Strangers in our midst

A shy little man, dressed neatly in a tan sport jacket and jeans, walked into church unnoticed and slipped into a seat.

He liked the sermon, the first he had ever heard in an Adventist church. After the service, he waited in the line of worshipers who were shaking hands with the pastor. Wanting to express his appreciation for the sermon, he moved toward the pastor ready to extend his hand as those before him had, but the pastor had turned his back and moved away. He walked away ungreeted.

He wondered whether it was be cause he was not wearing a suit, as were many of the worshipers. Or could it be that he was not Caucasian? Race was not an issue in his Baptist church, where he was a deacon. Later, he was to learn why, when his experience was one of a half dozen featured by the religion editor of a large metropolitan newspaper.

I was the reason the stranger was there. He was one of about three dozen people I hired to visit Adventist churches in the North American Division a few years ago. The Adventist Review has, in recent months, been sending strangers into churches across the North American Division and reporting their impressions. This is what I wanted to do.

My investigations started when I was invited to speak at the 100th anniversary of a Midwestern Adventist church, the 80th anniversary of one in the West, and the dedication of a church in the South all within a period of a few weeks. Early on, I decided not to merely congratulate the first two on having survived. Had they, in fact, thrived? Did the Lord's genuine love of people come through in the way they related to each other? Were their worship services vital, their sense of mission intact? Was there some way I could determine their spiritual vitality before speaking to them?

Perhaps the best jury to give a verdict, I thought, would be visitors. Would they report being accepted? Would they be thrilled by a vital worship experience? What would a teenager with hair to his shoulder blades and a ring dangling from one ear have to say? What about a young woman in slacks and baubles? Or an aged bum radiating the odors of Joe Camel and Budweiser? Would conservatively dressed 35-year olds be given a more enthusiastic reception than they? I decided to find out.

I called a friend who lived near the church in the West and explained that I wanted a few non-Adventists to attend Sabbath services in the weeks before my arrival. They should not have attended an Adventist church before, and I would expect them to fill out a questionnaire following their visit. I had put together a small budget and would, if necessary, pay them to attend. Neither the pastor nor the members were to know of the project. For the church in the South I depended on an Adventist pastor in a neighboring district to find people to visit. In the Midwest, I called the religion editor of a major metropolitan news paper, explained my project, and asked whether he would cooperate, with the understanding that he could print the results but not identify the church. Bingo!

I titled the questionnaire "Observations on a Church Visit." Among the questions (somewhat condensed): Express your thoughts as you entered the church. What one thing did you especially enjoy? (I know this question wasn't objective, but I wanted something positive to report to each congregation when I spoke there! Nor did I produce a questionnaire from which to extrapolate grand generalizations for all Adventist churches in North America). Did any thing leave a negative impression? How would you describe the greeting you received? Were you invited to a fellowship dinner or home for lunch? Did the visit make you want to return? How would you characterize the attitude of the church members as a whole?

In addition, I offered a section with questions requiring answers to be filled in on a scale from one to five in which the visitor could characterize the atmosphere (friendly?) of the church and the interest shown in him or her as a per son. Of the worship service itself: Was it meaningful, reverent, a celebration of God's presence? I included a quarter page on which the visitor could share suggestions about how the church might relate more effectively to visitors.

So who were my visitors? The manager of a metropolitan radio station; a proofreader for a Philadelphia newspaper who was visiting the site of one of the churches; several conservatively dressed professional couples; a newspaper reporter; a Methodist minister; and, yes, the teenager with an earring, the 28- year-old newspaper reporter with the bangles, and a further selection of visitors not normally encountered in an Adventist pew.

Now, put yourself in the pew of one of these test churches. Imagine it is yours and that, duly introduced, I have stepped to the pulpit. Without the usual opening pleasantries and with a more sober mein than usual, I begin: "I am not here to congratulate you on having survived for 80 (or 100) years (or, in the case of one church, "for having paid off the mortgage"). During the past few Sabbaths, strangers have walked down the aisles of your church and found a place next to some of you. I hired them to come and to report their impressions of your acceptance, friendliness, or lack of it; and other aspects of your worship service. Not even your pastor was aware of their mission. Before I finish my sermon, I shall report their findings."

Now, imagine a congregation that goes dead silent. Grandparents glare at whispering grandchildren, and mothers practically throttle cooing babies. Teenagers quietly put aside their Insights, and the pastor looks as if he has given up exhaling. That's the way it was in each church. Never have I had such rapt attention!

Even now, I don't think you pastor readers are waiting for an extended report on my sermon theme. (In essence, I pointed out that the first angel's message is a people who give God glory by permitting Him to reveal His genuine goodness through them.) Thirty minutes into the sermon I began to give the awaited report, which, of course, varied from church to church. Here is a selection of comments I shared:

"Atmosphere conducive to worship."

"Soft seats" (You take what you can get!).

"I appreciated the warmth between the pastor and the congregation and the introduction of guests" the 28-yearold newspaper reporter.

"Got a lot out of the Sabbath School class, the sermon was great, and everyone made me feel very welcome."

"I especially enjoyed the open atmosphere, the lack of pressure, and the youth service." Did the church make this person feel that she would want to attend again next week? Her answer: "Absolutely!"

"A sense of Big Family friendliness." "The church does a really great job with visitors, much better than any other church I've ever visited."

"The members appear to have the love taught by Jesus."

