A Nazi, two humping dogs, and a drug user: it sounds like the opening to a standup comedy routine. But these are all things I have encountered in church.
The priest of my childhood church was a Nazi prisoner of war. He was conscripted into the Wehrmacht as a chaplain, captured, and then shipped to Canada. After the war there was nothing to go back to, so he stayed. Each year he read the Easter passion aloud sounding exactly like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Once, as the narrative approached the crucifixion, I whispered to my family in my best imitation accent, “Don’t vurry. I’ll be baaach”. It was so inappropriate that the entire family got the giggles. And you know how that goes, when you’re trying to be discreet in a crowded church pew…
Our church in Uganda met in a ramshackle school building with tin roof and open walls. On one occasion during the sermon, two stray dogs wandered into the front and began to mate. This was of course hilarious and distracting. It was also typical of a church where a shared experience of the absurd drew together people of vastly different belief, nationality, and race.
For instance, communion there once consisted of stale hot dog buns and apple juice served in a plastic Manchester United cup. Afterwards some folks rightly suggested that changes were needed. Someone volunteered to get little individual plastic communion cups next time they travelled out of Uganda. Instead they unintentionally (?) returned with 100 shot glasses. Thereafter, people from dozens of different countries and backgrounds celebrated communion together with glasses raised.
I once experienced a very different sort of communion. I spent the weekend visiting a farm in Canada where Jesuits had a halfway house for men getting out of prison. Ex-convicts could stay at the farm to get back on their feet. At their Sunday service, communion involved circulating a loaf of bread around a bare kitchen table. We were to tear off a bit, then pass the loaf to the person beside us along with a word of blessing.
The bread came round. I turned to the stranger seated beside me. His hands trembled. My gaze moved up to his exposed arms, covered with needle tracks from injection drug use. As he reached for the bread I began to mumble the blessing. He squeezed my hand, and I finally looked up. The man held my gaze and quietly whispered through tears, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…”
Church has many faults. But I am richer for having joined there with people of every possible background in a shared experience of laughter, brokenness, hope, and mystery.
[If you know someone else who might enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them the link to WordsfortheWeary. The more the merrier.]
Thank you Chuck for the light-hearted humor and the reminder of the deep love God has for us, His children. I was thinking this morning how we all need more of Jesus’ love in our lives. Our Children need to know of the Hope we have in Christ, as WE ALL do!
I so appreciate your last paragraph: Church has my faults. . WE ARE THE CHURCH. . . but we are richer being part of church. Thanks again for the encouragement.