When I was seventeen I dated a girl who went to a Baptist church in a smaller suburb of St. Louis. Her church was small. The sanctuary smelled like my grandmothers coat closet and the pews were hard, uncomfortable and scratched from years of kids digging their finger nails into the dull wood. The church was the kind I had imagined a church to be growing up; Pot luck dinners on Sunday nights and little old ladies singing the ‘Doxology’ off key on Sunday morning.
Little kids wore suits that were past down from their older siblings. They were too small; their pants would only reach the tops of their ankles leaving their miss-matched socks exposed.
The pastor of that church was a short man, his hair was pulled all the way back and was still damp from either his Sunday morning shower or the lack of air conditioning in the stuffy, humid one room church. He wore a suit that was out of style, it was probably purchased at garage sale by his wife a few years back. I could tell it was his preaching suit because his worn-in maroon leather bible matched his pressed faded maroon sport coat.
He looked older than he was; years of preaching had gave him a raspy voice and he walked with a slight limp. He was fiery, passionate and he knew what he believed. The week that I went was a normal Sunday morning for them, the sun was bright, and it was hot outside, but even hotter inside. The four high ceiling fans only acted to blow the trapped heat down to us causing a slight breeze of warm obnoxious air. We walked in, and sat down next to the center isle about six rows back from the front where a hand carved wooden alter stood.
The preacher walked up to the podium, grabbed his aged bible and a copy of the church bulletin which was simply typed on a letter size paper folded once in the middle. People shifted in their seats and you heard the rustling of people pulling out their bulletins from their King James Bibles and large leather Sunday purses. On the front of the bulletin was the name and contact information of the church. There was a simple geometric cross right below that. It was nothing impressive at all. Inside were all the prayer needs. Sister Mary needs prayer for her husbands heart condition, Brother Earl needs prayer for persistent headaches, and the list filled a whole half page. On the back was information on an upcoming evangelist and a pot-luck that was occurring the following Sunday.
As the preacher finished up with the bulletin, he made eye contact with me. I knew this wasn’t going to be good; “Looks like we have a visitor today; stand up son and tell everyone your name,” he said with big grin as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his matching cloth handkerchief that he had in his left breast pocket.
This was new to me; I’ve been to churches that do meet and greet, but I guess at this church I was the meet and great. I stood up and in a loud confident voice said, my name is Patrick Fore, and I’m from Freeport, Illinois. The next thing I knew there were a line of people forming in front of me. I guess this church doesn’t get visitors very often, and to get a teenager was a special treat. As I began to shake hands, all the old ladies pinched my cheek and said “God bless you”, and the older gentleman offered me their old leathery callused hands, I shook it firmly and returned a smile.
This was my first and really only Baptist experience growing up. My mom told me once about the zealous Baptists who would hang out near the schools while trying to convert the heathen 3rd graders and pass out tracts and little orange bibles.
So I guess now finding myself in a Southern Baptist church is a very strange thing for me. I would be lying if I said I didn’t have reservations because I do. The transition from a more charismatic church in Grand Rapids, Michigan to a Southern Baptist church in Dubuque, Iowa is a definite culture shift.
The only reason I am making the shift and transition isn’t because I am turning Baptist and letting go of my Pentecostal beliefs. I guess I am under the belief that I am a Christ Follower and nothing else. I refuse to define myself as a Baptist or a Pentecostal. I am not anything but a guy that runs after God and hungers and thirsts for His presence in my life. At this point, I could really careless what church I’m in. I am going to try with everything I have to act as one who has been called out and redeemed. I refuse to fit the mold of a Baptist, Pentecostal or even a Christian. I desire everything that God offers us. I refuse to be scared of what I don’t understand, and I refuse to let my narrow-minded thinking get in the way of what God wants to do through me.
A friend told me he could never serve in a place where they don’t recognize the gifts of the spirit. I haven been thinking about that a lot lately. I think I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe the reason why God has placed me in such a conservative and reserved community is because he wants to use me to show people what they can have and what He can do. That blows my mind.
I guess that as a Christ Follower the lines of denominations are blurred. I think it isn’t that important anymore what church affiliation you side with. If you search the scriptures the only really denomination that God showed us was the sheep’s and the goats; those that follow God and love people and the ones that are stubborn and do their own thing with out having a kingdom mindset.
I love my new church. Yes, it’s more of a contemporary church, modern in its methods, but the people there love God, and love people. That is what is important I’m discovering. Even though I stuck out like a sore thumb in that old Baptist church in Florissant, Missouri, I don’t doubt that those old farmers and farmer’s wives live God, and I know they have a grandparent love for the up and coming younger generations.
How we define ourselves isn’t by whom we associate with or even what we believe, it is by how much we love God and love others. To be a Christian is easy and shallow most of the time. To be a Christ Follower and live a life that Jesus has called us to is the most challenging, yet the most fulfilling.
Let love be a catalyst to our success, continue to break down the denominational walls and bring unity to the body of Christ. One Church, One World, One Love.
