Waffles in Church…

Last year, my husband and I went to see a live theater production of, The Thorn.  We’d never actually heard of it until a co-worker asked my husband if we planned on going.     

After a little research, and a trailer preview of The Thorn, my husband suggested that we plan a weekend getaway.  Proposing that instead of seeing the production in our home state, we could go to a neighboring state to enjoy it, and then attend the church of a well-known pastor, whose books I enjoyed reading.  I was thrilled by my husband’s suggestion, and excited that I’d have the opportunity to visit that pastor’s church.

On the day of the show, I felt the excitement all around me, as people in the theater anticipated “The Thorn” to start, and when it finally did, I became so engrossed that I felt transported to another time.  I was immersed into the life, death and resurrection of Christ, watching as dedicated actors realistically depicted His story, and I left there feeling like I’d just gone to church with the disciples of Christ.  It was that powerful, and I couldn’t wait until the following day when I’d actually be sitting in the church of a pastor whose best-selling books I enjoyed.

That Sunday morning, my husband and I arrived at the church, much earlier than we’d anticipated, and awkwardly stood in the entryway while a group of people were engrossed in what seemed to be some sort of meeting.  Not sure what to do, or where to go, we waited until the meeting dispersed, and then found our way to the sanctuary, and sat down. 

As I sat studying my surroundings, I found that the church wasn’t what I had expected it to be like.  Knowing that out of the nearly fifteen campuses associated with the pastor, and that we were in his homebase church, I expected it to be more churchlike somehow.   Instead of feeling like I was actually in church, I felt like I was at another production, as I studied the background of a city street behind the platform. I found myself questioning my husband, if he was certain that we were at the pastor’s primary location.  “Yes,” he assured me, and then for good measure he asked someone near us if we were at the right place.

We were, but unfortunately, the pastor wouldn’t be there that day because it was Youth Sunday, and so a guest pastor would be speaking instead. Trying not to be disappointed, after all, I was supposed to be there for God’s word, not the pastor, I continued viewing my surroundings until the service started.  After a few of the church’s youth spoke, and the congregation sang worship songs of praise, we were greeted by the guest pastor.

I sat trying to engross myself in the sermon, but I found myself completely distracted by the pastor’s demeanor.  At times, he appeared to be looking either far off to the left, or far off to the right, addressing people that I didn’t see.  Curious, I leaned forward in my seat, trying to see who he was talking to, but saw no one.  With his focus now frontward, the pastor continued preaching, but something was definitely off about him, and so once again, I leaned forward in my seat, trying to figure out what that something was.  It was then that I realized that the pastor wasn’t even actually there.

I was so taken aback by what I was seeing (rather not seeing) that it took every ounce of quiet within me to not lean over to my husband, and ask if he was seeing, or if he wasn’t seeing, what I myself was or wasn’t seeing. I became so engrossed in trying to figure out how the pastor had gotten to the platform, that I could no longer listen to his sermon.  I found myself wondering if he’d been teleported from another time, like Captain Kirk in Star Trek? Of course I hadn’t heard anyone say, “beam me up Scotty.”

I could hardly wait for the service to be over. 

Once it was, I could barely contain myself, as I eagerly asked my husband if he knew the pastor wasn’t a living breathing person, but was some sort of hologram instead? He knew, but unlike me, he’d listened to the sermon, and came away with a good message from it. Sermon? He was actually able to listen to the sermon? 

With my mind reeling, and feeling both shocked and disappointed that my pastor for the day had been artificial intelligence, my husband and I exited the building with me repeating several times, “that was weird.”  But the weirdness of it couldn’t overtake the sadness I felt in realizing that the pastor whose books I’d been so enamored by, had apparently been too busy building his kingdom to even be present for his sheep.  Making matters worse for me, even his replacement had been too busy to be there in person. 

For miles, as we drove away from that church, I continued mouthing to myself, and just as often saying out loud that I just couldn’t believe what I’d experienced.  I’m sure my husband was growing weary of my need to hit the repeat button in my head, when he pulled into a Waffle House parking lot, asking me if I was hungry. 

I was definitely hungry, and so we excited our car, and headed toward the entrance of that Waffle House.

“Good morning!” came an exuberant and joyful collection of voices from the staff, as they greeted us into the restaurant. Instantly, I found my strange mood lifting, as we followed the very upbeat waitress to our seat.  After a few moments of chit chat with her, and having our order taken, I sat in amazement watching the very real people, laughing and entertaining their patrons with friendly banter, and hearing several more unified “good mornings,” each time a new arrival entered the restaurant.  At one point a staff member accidently dropped a plate, breaking it, and causing a customer’s breakfast to land on the floor.  “Mazel tov,” another co-worker happily yelled out, sending a sea of laughter throughout the room. The atmosphere was so joyful, that anyone present couldn’t help, but to be in a good mood.

I realize that times have changed considerably, and that AI may be nice for someone wanting to be in two places at once, but there’s nothing quite like a unified good morning and a Mazel tov over a broken plate, to make you feel welcomed, cared about, and much closer to God, in a way that a sermon being preached by a hologram never can.

Being the church means being the church.  I experienced that firsthand while eating at that little impromptu church called the Waffle House, and unlike the church I’d attended prior to being at that Waffle House, I left both physically and spiritually fed, and with a powerful reminder that going to church doesn’t make you a Christian, being the church, does. . .