Sometimes I forget that there are people who have never been to church or synagogue or mosque or temple. Sometimes I forget some people have absolutely nothing to do with organized religion. But this past weekend I was reminded of that by a chance encounter at a local store.
About ten years ago a friend did a lovely charcoal drawing of me. I was dressed in my robes and had on a stole. The drawing needed to be matted and framed, so Linda and I took it to a shop that does such work. A very nice and helpful clerk--probably in her early fifties--waited on us. As she helped us pick out a frame she looked at the drawing and then at me, and finally asked: "That's you, right?"
"Yes,"I said, "with a little more hair." "What does that signify?" she asked, pointing to the stole. "Oh, I'm a pastor, that's my stole."
She looked at me rather puzzled. "What's a stole?" I launched into a full explanation of the scarf-like liturgical accessory that many pastors wear. "Do you know the story about Jesus washing the feet of the disciples?" I asked. (The stole is a symbol of his towel around his neck, and is designed to remind pastors that they are servants to the congregation.) "No," she said, "I don't know much about church. My parents were rebels of a sort--we went to the beach on Sundays. And I never have gotten to church as an adult. I probably should one of these days."
I told her she'd be more than welcome at our church. My wife assured her you can worship anywhere, even on the beach. She smiled, wrote up our sale, and we were on our way.
I've thought a lot about that conversation. I wonder if she has as well?
Sometimes I really do forget--but Saturday I was reminded yet again. Some folks have never been to church . . . .
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