52 Churches Boxset E-Book

Peter DeHaan

• Herausgeber: Rock Rooster Books
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Serie: Visiting Churches Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 705

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Visit fifty-two churches in a year? No way! 

Peter DeHaan and his wife did just that. They spent a year visiting a different Christian church every Sunday: Protestant mainline, evangelical, and charismatic; Roman Catholic too. 

He visited a congregation just like yours. Count on it. 

You’ll laugh. You’ll cringe. You’ll cry. 

Church-reform proponent Peter DeHaan is a strong advocate of forming meaningful Christian community. And he shares his discerning journey of discovery to inspire ministers, members, and attendees to build personal connections that matter. 

This isn’t a church-shopping romp or a mean-spirited critique. Peter doesn’t rip at today’s church. Instead he offers a gift of encouragement, hope, and insight to all of Jesus’s followers. Plus, he shares astute observations and makes spot-on suggestions. 

Then build on the narrative of 52 Churches with the thought-provoking follow up: The 52 Churches Workbook. In it, consider 200 challenging questions to grow your faith. Ideal for group discussion or individual introspection. 

But that’s not all. Read more church encounters in More Than 52 Churches. Followed by The More Than 52 Churches Workbook. More experiences and more reflective considerations. 

Read the 52 Churches Boxset for education, read it for entertainment, and read it for the vision gained only from visiting a diverse array of churches. 

These books are ideal for ministry leaders, members, and spiritual seekers. 

Get your copy of the 52 Churches Boxset to begin your own exploration of religious practices!

Leseprobe

52 Churches Boxset

Discover How to Make Church Matter

––––––––

Peter DeHaan

52 Churches Boxset: Discover How to Make Church Matter

Copyright © 2018, 2019, and 2020 by Peter DeHaan

All rights reserved: No part of this book may be reproduced, disseminated, or transmitted in any form, by any means, or for any purpose without the express written consent of the author or his legal representatives. The only exception is short excerpts and the cover image for reviews or academic research.

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

ISBN: 978-1-948082-57-0

Published by Rock Rooster Books

Contents

52 Churches

The 52 Churches Workbook

More Than 52 Churches

The More Than 52 Churches Workbook

About Peter DeHaan

Books by Peter DeHaan:

52 Churches

A Yearlong Journey Encountering God, His Church, and Our Common Faith

Peter DeHaan

––––––––

52 Churches: A Yearlong Journey Encountering God, His Church, and Our Common Faith

Copyright © 2018, 2020 by Peter DeHaan.

Book 1 in the 52 Churches series. Second edition.

All rights reserved: No part of this book may be reproduced, disseminated, or transmitted in any form, by any means, or for any purpose without the express written consent of the author or his legal representatives. The only exception is short excerpts and the cover image for reviews or academic research.

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

ISBNs

978-1-948082-06-8 (ebook)

978-1-948082-07-5 (paperback)

978-1-948082-18-1 (hardcover)

Published by Spiritually Speaking Publishing

Credits:

Developmental editor: Cathy Rueter

Copy editor/proofreader: Robyn Mulder

Cover design: Cassia Friello

Author photo: Chele Reagh, PippinReaghDesign

––––––––

To Candy, my partner for this adventure and in life.

The Beginning

“Where do you go to church?”

Oh, how I dread that question.

It isn’t that I don’t go to church or am too embarrassed to answer. Instead, my frustration comes from the scowls I receive as I fumble through my reply. No matter what I say, I cause confusion.

This question about church attendance comes from clients at the local food pantry, where I volunteer. The pantry is a community effort started by local businesses, service organizations, and churches. Now staffed mostly by church members, church attendance is a common topic of our patrons.

I serve as the point person for the clients. I explain our process, guide them through the paperwork, and match them with a volunteer to help them shop. As we move through these steps, we often chat. This is when the awful question about where I go to church comes up.

The problem is that I don’t attend any of the churches that support the pantry. Instead, my wife, Candy, and I drive some fifteen miles to a church in another community. Though I long to worship God in the community where we live, he has sent me to one further away and less convenient.

Sometimes I explain all this, but the clients’ eyes glaze over, either in boredom or bewilderment. Other times I only share the name of our church, but no one recognizes it. Since it’s not a typical church name, they wonder if I’m kidding. Occasionally, I change the subject, but they don’t like that either.

Eventually, I realize they ask because they’re looking for a church. Sure, some people are being polite, others feel obligated to ask—since nearly all our volunteers go to church, and a few want to label me based on my church affiliation. But most of them just want to find a spiritual community to plug into.

The pantry’s mandate is to serve residents of our local school district, which has ten churches within its borders. I don’t know a thing about some of them. I know a little bit about each of the five churches involved with the pantry, but I don’t know enough to answer folks’ questions or direct them to the best match for their needs and background. What if I visited all ten? Then I could better help clients who were looking for a church.

Yet, it isn’t that simple. What about churches just outside the school district? Should I consider nearby congregations too? In addition to the ten within our school district, five more are a few miles to the southwest, twenty-one to the west, and scores more to the east.

* * *

All my life, I’ve gone to church. This has been a regular practice, pursued with dogged determination. Yet, in considering the churches I’ve attended—first with my parents, next by myself, and then with my family—our church of choice was seldom the nearest one.

Why don’t we go to church where we live? This is a deep desire of my heart: to live, worship, and serve in the same community. In addition to being practical in terms of time, effort, and cost, worshiping locally would also provide more opportunity to connect with and form a faith community in our geographic community, not somebody else’s.

Another perplexing question is wondering why each of our church-attending neighbors goes to a different one. I long to worship God with my neighbors. Are the forms of our faith so different that we can’t go to church together? The answer should be “no,” but the evidence proves otherwise.

My hunch is that each possible church opportunity offers a fresh perspective of pursuing God or perhaps a different understanding of what it means to worship him. If I can learn from each one, my comprehension of the God I love will grow and my understanding of worshiping him will be enhanced.

