A Church Marquee Leaves Me Breathless

Y’all know me by now, so you know my southern genes lead me to tell long tales in order to get to my point. So settle back and listen to my too-long story. Or don't, if you lack the patience.

When I came to Missouri in 1998, I had spent my life in the South. And most of my adult life had been spent in dyed-in-the-wool liberal Atlanta. The sainted John Lewis was my Congressman. Then there was a two-year sojourn in Philadelphia – another liberal bastion and, more importantly, the place where God used the Episcopal Church to get hold o’ me.

In Philadelphia, home of the “Philadelphia Eleven,” and under a priest who was one of those Eleven, I came to expect fiery preaching that was relevant to the Gospel and to the issues of the day. My highest compliment to the priest on a typical Sunday was: {queue heavy Southern accent} “You done went from preachin’ into meddlin’.” I like it when a preacher meddles. I want to be challenged to live out the Gospel! I want to be challenged to examine how well I am living my faith and my baptismal vows in my daily life.

When I arrived in Missouri, I found things were quite different in the local parish. I loved the priest and found him a marvelous pastor. But I missed that firebrand style of preaching – the “in your face” call to Gospel living.

After a while, I went hunting for another congregation that would suit me better. Mind you, there aren’t many Episcopal parishes in this part of the world. I checked out the one about 20 miles away. Then I checked out the one about 30 miles away. The next closest would have been 60 miles, and I wasn’t going to venture that far. I visited those parishes, but none of them “did it” for me.

By that time, the Episcopal Church had reached a concordat with the ELCA, under which we were in full communion. So I checked the local phone directory, and discovered that there was one ELCA church here in town. I went there one Sunday, attending their “traditional” service at 10:00. I arrived in plenty of time to park, find my way into the sanctuary, pick up a service leaflet, and find a seat.

As the service began, it was a bit “low church” for my tastes … even though my Episcopal parish is fairly “low church” on the range of Anglican liturgy. I made it through the hymn and some opening prayers. Then they brought out some sort of cardboard cut-out stage thing, and began a puppet show. I remember looking at my watch. It was only 10:20. I thought, “If I make a fast break, I can be at Grace before the sermon!” And so I did. I raced out of there lickety-split, drove quickly across town, and ducked into a seat back at my Episcopal parish during the reading of the Gospel.

And that was the end of my roaming. I had made a decision to be part of this parish. I came to appreciate the subtle preaching. The priest was gifted in preaching the Gospel, but leaving a very diverse congregation free to interpret and apply it in their own situations. And I came to love this parish and its people – to love them deeply.

Occasionally, I think about applying for jobs that would require me to move to another town, another parish. Strangely, the thing that often holds me back is the fear that I would not find such a strong, supportive community of faith as I find in this parish.

After church just this Sunday, I had to run a couple of errands. One led me past that ELCA parish I had fled so many years ago. When I saw the sign on their streetside marquis, I nearly drove off the road! Here’s what it said. And I am quoting. I could not make this up:

CHURCH FOR GUYS WHO
SPIT CUSS
BELCH & SCRATCH

Honest to God! That’s their message to the world!!

Yes, I have read the studies and stories that talk about “muscular Christianity” and those congregations that feel a need to attract more men. I suppose that’s what they are trying to do.

My parish doesn’t have a marquee. We just have an understated bronze sign that provides the name of the parish and the service times. You can just make it out under the bell tower at the base of the red maple tree.

I have no wish to replace it with a zippy marquee. But I found myself wondering: What would we say if we did have a snappy marquee? I think it might be:

BE STILL, AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD

or maybe

WORSHIP THE LORD IN THE BEAUTY OF HOLINESS

or perhaps

WHEREVER YOU ARE ON YOUR FAITH JOURNEY, WE WELCOME YOU

In my fantasy, there would be no need for a frequently changing marquee, for our words of invitation and welcome wouldn’t need to change often, if at all.

Reflecting on that ELCA church’s invitation to “guys who spit, cuss, belch & scratch,” I found myself thinking: "And The Episcopal Church is in full communion with those yahoos?!?!?!?? WHY??" Frankly, I can’t imagine a church … an ethos … with which I could possibly have less in common.

Yes, we welcome sinners. Our parishes are filled with them! Yes, we welcome people where they are … trusting that the sacraments and the grace of God will help all of us become more than we are.

But that Lutheran marquee disgusted me.

I know that the Episcopal/ELCA concordat allows for mutual, reciprocal ministry. But never in a million years can I imagine my Episcopal parish having anything in common with a church that would post such a message on its marquee.

Over to you, now.

Do you think I overreacted?

If your Episcopal parish had (or has) a marquee out front, what would (or does) it say?