The Tie That Binds

I had most of today by myself. No papers to write. A bit of laundry to catch up on. But mostly, a day to myself. So, naturally, I took my copy of the Sunday Mobile Register with me to Starbucks. You may not believe me on this one, but I don’t make it to the ‘Bucks very much down here. That’s because my “real” ‘Bucks is on Airport Blvd. For the uninitiated to Mobile, that the is the main drag where fabulous amounts of petroleum are expended on paying homage to the all-powerful traffic light. Starbucks was rather full, but I managed to snag a table between the merchandise wall and a middle aged lady doing the cross word puzzle. I read an editorial written by a Chicago journalism professor who lamented the current exodus of men from the evangelical black church. He was lamenting, not to chastise black men into going back to church (for he no longer goes himself), but to call the church to turn back to black men. It was a powerful piece. Personally moved, I went home, put on a tie, and went to church.

OK, one of the hardest questions I answer with some regularity is how it is I came to leave the ministry to enter the practice of law. Harder still is the remaining question: “Do you know of a good church around here?” Whether that question is asked in Mobile or Birmingham is usually irrelevant. I say to my shame and that of the larger Christian community, “No, not really.” I won’t claim to have visited every church in both cities in my quest, but I will make the unpopular claim that such an exercise is largely unwarranted. I know ‘em. I’m not the guy who pisses and moans about all those hypocrites who populate churches. And even though I have in fact been “burned” by a church experience, no, that is not the reason I am so infrequently a pew warmer. My heart is broken for the modern church. My life the past three years has been fed with a steady stream of people who desperately miss the fellowship, worship, and restoration of a good church home, but are no longer willing to subject themselves to the “usual.” The usual being: Music that is either ancient and dry or modern and vacuous. Preaching that is somewhere between a browbeating on one extreme to spiritual masturbation on the other. Fellowship that is so program driven that there is something for everyone, provided you have zero interest in spiritual depth or making a difference in this country. Mission work? We go to third world countries for that. And there’s plenty of them. Somewhere between churches with a physical plant that dictates the clientele necessary to support them and the concept-church teetering on the brink of solvency, a good many of my generation have opted out. I do not profess to have the solution. But I do profess to be heartbroken over it. I never wanted to leave the church. I still don’t. My main comfort in my situation is that the New Testament never really seems to indicate that Jesus had a ‘membership’ at any particular synagogue. It looks much more like wherever he went, he found believers, or at least people who wanted desperately to believe, who were hungry for something other than tradition, cultural religion, and soul-leaching demands on an already taxed spirit. I still find those believers. We’re out there. We’re hungry. And we may be lonely but we are never Alone.