These reasons propel me forward, to undertake my unconventional faith journey of visiting different churches.

This isn’t the first time I wondered about the practices of other churches. My grandmother went to a Baptist church. It was so different from the mainline one I attended that as a young child I thought she was a borderline heathen or perhaps part of a cult.

I was even more concerned about the girl next door, my only consistent friend for the first ten years of my life. She went with her family to a Roman Catholic parish and attended a parochial school. Based on misinformation from people who didn’t understand Catholicism—or perhaps didn’t care to—I was convinced she was on her way to hell. She likely thought the same thing about me. I assumed I was on the side of right, and she, on the side of wrong. The idea that we could both be right was beyond my comprehension. I even wondered how I might convert her to my church practices, not knowing we both looked to the same God, just in different ways.

When my family moved, my exposure to Catholics increased. In middle school art class, where the teacher had no clue what went on in her room, some classmates started arguing about Purgatory when we were supposed to be making art. A group of us ditched our projects to debate the issue. We aligned our teams on opposite sides of a rectangular table. We stared at each other until I framed why we sat there glaring at each other. “Is there Purgatory?”

“Yes,” answered the other side of the table.

“No,” came the retort from my side.

No one said anything more. We each had our opinions, but we lacked support. The debate ended without any discussion and without a winner. We slunk away from the table. It bothered me that I couldn’t defend my unexamined position and that I learned nothing about Purgatory. How could Christians—who all claim to follow Jesus—hold such polarized opinions over the same faith?

* * *

I was a voracious reader, and my grandmother kept me supplied with a steady flow of books, all from a Baptist perspective. This influenced me significantly during my formative years, causing me to wrestle greatly in attempting to reconcile a traditional Christian mindset with evangelical teaching. Later, I discovered the Holy Spirit—the third part of the Trinity that mainline and conservative Christians downplay, sometimes even dismiss. I immersed myself in a pursuit of the charismatic.

We’re all on the same team, I lamented. Why can’t we get along?

This so vexed me that, years later, when it came time to select my dissertation topic I had no hesitation. I chose Christian unity. My imperative need to learn why we were different and to advocate Christian harmony became even more urgent as I studied Jesus’s prayer in John 17, which he uttered just prior to his capture and execution. With an agonizing death only hours away, Jesus took time to pray. His final request was that all his future followers would get along. He knew the impact of his sacrifice would be lessened if those who later professed to follow him lived in conflict with each other.

Now, with my dissertation complete, I have a theoretical understanding of the need for unity. Despite that, I lack the practical knowledge of how the different streams of Protestants express their faith and worship God. And I’m completely ignorant about the rest of Christianity.

* * *

As I wonder what to do with my idea of visiting area churches to better inform myself and help the food pantry clients, God prompts me to pursue a grander vision. At his leading, I plan an unconventional faith journey, one of adventure and discovery: to learn what he would show me by visiting a different Christian church every Sunday for a year. I eventually call my sojourn “52 Churches.”

Oh, how this vision resonates with me. All my life I’ve yearned for more, spiritually. More from church, more from its community, and more from our common faith. I’ve searched for answers, answers to impertinent questions I can sometimes barely articulate. Yet something deep inside compels me to ask them, even though I confound others every time I do. A primal urge forces me to reach for this spiritual “more,” one I know to exist, as surely as I know my own name. I dare to extend my arms toward God and have the audacity to expect him to reciprocate, perhaps even touching the tip of my outstretched fingers.

We’re content to drink Kool-Aid when God offers us wine. (This is an unlikely metaphor for me to use since I don’t drink alcohol—except for the occasional communion service that serves it.) Yes, there is more. So much more. I’m desperate to discover it—and visiting fifty-two churches offers the potential to uncover more—or at least get me closer. This is something I must do. For me, this is no longer an option but a requirement. My faith demands it. My spiritual sanity requires it.

This adventure earns the support of my wife and willing accomplice; my pastor, who encourages me to move forward; and my fellow elders who, after initial apprehension, support me, even anticipating what I will learn and share. This isn’t a church-shopping romp, looking for a perfect faith community. Instead, I seek to broaden my understanding of God, church, and faith by experiencing different spiritual practices.

To do this, Candy and I will take a one-year sabbatical from our home church, intent on returning, armed with a greater understanding of how to better connect with the God we love, worship, and serve. Yet I realize God might have other plans. He could tell us to join one of the churches we visit. He might instruct us to extend our quest or end it early. He could fundamentally change our understanding of church and our role in it. Or perhaps things might work out as we plan, with us simply returning to our home church, one year later, better equipped to worship and serve.

Along the way, I suspect each church will show us a different approach to encountering God. I’m determined to learn what I can each week to increase my comprehension of him and enhance my worship. I want to expand my understanding of our common faith, and I expect to boost my appreciation for the diversity of the local branches of Jesus’s church.

Whatever the outcome, I know God will teach us much, and I intend to come back well-armed with helpful information for the clients at the food pantry.

As I tell close friends about my plan—actually, it’s God’s plan—many resonate with it. This isn’t just a journey for me but for us all, albeit vicariously for most. This isn’t one man’s narcissistic pursuit. It is an adventure for all who sense a need for more.

To those disenfranchised with church

: This is a journey of hope and rediscovery. Don’t give up on church. God has a place in it for you. Yes, church can be messy at times, and the easy reaction is to give up. Maybe church left you disappointed, or her members hurt you beyond comprehension, but there are many people, at many churches, ready to offer love and extend acceptance. Don’t let a bad incident, or two, cause you to miss a lifetime of spiritual connection with others. I pray this book will call you back to Christian community.

To spiritual seekers

: You have a place in God’s family. I’ll share fifty-two ways to expand your perspective. Diligently seek God as you explore churches, and you will find him. But don’t shop for a church as a consumer. Instead, travel as a pilgrim on a faith journey, seeking fellow sojourners to walk beside you. I pray the end of this story will mark the beginning of yours.

