Why I Love My Church

By almost any definition, my church would be labeled as a failure.

We are located directly across the street from a large and prestigious college.  Our church is minutes from downtown Atlanta - a hop from the Aquarium, the Fox Theater, and perhaps most importantly, Octane Coffee Bar.

We were once a prestigious church featuring the who's who of Atlanta.But, in a typical Atlanta story, the neighborhood changed, people got scared, and moved out of Atlanta and out of our Church. 

So on a really good Sunday morning, we have thirty-five people attending our one worship service and six people attending our only Sunday School class.  Our United Methodist pastor is not a seasoned veteran of the appointment system, but a part-time student who has not yet completed seminary.  

But around 11:40 this morning, none of that seemed to matter.  

Because our church is not too far from downtown, we also get our fair share of homeless men and women to show up.  Our church has a relationship with one man in particular - I'll call him John (the same name as Jesus' friend and beloved disciple) - who often hangs around our church, sleeps on the steps, gets his mail delivered and is one of our most faithful attenders on Sunday morning.  

Well this Sunday, John missed Sunday School for the first time this semester and missed the entire sermon and most of the Sunday service.  He showed up about five minutes before communion, hair disheveled, speech slurred.  In short, he was late, he was drunk, and he was loud.  

One of our members walked John up the line to communion, where she helped him with the bread and then helped him dip it into the cup. Our pastor, the young seminarian, greeted John with a smile - "John, this is the body of Christ, broken for you.  We love you and we're glad to see you."

After communion, the pastor stood up and preached his second sermon of the day.  

"Sometimes I think that the words we say and the things we do here aren't all that real.  But then Jesus shows up in the forms I wouldn't expect - like a man walking in drunk, or high or God knows what.  John is a challenge to us and everything we say and we do.  He reminds us that while we may not be as outwardly broken as a drunk homeless man, inside we're just as broken.  And somehow God invites us into fellowship with Him and each other."

Afterwards we all went downstairs, and we shared another meal.  A potluck with the best chicken, vegetables, and dessert Southern church ladies can put together.  There were four tables, all full, and John was there, eating and drinking, laughing and smiling.  

We all had smiles on our faces too.  Because somehow we all knew that by the odd timing of the Spirit, God had given us a gift. A so-called failed church has been transformed - by a wild-eyed and raving Jesus disguised as our drunken friend.