A Date with Church: The Hunt is On
A few years ago, I attended my church’s annual women’s conference. At the crescendo of the event, five hundred women sat perched on the edge of our seats, conference t-shirts proudly displayed over bosoms heaving with the love of Jesus.
“OK, ladies: those who are married, remain seated for a great panel on biblical marriage!” the announcer chirped. “Ages 18-29, exit and head to the breakout rooms for a session on Godly singlehood!”
Forty-something and single, I sat in my chair for a while and then got in my car and drove home to the dogs, who didn’t care that I hadn’t found them a daddy and or that I was a spinster outside the sanctioned age range of my church’s ability to minister to single women. Due to one thing or another, it’s been years since I stepped over a church’s threshold, except when my sister asks nicely at Christmas.
I’ve decided it’s time to rejoin the ranks of the church-going, so I’m “dating” again. In this part of the country, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a church, so I suppose it’s just a numbers game. If you kiss enough frogs (no offense to churches), you’re bound to find a prince. As long as they aren’t sacrificing toads to Beelzebub in the basement, I’m willing to give them a try.
There’s a mega-church down the street and a mid-size house of worship in the other direction. From my online investigations, both claim to be Jesus-followers and straight-talkers with an enthusiasm for helping the poor, but before I find myself screwed and missing my wallet, I decided to do some field research this weekend. (I don’t even know if I’m talking about church attendance or actual dating, at this point.)
The mega-church had its high-points: as I walked up to the greeters, one of them said, “Hello, pretty lady!” I preened, of course, because I’d put on lipstick. Visitors to this establishment receive a Chik-Fil-A gift card, so I had dinner covered. Before the pastor came on to the stage, a saxophone-wielding Santa Claus tootled out a jazzy rendition of “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas”. And there were a couple of thought-provoking points made during the message, although it was light on biblical references. Extra points for a Saturday evening service time and a complimentary pen!
The smaller church I attended Sunday morning had a worship team that served up a familiar handful of songs, so I wasn’t reduced to mumbling “watermelon” to look like I was singing along. No free pen, but the message was given by a locally-renowned biblical scholar with a “Dr.” in front of his name and was chock-full of Bible verses. A blight on this church was that they had a full minute of handshake-and-hello time. I sat next to an Adidas-clad teenager who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but shaking the hand of a middle-aged spinster. Me too, kid.
What am I looking for? I’m looking for that little zing! that you feel when you meet someone or something that fits, that thing that says, “I want to see more of you, my friend.” You might call it the Holy Spirit’s boot in the arse. I’ll know it when I feel it.