To the inquisitive

: The church of Jesus is bigger, broader, and vaster than most of us have ever considered. Here, I share fifty-two reasons why, fifty-two variations of one theme. I pray you will begin to ask brave questions about church practices, explore fresh ways to worship God, and accept those who hold different understandings.

To church leaders

: I offer a narrative to help you reach out more effectively, embrace more fully, and love more completely. You’re sure to catch glimpses of your church reflected on these pages, with anecdotes that will cause you to smile—and to groan—with each impression offering insight to those willing to accept it. May this book serve as your primer to celebrate what you do well and improve what you could do better. I pray this will mark a new beginning for your local branch of Jesus’s church.

To advocates of Christian unity

: We’re part of the church Jesus began. It’s time everyone embraces this reality. I pray this account will encourage you to pursue greater unity in Jesus, to help churches in your area work together for God’s glory, so that everyone will know the Father, just as Jesus prayed (John 17:20–26). Another word for Christian unity is

ecumenical

: Of or relating to the worldwide Christian church.

* * *

Candy compiles a list of churches within ten miles of our home. She initially identifies fifty-seven, but we keep discovering more. Our file eventually balloons to ninety churches located within a ten-mile drive.

Not on the list is our own church, an outlier congregation that is part of a small mainline denomination, even though many assume we’re nondenominational—because that’s how we act. God told me to help start this church. He called me to go there. Despite aching to attend church closer to home, he hasn’t released me to do so.

To realize the most from our sojourn, we form a plan. We’ll visit those churches nearest our home first, picking them in order of driving distance. Toward the end of our journey, we’ll choose other churches from the remaining list, visiting those most different from our norm. Making the list is the easy part.

Next, we set some guidelines. Each week, we’ll check their website, hoping to learn about them before our visit so we can more fully embrace our time there. Still, knowing that websites are sometimes out-of-date, we’ll email or call to verify service times. (Candy faithfully handled this every week for the entire year.) If there are multiple meetings, we’ll go to the later one, since second services, which usually have a higher attendance, possess more energy, and lack time constraints.

We’ll dress casually, as we normally do, for church. For me this means a T-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes in the summer and a casual shirt, jeans, and boots in the winter. This is practical because my wardrobe best allows it. It will also help because casual attire is what a non-churched visitor would likely wear. Though I don’t want to come off as an unchurched outsider, I’ll learn more if they don’t view me as a conformed insider.

We agree to go along with any visitor rituals, but we’ll do nothing to imply we might come back or consider joining their community. If they want to give us literature or welcome gifts, we’ll graciously accept them. When asked why we’re visiting, we’ll be honest, saying we’re seeking to expand our understanding of worshiping God by visiting area churches—but we aren’t looking to join one.

Also, we’ll avoid showing up at the last minute, instead aiming to arrive ten minutes early. This will allow for possible pre-church interaction. Afterward, we’ll look for opportunities to talk with people and will stay for any after-church activities—except Sunday school.

This is because the original purpose of Sunday school was to teach poor children how to read. By the time public schools took over this task, Sunday school had become an institution and continued as an expected requirement. At most churches Sunday school is now little more than an obligatory expectation, where frustrated faculty seek to fill time that antsy children strive to avoid. Too many Sunday school programs bore their students and effectively teach kids that faith is boring.

However, aside from Sunday school, as we visit churches, we’ll do our best to be open and approachable, interacting with others any way we can.

Perhaps most important, we’ll participate in their service to the degree we feel comfortable, while being careful not to push their boundaries. For more exuberant expressions of worship this means we’ll have the freedom, but not the obligation, to follow their lead. For more reserved gatherings, we won’t do anything to alarm them with our behavior. I’ll blog about our visits, but I won’t keep the dispassionate distance of a reporter. I’ll engage in the service and with their community.

Throughout our adventure, I will continue to participate in a twice-a-month, midweek gathering at our home church. It is a nurturing faith community where we encourage and challenge each other. This will serve as my spiritual base during our sojourn and help keep me connected. I’ll also listen to our church’s sermon podcasts and attend elder meetings.

As friends pray for our journey, one asks that we make a positive impact on each church we visit. This surprises me. I strive to make a difference wherever I go, but I never considered it for 52 Churches. I assumed we would receive, but I never considered how we might give. With an expanded perspective, our adventure becomes doubly exciting.

Talk is safe. Action is risky. It’s easy to consider a bold move in the indefinite future. But I need to pick a date, or this will never be anything more than an intriguing idea that never happens.

It’s the season of Lent, and our church is marching toward Easter. What if we start our journey after that? I share the timing with my wife. I expect resistance—or perhaps, I hope for some—providing an excuse for delay. But she nods her agreement. My pastor and fellow elders also affirm the timing. Some are envious.

Candy and I celebrate Jesus’s resurrection with our home church. Then we slip away to begin our sojourn the following Sunday.

I expect this to be an amazing adventure, and I invite you to journey with us.

Part 1: Getting Started

It’s Sunday morning, and we’ve yet to visit our first church. Even though it’s only been a week, I already miss my friends at our church. I already miss what I know and expect, even though I know to expect the unexpected. At least the unexpected happens in a familiar place and with friends.

As an introvert who excels at social awkwardness, I relish familiar surroundings. Going somewhere new produces a deep fear I yearn to avoid. I have driven into a parking lot at a new place, panicked, and driven away. Instead of fighting fear, I prefer to flee it. I understand panic attacks. It takes prayer and God’s help to subdue them.

I get up around 6 a.m., as usual, but Church #1 doesn’t start for five hours. That’s far too much time for me to wait. I wonder, and I worry. Doubt creeps in. My fear grows. If only the service started earlier. Then there wouldn’t be as much time for the enemy to whisper his lies: “This is a stupid idea.” “You will fail.” “No one will read your book.”

