Camo Shirts, Kinky Hair & Designer Purses

Christmas and New Year’s –

A time for barriers to come crashing down and radical moves to be made;

A time when the universe beckons for you and me to create experiences which will magnificently burst through the expensive presents, blinking lights, and thick eggnog…and into the beating heart of the holiday season. 

The divine, the Christ in each of us, the will to connect calls you and me – children, adults, everyone - to apply our creative will in order to graciously and humbly love, like the Wise Men chasing that shining star. 

In December of 2018, I tried chasing a star. 

From apartment 287, I walked around my apartment complex disbursing two-hundred copies of a self-made Christmas eve worship service invitation with a simple, “Hey, if you don’t already have a church on Christmas eve, mine would love to have you!” 

That was it.
No pressure, no guilt, no-nonsense.
JUST an invitation.

With each ask, I slowly realized where Christmas magic hides: in the invitation – because maybe, just maybe, someone out there was waiting to be asked, included, and loved.  Maybe a day would become brighter or a bout of loneliness would disappear, but I had to let go of my assumptions, expectations, and just ask. 

But smashing through differences was hard

I once started a church and ran a business by asking every person I knew to come join me in my efforts, but was fearful of the magnitude of differences between those regularly standing in the church’s courtyard and those regularly playing in my apartment’s courtyard.

As I walked along, I grew in my faith from extending an invitation I was nervous to deliver...

Because I’ve sat on the outside, wondering what it was like to be on the inside.
Because I know what it feels like to not be invited to the beautiful party.
Because too often, the traditions, customs, and unspoken expectations lingering within the four walls of a church make it difficult for newcomers to relax or integrate.
Because we (I’m including myself) unconsciously build invisible walls our friends fighting poverty, handicaps, or parenting fatigue must dreadfully climb over to get “in.”
Because the comfort we feel - that they don’t - can become the enemy of progress.
Because our journey to drawing the circle wider, holding the hands of newcomers, and forging partnerships with those not like us must be intentional.

Yet the dichotomy is real…

The church’s courtyard - calm and composed with its intentional landscaping – is clean and presentable.  The beautiful red brick lining the courtyard’s perimeter and the charming architecture throughout set a high tone for attire, behavior, language, and respect, well-known by the families and members frequenting its open space.    

The apartment’s courtyard - a frequent host to a wild scene of shoeless kids - hadn’t seen a landscaper or a pair of dress slacks in years.  Its uncut grass, chipping paint, blaring music, and twisted, dirty candy wrappers, set a tone for laid-back attire, reckless behavior, foul language, and spotty respect by the children and families frequenting its open space.   

Surrounding one courtyard are million-dollar, lakefront homes, unique shops, classy restaurants, and luxury automobiles. 

The other courtyard - a stone’s throw from a liquor store and bikini car wash - is surrounded by heavy traffic, an alternative high school, and the automobiles of working families and college students. 

The gap seemed so great.  

But in the far corners of these two courtyards, the divine quietly whispered – as the divine often does - something subversive.  These two different worlds living two miles apart forced the eye of my heart to look below the surface and discover the similarities I wasn't seeing…

Both courtyards are...

      Sacred space 
      Where friends gather

      Home to reckless joy
      Space for deep laughter
      Host to hot cups of cheap coffee
      Accepting to vulnerable tears 

      Familiar to children playing tag and spiraling out of control

      A place of refuge 
      Where the divine can be met

Both...

      Want more

It made sense to blur the lines, to shorten those two miles, and to grow a circle that much wider.  After all, that is what this time of year is about.

I decided since we were a community, we would attend church as one…The church let us borrow the big, white, twenty-passenger bus.  With our church's name boldly written across both sides of the bus, I rumbled into the complex entrance.  Twelve people - two adults and eight children - showed up to attend the Christmas eve service.

“Annette, is that bus what we are taking to church?”
The kids giggled, running up to the bus door.

We got in, started the engine, and drove the church bus past the pawnshop, alternative high school, and three regulars begging for money at our apartment’s corner.  

