<img class="alignnone" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/images/3278629664_73ce68bf60.jpg" alt="" />
<h5 style="padding-left: 360px;">Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/lbarreto/">Luis Barreto</a></h5>
<strong>I grew up associating church with perfection and predictability.</strong> That doesn't mean I loved it as a kid, it just was what it was: well-groomed and dressed people, a choir in matching dove grey robes singing Bach and Hayden, the perfectly cadenced Lord's Prayer, and a service that ended promptly an hour after it began.

<strong>As an adult, I have tended to gravitate toward churches that are, shall we say, much less predictable. And I love them madly <em>for</em> the quirkiness, while </strong><strong>simultaneously</strong><strong> getting all anxious <em>because</em> of the quirkiness.</strong>

Yesterday morning, I was veering sharply toward the fidgety, anxious, <em>oh-no-what-could-possibly-happen-next</em> collection of feelings about my church. It was partly that everything seemed a bit more chaotic than usual, like we were on some wild ride that could end with a big, fun exclamation of joy...or could end very badly.

But I'm sure the main reason I was holding my breath half the service is because a casual friend/acquaintance who has been wanting to visit my church was sitting next to me. I was suddenly seeing everything through her eyes (or how I <em>perceive</em> her eyes, because I really don't have the slightest idea how she sees things). <strong>All of those people sitting around me, all the quirks, all the imperfections and raw beauty I've become so accustomed to and have grown to love, suddenly seemed harsh, awkward, and cringe-inducing.</strong>
<h4>Human nature defies logic (yet again)</h4>
Why do we do that? I know we all do. We love our kids, our spouse, our siblings and parents dearly, not just in spite of their quirks, but even <em>because</em> of them. But then suddenly we find ourselves in a new situation, more formal or more exposed, with different people, and suddenly all those endearing behaviors are less like odd happy melodies and more like fingernails on a chalkboard.

This is the part I don't get: We all <em>know</em> that no one is perfect, and if asked directly we are willing to give  allowances and decent measures of grace. Yet somehow we expect individuals—and even whole collections of people like extended families and churches—to be adept at polishing themselves to a high gloss and putting on a proper show.

<strong>So we're all sitting there, knowing people aren't perfect, but feeling pleased they can successfully <em>pretend</em> like they're perfect.</strong> And if they can't pretend convincingly enough (even though we know they're just putting on a show) we're disappointed in them. Maybe we even decide not to get into a deeper friendship with them, or we decide not to visit that church again.

What is that about?!? I ask this not pointing fingers, but knowing full well that I do it! <strong>I was sitting there in church this morning doing it, wishing these imperfect people I love so much could do a better job at pretending to be perfect!</strong>
<h4>Luckily, it all comes back to Jesus' love</h4>
In case you're wondering, the friend who visited my church this morning didn't seem phased by the quirks. Maybe she's just good at pretending, but she seemed to actually enjoy the worship service and the people. She said it was refreshing because it felt so real (and when she said it, it didn't at all feel like an backhanded compliment!).

And also, in case you're wondering, I know Jesus doesn't see people in the messed up way we do. He doesn't want us to put on a show. But sometimes I forget that—not because it isn't clear to me, but because <strong>I'm so used to associating church with both Jesus and perfection.</strong> I forget to stop and think about it again.

Thankfully, I got the message loud and clear at a congregational meeting last night. We happened to be discussing future plans and directions, and Brian, who has been a part of the fellowship for decades, felt compelled to share his experience from that morning's worship—the very service that made me all tense.

What Brian said, in essence, was this: He was standing in the back of the sanctuary toward the end of the service, observing all the chaos around him. Suddenly, he had this strong sense that Jesus was saying "This isn't a church, it's a family, and I have so much love for it." Later, when I emailed Brain to ask if I could share his revelation on my blog, he added this:
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><em>...during that half minute or so of revelation, I felt deep, passionate love for every person I looked at. And I felt for that short time that the "chaos"...was something that caused deep joy and laughter in the heart of our Lord. I got the feeling that it wasn't the disorderliness per se that gave him joy, but rather the fact that <strong>we were all, young and old alike, simply being ourselves and letting others be themselves,</strong> and I think he really likes that.</em></p>
I think so, too.