I must resist the devil, so he will flee from me (see James 4:7). Or at least I can distract myself by working on this chapter. My insides churn with equal parts excitement and fear—or perhaps it’s just the sausage pizza from last night.

It doesn’t help that my bed provided more restlessness than rest. I add “tired” to my growing list of reasons not to go. I now understand why the non-regular church attender can so easily stay home despite their best intentions. The living room recliner and television remote are much more inviting and much less threatening.

Yet I press on. This isn’t due to my character but to avoid embarrassment. Too many people know about this project for me to abort my mission on day one.

The first of fifty-two churches is a small one in an old building. I know nothing about them, even though they’re a scant one mile from home. For years, we’ve driven past their tiny church, yet I’ve never met anyone who went there. How strange. We’ve lived in this community for nearly a quarter of a century, and my connection to it goes back even further. I know people from the other local churches, why not here? Does anyone actually go to this one? Learning about them online isn’t an option. They don’t have a website or even a Facebook page.

Candy and I discuss when we should leave but don’t agree. We don’t want to breeze in at the last minute, removing any opportunity for pre-service interaction. Yet, arriving too early opens us to awkwardness if there’s no one to talk to, leaving us with nothing to do but squirm.

We pray before heading out. I ask God to bless our time at church and teach us what he wants us to learn. I request his favor, so we can have a positive impact on this church and the people there. We say “amen,” and then we leave.

Candy shows no apprehension, and I doubt she’s aware of mine. She keeps our conversation light. In the two-minute drive, there’s no time for my angst to grow. Before I know it, we’re there. My palms grow sweaty and my heart pounds. Nausea overtakes me. What have I gotten us into?

Takeaway for Everyone: Make it as easy for visitors as possible. Providing helpful information online is critical: what to expect, how to dress, a theological overview, and any distinctive characteristics.

Church #1: A Friendly Place with a Homey Feel

We arrive ten minutes early and are the eighth car in the lot. It’s an older one-story building of simple wood-frame construction. An unwieldy wheelchair ramp tacked onto the front desperately needs painting. We bypass the ramp, but it remains our focal point as we approach, forming our first impression—and it’s not good.

I can’t believe what we’re about to do. I’m in a near panic. My impulse is to run. Put one foot in front of the other. Remember to breathe. Act calm.

I exhale slowly and open the front door. Ever the gentleman, I gesture for Candy to go first. She scowls as she walks by. It’s the smallest of entries and dark. Three people, hovering just inside, act surprised to see visitors. We take a couple steps forward and are in the sanctuary. With no room to mingle, we sit down, second row from the back.

As we wait for church to begin, the pastor’s wife introduces herself, but a hard-to-understand man has already cornered us, recounting the diseases and deaths of his parents a few decades ago. We can’t escape his plodding monologue. This guy has mental issues. Of course, this is an unqualified diagnosis on my part.

Nevertheless, some people acknowledge our presence with a quick smile or inconspicuous handshake, but no one rescues us from his unfiltered spew of personal information. The pastor also squeezes in a brief introduction.

The sanctuary is a rectangular room with paneled walls. On our right hangs a copy of the Ten Commandments, the opposite wall displays their Church covenant. Mounted front and center is a traditional cross, adorned with a crown of thorns and a purple cloth. On each side stands a flag, one for the United States and the other for Christianity. A Sunday school placard in the back reveals last week’s attendance was twenty.

The building has a distinct odor, but we disagree as to what it is. Rotating ceiling fans keep the air, and the smell, moving. I soon forget about it, but Candy isn’t so fortunate, with the aroma lingering in her nostrils the entire morning.

A pianist plays a small upright. She’s skilled at her craft. Having background music is nice. In addition to the piano, there’s an electric organ. I also spot an electric guitar and amp, which seem out of place, but they’re not used today.

I count seventeen people, including us. Most of them are well into their senior citizen years. All the older men wear suits and ties, with their wives in dresses. A few people, in their thirties, sport casual attire, but none as informal as me—even after I passed on wearing a T-shirt and opted for a polo shirt I found hiding in the back of my closet.

There are no school-age children, teens, or young families, but there are two toddlers with their grandmothers. Numerous times, the grandmas remove the crying tots from the sanctuary. At one child’s third outburst, the grandma leaves and never returns.

One member opens the service, leading us in a song. Neither Candy nor I know it. I find it hard to even mouth the words, let alone sing. The song leader then asks if there are any birthdays. The pianist stands for us to honor her, leaving no one to play Happy Birthday. After a bit of scrambling, the pastor does something out of sight to generate music as we sing.

There’s also a second verse, something about a second birthday. Candy later tells me the words: “Happy Birthday to you, just one will not do. Born again means salvation. How many have you?” The song leader says his second birthday is coming soon. It will be thirty-eight—or is it thirty-nine?—years.

Apparently for our benefit, the pastor shares that there are normally forty to forty-five in attendance, with this Sunday’s number being unusual. Some absences are due to illness and he reels off a list of names, but, for the rest, he’s unsure why they’re gone. The pastor was sick last week, and the song leader quips that today’s illnesses are his fault.

The pastor conducts some church business, roughly following Robert’s Rules of Order. He wants to go to a conference, which will cause him to miss a Sunday. The song leader moves that they approve his request and use “pulpit supply” to find a replacement. Someone seconds the motion. After no discussion, he holds a voice vote. Motion approved.

The minister looks at us. With a pleased smirk he says, “If there are any first-time visitors here, please raise your hands.”

Isn’t it obvious? I groan—hopefully to myself—as I force a pained smile. Reluctantly, I raise my hand. Can things get any more awkward? Their focus on us lasts too long.

Although foreign to me, the service matches Candy’s childhood church memories. Though there’s nothing remarkable about it, she’s comfortable with their format: a few old-time hymns with piano accompaniment, sharing prayer requests, an offering, a message, and a low-key altar call.

