't even want to go when I woke up on Sunday, didn't look forward to it. I noticed that I felt the same when I left, as if I hadn't been to church at all; I could only tell because if I looked down, I was wearing a dress and it was precisely one hour later. And I wasn't sure about the dresses either--I wondered, where were the people with poor fashion sense, or women whose children didn't have handsome dads or patent-leather shoes, or people with problems. If you had a problem and came to that church, I wondered, what would happen to you?
So I went back to the Vineyard in Raleigh--25 miles away, a different city; I had visited before but had wanted to find a church nearer to Chapel Hill. The Raleigh Vineyard met in what looked like a converted CVS, with lower ceilings but the same fluorescent lights in aisle patterns on the ceilings. No windows, but velvet drapes up at the front with some fake ficus trees behind the dark jumble of cords and music stands. There was a guy who sat behind me and talked to himself. I think he may have been wearing swimming trunks with his T-shirt, or maybe that was somebody else. The preaching wasn't flashy, and it didn't draw attraction to the pastor. It was simply wise and deep and sweet and honest, like home cooking when you've been eating out all the time. I'm feeling tears well up as I write this; it's like writing about falling in love.
Both churches were spiritual homes for somebody, and I knew which one was mine. The people at RVCF did not have exceptional problems in their lives, but they sought God faithfully and with utter transparency as they lived out their lives together. Their simplicity and earnestness and kindness called me back. If my math is right, I drove about 25,000 miles on Highway 40 back and forth between Chapel Hill and Raleigh in six years of grad school, and every mile was worthwhile.
posted by Tara | 11:53 AM
2 Comments:
Exceptional Lee, *you* are the blessing!
Hey, whaddya mean we don't have exceptional problems?! Have you forgotten about your friend who doesn't eat meat because it's too much trouble to chew it? And what about her husband who takes an hour to take out the trash because she finds him in the garage reading it?! And then there is our comrade "P" who would meet women in the produce department of the grocery store and give them his phone number on fresh cantaloupes...Oh, Tara, how soon we forget!
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