The last four quotations were from visitors to the top-rated church. The last quote was from a lady in her late 50s who liked the Southern church so well that she returned and a few weeks later was baptized! (Which has led me at times to propose to ministerial groups, with some tongue in cheek, that they quit spending large sums of money on brochures featuring menacing beasts. "Just use the money to hire people to come," I've told them.)

The top-rated church was Avon Park, Florida, which is the one that had paid off the mortgage. And in subsequent visits under subsequent pastors, I've found the atmosphere still contagiously upbeat and friendly. In each of the three churches, a guest had some thing gracious to say. And, if you're wondering, I shared the observations with each pastor. (The pastor of Avon Park did get one "warning" on the questionnaire: "The outgoing spirit of this church can melt icebergs. But keep the pastor away from folks outside the church, or you'll have to start a new building program!" (This respondent also was baptized.)

But now some of the painful observations:

"The atmosphere was cold people going through the motions."

"I was not made to feel part of the group. No one asked who I was." But even at the lowest rated church, one sister (bless her heart!) invited one of my paid guests home for lunch!

One guest's feelings as he entered the church: "I was apprehensive and curious" (likely the attitude of many who enter the unknown for the first time). "I had a hard time with the noise of children. Partly my fault for sitting in the back" (But partly ours, for forgetting what mothers' rooms are for.) However, the visiting Methodist minister, while observing that the "crying and fussing" of infants was "disruptive," expressed pleasure with the family atmosphere. Here are others of his comments, shared with the Western church:

"No welcome by an usher or greeter. Found a seat unaided. No one spoke to me, smiled, or nodded. Visiting friends of members were introduced. I was not even spotted as a new face. As I left, an usher at the door said 'Hello.'" Members were "coldly indifferent."

His observations on the service: "I did not go to be critical but to worship. It was the first Seventh-day Adventist worship I have ever attended. A beautiful sanctuary but devoid of Christian symbols. The dedication of infants was impressive. The kneeling of worshipers during the opening prayer was great. A splendid number of children came forward for their story.

"Not a singing congregation. The hymns seemed irrelevant (incidental). I missed a flow in worship. I also missed an affirmation of faith and a benediction. The "dialog" sermon was well-done and made the Scriptures relevant to today's problems."

From a mid-30s well-dressed professional: "Guest speaker from the conference office was dull. I nodded off twice. I didn't learn much about the church's philosophy. Pastor introduced himself, but no one else did. Congregation lacked enthusiasm. Strong sense of family. I have no doubt that religion plays a large part in the lives of these people.

"I put my address and phone number on an offering envelope and enclosed $40 but have received no follow-up call."

No, I won't forget to tell you why the pastor of the Midwest church turned his back on the visiting Baptist deacon. But first a few further observations. I'm troubled by the Methodist minister's summary of a congregation as "coldly indifferent." Perhaps "awkward" or "shy" would be more fitting. Anyway, that's my generous appraisal of a Pennsylvania congregation my wife and I visited recently, while on a weekend vacation. We entered the church (maybe 80 members, no one at the door) just as the Sabbath School teachers (three in the sanctuary) picked up their quarterlies. We sat down in a class on the left of the aisle. Not only did the teacher not ask our names, he refused eye-contact during the lesson. We moved toward the front for the church service, preached by a lay member (the pastor was at the other church in his district). No one approached us; no one asked our names. At the end of the service I trailed the speaker down the aisle and, with a smile, introduced myself to my brothers and sisters of the Adventist family. Nods were perfunctory; handshakes were hurried. With the last hand shaken, my wife and I stood alone. We walked to our car, drove to a park, and ate our peanut butter sandwiches.

This shouldn't happen. Yes, we can train greeters and handshakers and name taggers. But you can't train love. Only when the loving Lord enters our heart (and always, only by invitation) can we really show a loving interest in someone other than self.

In fact, if I remember correctly, that was the way I concluded my sermon at the three churches that invited me to speak at a significant occasion in their history.

Did the comments of my "stranger" friends who walked their aisles make any difference in their mission? Yes. One example: The lowest-rated church recognized themselves in the column by the religious editor of their city paper. The board met to discuss the report. Only a week before, they had turned down a request by a nearby Baptist church to rent the Adventist gymnasium one night a week. That action was rescinded. The request was granted. I don't know whether that Baptist church was the one whose deacon had been one of my "strangers." I hope so.

And why did the pastor turn his back on him? Not because of his race. The pastor was mortified when I called, read him the deacon's report, and asked for an explanation. "You see," he said, "the week before, a stranger introduced himself to me after the service as an Adventist who had suffered an unexpected financial setback and needed emergency help. I gave him $80,* only to discover, a couple days later, that he was a confidence man who had worked his scam on a number of churches that week. When I saw this stranger standing there, hand outstretched, I thought 'Here's an other one!' and so I turned away."

You should know that the pastor had an excellent service record and, I believe, truly loved his Lord. He confessed his misjudgment and, with the aid of the church board, set the congregation onto a more sensitive and loving course in the Midwestern city.

I hope the Adventist Review's experiment is as productive of change. In fact, since the Adventist Review publicized its intentions, I've noticed that my home church's greeters are scanning visitors with new intensity, and firm and many are the handshakes extended. Of course, change has its perils. A few weeks ago, back in my home church for a Sabbath, I stepped up to a "stranger," shook her hand, and asked whether I might not enroll her in our guest book.

"Oh, Elder Hegstad," she replied. "You know me. I've been a member here for 20 years!"

Maybe she touched on a deeper problem still....