The people make the difference. They’re comfortable with each other, accepting one another. There’s no pretense, just nice folks. It’s like family, albeit quirkier. Despite the creepy guy who first cornered us and the ridiculous request for visitors to raise their hands, I feel contentment, a peace perhaps best attributed to God’s presence.

The two-hour service is mostly preaching. The message rambles a bit, peppered with frequent mentions of Jesus, faith, and heaven. Our future in heaven is also the topic for many of the hymns. I wonder if these themes are common in their services.

The pastor says there are seven thousand promises in the Bible. We need to accept them by faith, know them, claim them, and believe them. With much alarm, he also alerts us to the “rapid worldwide growth” of Chrislam. (Wikipedia later informs me that Chrislam is a comingling of Christianity and Islam, but I don’t get a sense of the “rapid worldwide growth” the pastor claimed.)

Afterward, everyone lingers to chat. Our stomachs tell us it’s past time to eat, but we tarry. Many thank us for visiting and invite us to come again, but they aren’t pushy. I’m not going to mislead them, so I simply smile and nod to let them know I heard.

The pianist invites us back that night for their monthly hymn sing and meal. There will be plenty to eat, so there’s no need for us to bring anything. For a moment I consider it, even though church music bores me, and I hate to sing.

We leave feeling appreciated and accepted. This is a friendly church with a homey feel. If it were necessary, I suppose I could join this congregation, but I’m so glad I don’t have to. I worked hard to have a cheerful outlook today and still struggled. If our visits at the next fifty-one churches are all like this, we’ll surely never make it to the end of our journey.

Fortunately, I anticipate something much different next week.

Takeaway for Leaders: While providing a safe place for people with mental illness and boundary issues, churches need to keep these folks from accosting or scaring away visitors. Also, churches should examine every aspect of their service through the eyes of a visitor and then make appropriate adjustments.

Church #2: Growing Deeper, Not Wider

Today’s church is three years old. I met the minister before they opened. He’s a postmodern guy with a modern theology. I anticipate the church to mirror this. Through volunteering at the local food pantry, I have a connection with him and some of their members, so I expect to see familiar faces.

I park near the door. Only later do I realize they leave the prime spaces for visitors, with the regulars parking further away. The facility is fresh and inviting, the opposite of what we saw last Sunday. In fact, everything today contrasts sharply with last week’s visit.

A man stands by the entrance, opening the door for everyone. He passes us a “worship folder.” Beaming, he pumps my hand. “Welcome, folks. Have you ever been here before?”

“Only to your open house, when you opened this facility—three years ago.”

“A lot has changed since then.” We chat some more and then go inside. While news of a reconfiguration doesn’t seem noteworthy, we immediately see a difference. The new layout feels more accommodating.

Scores of people mill about, all engaged in conversation. I spot several folks from the food pantry, but I fail to make eye contact. We mosey in, giving time for someone to notice us. When this doesn’t happen, we sit down. Had anyone seemed available, I’d have sucked in a gulp of courage and approached them.

I’m surprised to spot a neighbor. The last I knew, she went to a different church. She waves hi and chats briefly with Candy. It’s good to be in church with a neighbor. This hasn’t happened in years.

Intended as retail space, the rectangular room is narrow and three to four times as deep. Smartly decorated, the focal point isn’t the end of the space but the side, which allows everyone to sit close to the action. There isn’t a stage per se, but more of a staging area, with their four guiding principles painted on the wall behind it. Above hang two large monitors, poised to provide information throughout the morning. To the side stands a wooden cross.

To start the service, the minister welcomes everyone. “The church’s guiding goal,” he says, “is to grow deeper, not wider.” Spiritual growth is more important to them than numeric growth. This confirms why the church has so many volunteers at the food pantry. They put their faith into action.

He gives two short announcements and calls up an elder. Noting it’s only two days past their third birthday, the elder shows a chart of steady numeric growth, now averaging 150, and sometimes spiking much higher. This taxes their facility, and leadership is considering options. The pastor’s workload has mushroomed too. They want to hire another staff person to help meet growing needs.

Next, their finance guy reviews donations and expenses. For the past three years they’ve kept costs within budget, while giving has exceeded projections. They’re in a fine position to hire an associate pastor. After introducing the candidate, they review the evaluation process. This takes ten to fifteen minutes and, while exciting, this isn’t why we’re here.

The minister returns, reiterating the elders’ desire to be transparent in the hiring process, to keep everyone informed, and that members will make the final decision using a carefully designed evaluation tool. He segues into the next part of the service with a reading from Esther, using the English Standard Version (ESV).

It’s a more literal translation than the popular New International Version (NIV) I use for much of my Bible reading and study. The ESV is a most comfortable rendering. I appreciate the nuances it offers. With copies in every seat, he encourages visitors to take one. Although tempting, I don’t. I use a computer for most of my Bible study and the ESV is readily available online. My favorite source is biblegateway.com.

The pastor’s practice is to focus on one book of the Bible, methodically working through it over several months. He briefly reviews the prior weeks’ teachings on Esther and gives some opening remarks.

Then the worship team comes forward. Two play electric guitars, with other musicians on bass, keyboard, and an electronic drum kit. The sixth instrument is out of place in this otherwise electrified ensemble: a cello. Although sporting a mic, I can’t pick out its sound. Of the six musicians, three use mics, though all six sing.

We sing two worship songs, with the words displayed on the monitors. I estimate attendance at about ten times Church #1 (A Friendly Place with a Homey Feel). The people dress casually. Jeans and T-shirts abound, while no one wears ties or dresses. It’s also a much younger crowd. This week we’re on the older end of the age spectrum. Excitement permeates the place. Life abounds.

After the second song, there’s a break for “connection time,” an informal opportunity to mingle, get a coffee refill, or grab another donut hole. I knew about the refreshments, but I forgot, and no one mentioned it. Candy, the coffee drinker in our household, goes to snag a cup of joe. The couple in front of me turns around. They’re food pantry volunteers and confused at seeing me. I point out our connection and we chat for a while. When the conversation wanes, I excuse myself.

