Blog

I’ve spent every Sunday this summer away from my home church.  In a departure from Chicago suburban life, I found myself on the shores of Lake Michigan.  My wife and I spend our summer weekends at a small Christian community in southwest Michigan.  More than 150 years ago, it was founded as a retreat for people to spiritually refresh during the summer.  It’s still that way today.  It’s a place where the streets double as sidewalks, the beach is packed on warm afternoons, kids can run safe and people grow closer to one another all while building their faith.

At the center of this community is the Tabernacle.  From the outside, it looks like a typical rural church.  It’s got aging wood siding that’s coated with layers of white paint, a peaked grey roof and a bell on top.  Inside, there are old wood floors that are water stained from whatever may have leaked in during years of hard winters.  The seats are all mismatched, discards from churches over the years.  It was the thrifty, Swedish way of putting together a place to worship God.

And since this is a seasonal church, open only during the summer months, there’s not regular pastor or worship leader.  Instead, folks in the community pitch in to help.  Preachers are hired to come in (partially paid with a week’s vacation at the beach), but everyone else is volunteer.  Those who can carry a tune are recruited to lead worship.  If you play an instrument, you’ll do special music during the offering.  We are always short of ushers, so if you show up early you risk being drafted.  Technical mistakes may abound, but you know what?  God shines through.

In the early years of my marriage, when I would first start going to this place, I’d get frustrated.  It’s a big change from the slickly produced worship service I’m used to in my suburban mega church.  I’d wonder why it couldn’t be better.  I’d get frustrated at the lack of organization and flow.  It left my heart not in a worshipful place, but one of prideful distain.

But this year that changed.  I don’t get as upset when we’re singing songs that were contemporary 10 years ago.  Now, I actually like picking up a hymn book and singing from it.  I don’t lose it when they ask visitors to stand up.  I don’t mind the mistakes.  You know why?  I found that if you close your eyes on a Sunday morning in the Tabernacle and just listen, you will hear the community singing out for their Lord.  If you look around when first-time visitors are asked to stand, you will see our community leaders reaching over the aisle in welcome, making sure they know about the upcoming Bible studies and youth programs.  My heart is in a much better place because, finally, I know people are doing the best they can with the goal of pleasing God.  Here is a body of believers in genuine community seeking authentic worship.  They’re not trying to be something they aren’t.  God shines through.

I know my seasonal church experience is one many of you may be in every week.  And while I can more easily relax my standards for a couple of months, it might be harder for you to do so week after week.  This year I have a much greater respect for the work that goes in to making church happen, whether the congregation is big or small.  It’s easy for me to get caught up in talking branding, communications and best practices.  It’s my job, after all.  But the best practice of all is being true to who you are while keeping a focus on God.  There are lots of ways to tell His redeeming story.  While intentionally settling for lack luster doesn’t give our best to God, He smiles when we worship with our full hearts while doing the best we can.  In a small church, with limited resources but a thankful passion for the great things God has done, God does indeed shine through.