God shuts me up

I'm currently in Southhaven, Mississippi sharing space with more than a handful of future missionaries. We had just spent a week learning about teaching in another culture, and we finally enjoyed Sunday as a day of rest. After five days full of seminars we were ready.

This Sunday the sole challenge was choosing a place of worship. Keeping this in mind, I got up, rifled through my suitcase, and chose some of my best casual wear from my limited collection. I threw on a black Everlast T-shirt complete with logo, cargo pants with Bible-compatible pockets, and my nicer pair of flip flops. I was stylin'.

After breakfast I hunted down the people who were going to the church I wanted to attend. They described it as a black Gospel Baptist church. I said I wanted to go as well. They replied with, "Everyone's going to be dressed up." Some helpfully added, "Are you wearing that?"

I hung my head and mentioned that's all I had with me.

There were at least twenty of us. If that was the case, about eighteen of us were white. The congregation numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands. As we entered the parking lot, I realized I'd once again be in the minority. I haven't felt like that since we came back to the States from Korea. I missed that feeling.

In the parking lot, I joked about hiding behind tall, well-dressed people. I was the only one displaying my brand of "stylin'". I took my Bible out of my pocket, hoping to de-heathenize my image as much as possible.

We were reasonably punctual, so we found a nice seat in the middle section. People would continue to arrive throughout the first hour of the service. Through the course of that time, we'd shift to the left and right, respectively, to make room for others to sit. Soon enough we were thoroughly squished. There was no ignoring us.

God has His ways of shutting me up. This church was huge. By "church" I mean the congregation and the building. I'll even throw in the screens up front. Yes. They were all huge.

That matters because I'm not a big church person. I often stated freely that big churches tend to be disconnected and inward focused. Sitting in a pew as the pastor read prayer requests, using individual names, I felt humbled. He asked us to join in prayer, and the next surprise came.

I didn't notice until later why the lady next to me grabbed my hand. She seemed middle-aged, so I wasn't too concerned. Then I looked around and realized all the people were joining hands in prayer. In most churches I've been to half this size people don't even greet each other.

Throughout the service I saw a concern for people. No one went in and out without a challenge to interract, to change something, to allow God to teach us.

The second item on the "shut up Matt" list was music. I've whined about worship being equated with music, and how much of that music seems too artificial, repetitive and emotional.

We sang many songs without hymnals. Sometimes we just listened.

The songs we sang without hymnals had direct lyrics that were easy to repeat. If you don't know where that tradition came from, look it up. The pastor was kind enough to explain it to us visitors and I'm grateful for that.

Music was used throughout the service, including the sermon itself. There was emotion, but it was genuine. There was a structure and freedom in the worship.

The pastor even did a dance number toward the end of his sermon. I'll be honest and say I wished I had the rhythm to follow suit.

At the end the pastor introduced us and asked us to stand. He must have talked to someone else in our group, because I didn't see it coming. We stood up and appeared on the front screens. So much for hiding my style.

We greeted him on the way out. He was one of several people who gave us a hug before the day was over. He encouraged us, and we tried to do the same. My friends said nice things, but all I could do was smile. Given the circumstances, I was speechless.