Candy spots a friend from a group she was involved with some twenty years ago, as well as other moms she knows from when our kids were in school. I can’t find my neighbor, but I do spot “Bible Bill,” a longtime acquaintance and an elder here. As Candy talks with his wife, Bill and I exchange pleasantries, but we don’t have time for much more. A former high school classmate of our daughter walks up, but the music resumes, so we’ll have to catch up with him later. We scurry back to our seats. There’s another song and then the minister launches into his message on Esther, chapter three.

He’s an insightful Bible teacher and an engaging speaker, although not polished to the point of stale perfection. He pulls details out of the text, reminding me of them, and adding fresh perspectives. He points out that Haman, the Agagite, could have literally been a descendant of King Agag, mentioned in 1 Samuel 15, or Agagite could be a label meaning anti-Semitic. He opts for the second. So do I. It adds an interesting nuance to the Esther story. He speaks for about an hour, but it doesn’t seem nearly so long.

After the message, they serve Communion. Communion is open to all who acknowledge their saving faith in Jesus. They pass the bread (oyster crackers) and the juice in swift succession. Some partake quickly, and others wait. What should I do? In trying to figure out what to do and when to do it, I fail to focus on why. But I think Jesus understands, and I know he overlooks my distraction.

There’s a closing prayer, and the service ends. They never take an offering. Aside from the opening presentation, they don’t mention money.

There are more people to talk to, acquaintances from other places, and some who are new to us. No one knows if we’re first-timers, and some even wonder if we’re regulars. For all we know, we may be talking to other visitors.

The minister thanks me for coming. We talk about the food pantry and briefly about my home church. I give him a sincere compliment about his teaching. As Candy and I move our conversation from one person to the next, the crowd thins. Soon we’re some of the last ones there.

We drop off the completed guest card we found in the worship folder—which also contained a donation envelope—and pick up our complimentary travel cup complete with the church’s logo. We already have plenty, but Candy wants this memento. Two and a half hours have passed since we walked through the doors. Time moves quickly when you’re enjoying the company of engaging people.

Today was as easy as last week was hard. Frankly, I’d just as soon return here next Sunday and skip Church #3. Knowing what awaits us, I expect next week will require more effort.

Takeaway for Members: Leaving open parking spots near the door and having an outgoing, friendly greeter makes a positive first impression, forming the basis for the rest of the time in church. However, greeting isn’t one person’s job. It’s important for everyone to welcome visitors.

Church #3: It Only Hurts When You Care

This week we’re visiting our second church with “Baptist” in its name. Despite that, I expect little similarity to Church #1 (A Friendly Place with a Homey Feel).

Although they have a website, many pages are “under construction” or “coming soon.” This includes the “about” and “what we believe” sections, as well as the page about their worship service. For the most part, they’ve finished the sections relating to members, while the pages for visitors are incomplete. The lack of visitor-friendly information frustrates me. All I can learn about their Sunday service is from their events calendar: “Traditional Service—Music & Message.” Once again, we head off to church braced for the unknown.

The brick building is about fifty years old. It’s the first one that looks like a church. Next door is the school I attended for eight years. Some of my classmates went to this church, and I wonder if any of them still do. I also work with some of their members at the food pantry, so I expect to know a few people.

When we arrive, the parking lot is filling up, yet there are available spaces near the building. Whether or not we park close to the entrance, however, is speculation, as there are several doors, all unmarked. We get out of our car and follow the flow of people.

These folks dress up for church. As the only adult in shorts, I’m grossly underdressed—and that’s after I again skipped my typical T-shirt for a polo shirt. My clothes don’t bother me, but my observation does. I want visitors to feel comfortable with their attire, but at this church, they wouldn’t. As for myself, if I err in my wardrobe, I prefer comfort over confinement.

Like last Sunday, there’s a greeter holding the door open and passing out bulletins. He welcomes us, and we have a brief exchange. But there’s no time to linger. We’re blocking the entrance. The greeter manages to distribute bulletins as others squeeze by, all the while talking to us. We soon move inside.

A friend from high school spots us. Confident, she strides up with a broad smile. “Hi, DeHaans . . . fifty-two churches!” While I fully expected that one Sunday our mission would precede us, I never thought it would happen this soon. I’ve not yet prepared a response, so I just smile. At least I know someone’s reading my blog posts. “Please be nice to us,” her eyes dance with mirth, “and don’t judge us too harshly.”

“Don’t worry.” Although lighthearted, her words remind me this isn’t a trivial exercise. I could hurt people if my words are careless. Perhaps I should review what I wrote for the first two churches.

Her tone grows suddenly somber. “This won’t be a typical service.”

I cock my head and furrow my brows.

“On Thursday, one of our deacons committed suicide,” she whispers. “We talked about it in Sunday school, but some people weren’t there and so not everyone knows yet. This service will be quite different.”

“Thanks so much for letting us know.” Though appreciative, my heart sinks. I want to leave. Perhaps we can make it in time to Church #4 and return here next week. Yet, God has a reason for us to be here today. I know we must stay.

She thanks us for visiting and excuses herself to join the choir. No one else approaches, and I don’t spot anyone not already talking to someone, so we head to the sanctuary. A man waves hi and shakes my hand. He runs a local restaurant. I knew he went here, but seeing him outside our normal context catches me off guard, so all I do is smile.

The well-lit interior, with its white walls, provides an open feel. There’s a baptistry behind the platform, with a piano on one side and electric organ on the other. After we sit, two ladies come up in turn to welcome us. Both claim having difficulty remembering names. They say ours repeatedly, as if trying to imprint them into their minds.

The service begins normally enough: a chorus from the hymnal, a number from the choir, a few hymns, greeting time—during which we meet a few more people—an offering, and a woman’s trio performing a special music number. We know some of the songs, though all the tunes have a vague familiarity.

