Worshiping to Distraction

I still can’t figure out what the ushers were thinking when they let the dog into the church. Granted, the door was open. The dog assumed he was welcome, but they didn’t even try to stop him. At least they didn’t offer him a bulletin. Things really got exciting when the beast scurried under the pews to avoid capture. I thought for a few minutes we would witness the Massachusetts version of the ‘Mississippi Squirrel Revival.’

Don’t you marvel at the frequent distractions in worship? Here’s a sampling. You couldn’t possibly make up this stuff.

Eye-catching apparel

One memorable clothing distraction was The Sweater. A leader in our church, a giant of a man, came to serve communion in a red ski sweater. I love sweaters, and there’s nothing wrong with wearing one to church, but this was a whole lot of sweater. Yards of bright red wool, ornamented with big white reindeer. How can you contemplate the sacrifice of Christ when you’re nose to nose with Rudolph? I decided not to say anything, but the next month he showed up again in the same outfit. Apparently it was his communion sweater. It was time to talk.

The apparel distraction category also includes young women who come to worship underclothed. One blossoming teen sang a solo wearing a blouse she had outgrown a few grades previously. Mom and Dad sat proudly in the audience, oblivious to the distraction their daughter was causing.

Another soloist once wore a dress so short that none of us sitting directly behind her knew where to look. I settled on a prayerful, head-bowed stance.

Electronic demons

We’ve all grown accustomed to the chorus of beeps and buzzes as electronic watches across the sanctuary signal the hour. I was not prepared for Joe’s new watch.

Joe was visually challenged and hearing impaired, so he purchased a device that spoke the time, loudly. I don’t think Joe was sending me a message when he pressed the button, but his watch sure did. During the service a mechanical voice would clearly enunciate, ‘Eleven fifty-eight.’

My biggest electronic demon has always involved sound equipment. Through the years I have heard the disembodied voices of ham radio operators exhorting my congregation. Radio stations have come across the speakers with greater clarity than my home stereo system.

The most terrifying noises I’ve ever heard have happened during worship, wrought by sound technicians. Some were so piercing that they jeopardized the structural integrity of my dental work. With those who wear wireless mikes, I can attest: squealing, whistles, and feedback will follow me all the days of my life, for amateurs dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Fall of the house of Ushers

Beware ushers bearing notes. I used to get several each year alerting me that a car had its lights on. I hated to break the flow of worship. Since our announcement time is at the close of the service, I decided to wait until then to read the notes aloud. I apologized that the lights probably weren’t on anymore and offered to call AAA myself. The ushers haven’t bothered to give me many notes since then.

Our air-conditioned sanctuary also features overhead fans. One fan is directly over the pulpit. Occasionally some helpful usher turns the knob the wrong way and then disappears. The blades above my head begin spinning like a turbo-prop, threatening to lift the roof from the building.

Tornadoes may be common in the Midwest but not on the platform of the church. If the ushers fail to notice the swirling debris around me, I can only hope the meaning of my hand signals registers with someone before I am swept up into glory. As a backup, I am preparing a sermon on the departure of Elijah, complete with visual aids.

Late, grate comers

I used to complain about latecomers. Not anymore. Recently our worship plans included a soloist singing, ‘Jesus, He Meets You Where You Are,’ as our choir provided backup.

The service started. No soloist. I wasn’t worried until I saw the look on our minister of music’s face.

Thirty minutes into the service it was time for the solo. The director casually announced that he would do his best to fill the part. Halfway through the song, choir members started signaling. The soloist had arrived. She joined in the song on her way to the platform and ministered one of the most powerful solos I have ever heard.

It was as if we had planned it that way.

They brought the afflicted

One Sunday I noticed a commotion near the back of the sanctuary. Someone was in some distress, but I was in the middle of my sermon. As I preached I wondered what to do. Although ushers were attending the person, they didn’t move him, and many in the congregation weren’t aware that anything was happening.

When I heard the sirens, I knew it couldn’t be ignored. At that point in the sermon, I was talking about the power of prayer. I said someone needed our prayers right then and walked down the aisle toward the ill man. I got there the same time the paramedics did. We prayed. Seconds later the ambulance sped off and I concluded my sermon.

I can excuse someone’s interrupting worship by having a heart attack, but what about the people who make the service sound like a tuberculosis ward? There is the one who insists on coughing up a lung every week. Another exerts tremendous force blowing indescribable things into a hanky, then looks around as if surprised by the outcome. And you can always count on the one who, at the most profound moments, emits a noise only a Canadian goose could appreciate.

Water, water everywhere

I have pastored three churches. All of them practice baptism by immersion. All are water retention challenged.

My first church wasn’t too bad. The pipes to the baptistry had the decency to explode when no one was there. The contractor was responsible for the extensive water damage.

My second church had a huge baptistry that loomed high over the congregation, perched above a pit housing the organ and sound equipment. It leaked. We held several services accompanied by the sound of water draining into buckets. This was doubly distracting for me after I discovered the baptistry also leaked through the other side of the wall. On the other side were my bookshelves.

When we were ready to build a new building, I wanted to be there to see that baptistry destroyed. I wanted to swing the sledgehammer.

Here at my third church, every baptism so far has resulted in drenching the room below. This despite a complete relining of the tank. I am seriously considering becoming a Presbyterian.

I guess we all have to learn to keep ministering amid distrac. …

John Beukema pastor of The Village Church, 4475 Wolf Road, Western Springs IL 60558. He can be reached at wsbc1912@aol.com