Front Porch: What is the Church?

(This was written when I was serving as a Chaplaincy intern during seminary in Atlanta, GA).

Here in Atlanta, in the heart of the South, something happens around 11am on a Sunday morning and suddenly people want to have a Bible open nearby and hear a prayer spoken over them.

Today I was called to our Behavioral Health Unit to speak with a patient at her request.  When I arrived, we settled into the lounge area with her Bible, and as we started chatting she suddenly jumped up and said: "Hold on.  Let me see if anyone else wants to join us."

I'll be honest: I smiled and said of course and encouraged her to go ahead, but I didn't really want her to go inviting everyone.  I didn't want to host a spirituality group or anything like that, I wasn't prepared.  But what could I say and remain kind?  So I just said yes and hoped for the best.  

A few others shuffled in and I decided to read Psalm 62.  Usually in the hospital setting I'm very intentional about being interfaith, but the initiating woman was specifically talking about Jesus, and another patient made a comment as they came in about getting right with the Lord on Sunday, so I just rolled with it and decided to have a little church.

I invited those around the table into the Psalm, and we had a lovely, rich, honest conversation.  After sharing some very painful details of her life, a patient said: "You know, this is real nice.  Real nice.  I think, I think I want to be a minister.  Do you think that's ok?"

"Of course, I think that's beautiful." I responded.  

She nodded and continued.  "You know, in my church, we're just gonna sit on the porch.  There won't be no lessons on that porch, but you can come on and sit with us and tell us your story and we'll listen.  Kinda like this here that we're doing.  That'll be my church."

I responded: "Yes, please. The world needs that church."

Truly, right?  What a beautiful image.  

After leaving their unit, I continued making rounds and ended up having a long conversation with a hospital staff member about her Christian beliefs and her commitment to learning more about her faith. She knows I'm in seminary and preparing for ordination, and she often asks me specifics about who I think qualifies as a saved Christian and who does not. I personally struggle with questions like this - at my core, I believe that God is love, and that a way has been made for all to come to God. I just don't find the categorization of "in" and "out" helpful or important. But it's very important to her (and I know she's not alone in this), and so as we talk I try to keep bringing the conversation back to why the distinction matters to her, how she determines what's "absolute" and what's not.

As I made my way back to the office, I reflected on these two women, and the two conversations. One woman is essentially locked up: deemed mentally unhealthy by society, she has little to no freedom in whom she interacts with and where she gets to go. She is truly trapped - both by the mental illness she lives with, and by the conditions that illness places on her life. And her image of church is a big front porch where anyone can stop by and tell their story, and be listened to, and they won't be told what to do, just heard and held.

The other is completely free, and yet her idea of church feels the opposite to me, including a clear list of who is allowed in and who is not, and a clear list of acceptable and unacceptable behaviors.    

I find myself wondering which woman is most free, and which one is most trapped. I find myself wondering how the things we face daily affect our ideas of the ideal church. Maybe the one who is used to being told answers even before she can ask her questions, who isn't allowed to tell her entire story, who isn't able to roam freely - maybe this one has something very real to tell us about what she needs church to be.  

And maybe those of us who have the freedom and power to make those decisions should really listen.  

I don't know about you, but I want to go to the front porch church - where all are welcomed and given a glass of sweet tea and offered a rocking chair and invited to sit for a spell, where we can idly share our stories about the wildness of life and the glimpses of divinity that work their way into our wanderings.  A place where we can sit for as long as we need to, and our comfort is unaffected by the presence of others, no matter how "other" they may be.  A place where our energy is invested in listening and receiving rather than telling and resisting.    

I can just picture Jesus there, rocking alongside, holding our stories, our fears, our hopes, and smiling and laughing with us.

(This picture is of a bench on the porch of Grace Calvary Episcopal Church in Clarkesville, GA - seemed like a good fit for this post).