A choir is something I’ve not seen in years. This one numbers twenty-six, with women outnumbering men six to one. But they make it work.

The pastor stands to give his message. He uses a small lectern on our level, not the bulky dais on the platform. Until now, his public persona has been warm and inviting, abounding with smiles and most engaging. Now subdued, he struggles to release the words welled up in his heart. Fighting to control emotion, he bravely shares the sad news. Ladies dab silent tears from their eyes and stifled sniffles occasionally break the respectful silence. Today we need “to remind ourselves who God is.” He adds that the salvation message of Jesus will appropriately be the theme for this service.

He shares four basic truths: 1) We are frail creatures, 2) We need God, 3) He is faithful, and 4) There is a future. It’s a message of comfort, abounding in hope. Our response to this tragedy is simple: To pray, weep, and help those who grieve.

We sing a closing hymn, and he ends the service. My friend returns, and we talk some more. Our paths have occasionally crossed in the years since graduation, but we never had much time to talk. The church begins to empty, and we say our goodbyes. Candy and I head for the door and meet the minister. Shaking hands, I affirm his adept handling of an emotional situation. I remind him of what he already knows. “If you didn’t care, it wouldn’t hurt.” My wife gives him an informal blessing for the challenging task ahead. He gratefully receives it.

I now realize my purpose for being here today. It’s so I can pray for this church community and its godly leader in the days and weeks ahead. This close-knit congregation deeply cares about each other. They celebrate together and mourn together. Today is one of mourning. This is what true community is and what true church should be.

I may return one day to attend a typical service, but today’s visit reveals their character and shows me God at work. Thank you, Father!

Takeaway for Everyone: When a service will contain difficult topics or unusual situations, alerting visitors beforehand is a nice gesture and keeps them from jarring surprises.

Church #4: Successfully Melding Contemporary and Traditional

Next on our list is a church we’ve visited before, when our church cancelled services due to a snowstorm. I’ve known the minister since I was ten. He would have been thirteen, the older brother of my best friend. My other connection with the church is through the local food pantry. Though now a broad-based community effort, the pantry is an outgrowth of this church’s internal efforts. Many of the pantry’s volunteers hail from this church, as do some of our clients. I expect to see many familiar faces.

The church recently changed their name, which used to include “congregational”and now proclaims “community.” Their tagline is “your community, your church, your home.” They don’t have a website, but I learn all the information I seek from a well-maintained Facebook page. Their “services are informal with a blend of hymns and contemporary music.” They’re “evangelical” and “all sermons are Bible-based.”

The facility is a traditional church building with an addition, well-maintained and stately. There’s ample parking across the street. The morning is sunny and the temperature, mild. It’s a perfect day to go to church. Just inside they greet us. Someone hands us a small tote containing information and a logo-emblazoned travel mug. We spot a couple from the food pantry. They’re pleased to see us, and we chat briefly about the pantry and church. Unaware that we know the pastor, they introduce us to him.

The well-lit sanctuary has a high, flat ceiling. Though not a large room, it’s open and inviting. In the front is a simple cross, a bit on the small side. It’s not rugged but smooth and nicely finished. Above is a beautiful stained-glass window, the first we’ve seen on our adventure. On each side of the platform stands a flag.

The stage, elevated by a couple of steps, borders on being crowded. There are empty tables for a bell choir and an assortment of musical instruments, ranging from a drum kit to a baby grand. In the center stands a diminutive pulpit, noteworthy for its simplicity. A projector screen hangs to the left, making the space feel even smaller. I suspect the service will match what I see in the facility, a blending of traditional and contemporary, just as promised online.

The church might seat 120, and the people show a preference to sit in the back. We’re only a third of the way in, yet most of the people pack in behind us. There are about seventy-five.

The service begins with several familiar choruses, led by a team of four: the worship leader on guitar, vocalist, keyboard, and the minister on bass. The drums sit idle. They don’t use the piano for this opening session, but later we hear it for the prelude, offertory, closing hymn, and postlude.

Our final chorus is “Agnus Dei” (Lamb of God). Though limited and low-key, some people raise their hands. Today is the first time we see a physical display of worship. Yet I follow the majority and keep my hands clasped to restrain them from any spontaneous movement in this otherwise reserved gathering. Yet when the worship leader asks everyone to raise our hands for a final singing of this song, I gladly comply.

Announcements follow. It’s a busy place. The bulletin reveals activity every day of the week. Next is a time to greet those around us. This isn’t a token effort, nor is it cut short, allowing time to talk. Many people make a sincere effort to welcome us.

They excuse the children, something done in three of the four churches so far. The exception was Church #1 (A Friendly Place with a Homey Feel), which had no children—except for two toddlers.

For the first time on our sojourn, the minister leads us in a congregational prayer. Even though this isn’t a staple of my home church, it’s not a new concept, either. Unfortunately, I tuned out such things in my youth and never broke that habit. The offering follows, accompanied by an impressive piano performance. The piece lasts longer than the collection, and at the concluding measure, enthusiastic applause ensues. I’m uncomfortable, wondering if we’re worshiping the God who created music or praising an accomplished performer.

The minister is in the second week of a series from 1 John. He summarizes week one, and we stand for today’s scripture. Standing to read the Bible isn’t typical in my church practices, but this is the third time we’ve done so in four weeks. Though he will teach from a longer section, he reads 1 John 2:15–18.

In a delightful bit of Bible trivia, he notes the word “know” occurs forty-two times in this brief five-chapter book. The purpose of John’s letter is so that we will know about our faith. Also significant are nine appearances of the endearing phrase “dear children.” John cares deeply for his audience and wants them to fully appreciate their standing with God.

Using an expository preaching style—going through the passage verse by verse—the minister guides us through the text. He pulls in supporting verses to expand certain sections and dips into other translations—the King James Version (KJV) and The Message—for added clarity. As he moves toward the end of the selection, he zeroes in on verse sixteen, which is the basis for his sermon title, “Pollution Free.” We need to guard against the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—thereby controlling the pollution in our lives.