On our bumpy ride to church, the holy spirit began her dance.
Christmas, my friends, was in the air.

The rumbling bus and its energetic passengers turned down the beautiful, lakefront street our church is located on.  Each year, our church busts at the seams on Christmas eve with five services and three-thousand people.  Our Worship Coordinator’s role slightly resembles that of an air-traffic-controller.  The campus was packed with people walking up and down the sidewalks, dressed up in bright red high heels and snazzy dark suits for this special night. 

I pulled the bus up to the front of the campus - with my passengers wearing camo shirts, blue jeans, and ripped shorts.  

The holy spirit, unbothered by camo, kinky hair, holes in shorts or old sneakers at church, unapologetically danced - her expansive spirit calming the fast-beating hearts of the children now quietly peeking out the bus windows. 

On this starry night, our destination - where fifteen front row seats were graciously saved for us - was past that bustling courtyard, down the beautiful, stone breezeway, and into the large gymnasium.  

“You didn’t tell me there would be this many people, Annette,” someone whispered.
“Does it matter?” I said loud enough for all the children to hear, “This church has a place saved for you; you are supposed to be here.”

I was the first off. 

I looked around - at the sea of fancy dresses, suits, and designer purses - and tried not to show any signs of regret, worry, or fear.  Taking a deep breath, I leaned into God’s presence.  I turned towards the open door of the bus to see Elyse - a shy, black, eight-year-old girl of a single mom, standing at the top of the stairs of the bus.  Her mom, who stayed home with Elyse’s new baby brother, put Elyse in her only dress to come to church that night.  She looked beautiful with her hair tightly braided and her shiny black shoes.  

I smiled, “Hey, you. I’m ready to take you to church. You ready?”
She silently nodded.

As she made her way down the bus steps, I reached up and grabbed her little hand.  Her eyes grew bigger on each step and she tightened her grip.  When she stepped onto the sidewalk, she wouldn’t let go of my hand.  As the others made their way off the bus, Elyse clung to my side, her braids squeezing against my hips. The thick crowd of strangers overwhelmed her, but I promised she'd have fun.  I knew this church wouldn't let us down.  

“Ok,” she whispered.  She trusted.

The rest of the children and adults exited the bus and it was easy to see these kids were out of their element.  This was a courtyard, but not their courtyard.  

In a sea of comfortable white, a nervous line of color tip-toed through.
Hand in hand, we found our seats.

After each child was warmly greeted by a smiling associate pastor, the Christmas buzz took over.  They felt welcome, special, wanted, and like they belonged.  The stage lights turned different colors, the crowd grew larger, and their front row seats made them feel like the VIPs they were.  Wiggles and claps took over their bodies as the band began playing. Like little angels, they sat quietly through prayers, the sermon, and the offering. 

The holy spirit danced – in a dirty, camo shirt and shoes with holes - on Christmas Eve.
The holy spirit danced – in shiny, black shoes and with wild hair – on Christmas Eve.

It seems so simple, bringing people to church. 
But really, it’s not.

An invitation represents several deep lines of trust. 

Lines of trust are easily strengthened or weakened.  A raw experience leaves trust forever severed.  The children with me that night were five out of the (possibly) nine non-white children in that five-hundred person worship service.   My row stuck out, but the children did not see it.  What they saw, was Christmas magic. And what they felt, was a spirit of love from an embracing church family. 

The gap seemed so great between those two courtyards, but lines need to be blurred and distance between communities needs to be shortened - because both want more.

2020 beckons!
What barriers can come down?
What radical moves can be made?
Who is waiting for an invitation?

At the end of the service, we lifted flickering candles high into the air singing, “Joy to the World,” and I lifted a prayer.  I thanked God for never giving up on me, the gift of community, a messy courtyard, a humble new beginning, and the love of giggly friends. 

I still consider it a miracle they came.  And got off the bus.

With a spirit of wonder and hope, may we send the invitation, shorten the distance, bust through the artificial and dance our way into the heart of a divine party.

Peace,

Annette