We conclude the service by singing a well-known hymn from the hymnal, with the words also displayed overhead. After three verses, there’s an invitation to stay for coffee and cookies. Following the benediction, we stand to sing verse four.

Folks quickly exit the sanctuary, moving with intention toward their snack. With many people to talk to, we’re the last to leave the sanctuary, enjoying an extended discussion with the minister on the way out. These conversations take so long that the time for coffee and cookies is now over. Although disappointed, I didn’t need a cookie anyway. Plus, the meaningful conversations more than make up for missing the snack. This reminds me of John 4:32, where Jesus talks with the Samaritan woman and doesn’t feel a need to eat.

Overall, they impress me with their successful mix of hymns and choruses, melding the old with the new, worshiping God with ease and without apology. I relish the experience and am glad to be here.

Next week, we’ll go to the Catholic church next door. This will be a huge stretch for me, and I’m already worried. It would be much easier to return here.

Takeaway for Everyone: Most churches that try to combine traditional with contemporary, do so awkwardly. This church proves it’s possible. The key is good leadership and an accepting congregation.

Church #5: Catholics are Christians Too

When I tell people we’re visiting area churches, I specify Christian, but they often comprehend Protestant. It surprises these folks to learn we’ll visit Catholic gatherings too. Their responses range from suspicion to support. As they readjust their understanding of our quest, some overreach, asking if we’ll also go to synagogues, temples, and mosques. Again, I emphasize the word Christian, at which point they either understand or stop asking questions.

Today we’re going to the first Roman Catholic church on our list. It’s next door to Church #4 (Melding Contemporary and Traditional). According to their website—the most comprehensive one so far—they offer three service times, with Saturday Mass at 4:30 p.m. and Sunday Mass at 8:00 and 11:00 a.m. Apparently, the priest oversees two parishes, holding a 9:30 a.m. service in a nearby town. He’ll have a busy day, and we’ll attend his final service.

I’ve only been to Catholic churches three times, all special events: a wedding, a baptism, and a funeral. The first two were comfortable enough, but the third was confusing, with traditions and practices I didn’t understand.

In this third instance, a female co-worker and I were there to support another co-worker marking the end of his mother’s life on earth. Toward the end of the service, the priest uttered something we didn’t understand. The couple in front of us turned and kissed. My co-worker and I glanced at each other and with weak smiles simultaneously whispered, “not going to happen.”

Tradition, custom, and ritual all repel me, and I expect to witness all three today. I must guard against a rebellious spirit and seek to receive what this church offers with an open mind, ready for a fresh spiritual encounter, which is why we’re visiting fifty-two churches. I approach this day with dread and excitement, but I’m happy that the morning brings less apprehension and more anticipation.

As a final thought before leaving for church, I wonder if I should bring my “Protestant” NIV Bible or a version containing the Apocrypha, the fuller “Catholic” text, such as the New American Bible (NAB) or The New Jerusalem Bible. I opt for the NAB, but it’s unnecessary. Though they read the Bible several times during the service, they seldom cite the chapter and never state the verse. This makes it impossible to follow along.

The facility is two connected buildings of distinctive styles. Each has its own entrance and parking lot. People don’t head to the larger building but the smaller one. This changes where I will park, so I veer away from the larger lot at the last moment, entering the smaller one via the exit. There are two open spaces close to the door. Narcissistic, I assume these are for visitors and pick the nearest one. I’m nervous, perhaps even more than on the first Sunday of our journey. Shaky and sweaty, my fear of the unknown threatens to overwhelm me.

As I walk in, a friend from the food pantry greets me. It’s nice to see a familiar face. She reintroduces me to her kids, but I forget to reintroduce her to Candy, who fortunately doesn’t feel slighted by my oversight. As my friend readies the children for a special flower processional, she takes a moment to chat with me.

When we’re done talking, we find a seat because there’s little room to stand. For the first time in our adventure, we see kneeling rails. In my only other attempt to use them, they presented a challenge to unfold, at least for my friends and me, all of us unfamiliar with their operation. After a few humorous attempts, we gave up. Should I try again today? As a non-Catholic, should I partake in this ritual, or would that offend others? I never conclude my wonderings, as other things soon distract me.

Most noticeable is an ornate crucifix, front and center, with scores of other crosses of varying sizes scattered throughout the sanctuary. They range from the most basic to extremely intricate. The building is newer, with simple cement block construction and an open steel-beam roof that slants from right to left. The walls and ceiling are white. Though the ceiling isn’t high, the room has an open feel.

Wood-carved plaques, depicting the Stations of the Cross, hang on the side walls. The side walls also have sets of simple awning-style windows, with each pane sporting a single color of stained glass. The space is longer and narrower than most sanctuaries I’ve been in. With our seats toward the rear, it’s hard to make out much detail up front.

The sparse crowd is casually dressed but not to the point of T-shirts. There are no suits or ties on the men, but a few women wear dresses. I suspect the building seats a couple hundred. With a flurry of arrivals at the starting time and slightly after, the seats end up being over half-full.

Today is Mother’s Day. Perhaps because of that, they feature Mary, the mother of Jesus, throughout the service. Most of the hymns focus on her. “Mary is the ‘Magnificat’ or magnifying glass to Jesus,” says the layperson who opens the service. She reads from John 19. She shares the process for the upcoming processional, where the children will present flowers, the May Crowning, in honor of Mary. I’m so focused on how it will happen that I miss the explanation of why. There’s also a reference about praying to Mary, who will then intercede to Jesus on our behalf. This surprises me. I didn’t know they did that anymore.

Next is a reading from Acts, and then 1 John. Afterward I find these in today’s lectionary, number 56, the sixth Sunday of Easter. Later in the service, we read from the Gospel of John, but if we read the prescribed responsive passage from Psalms, I missed it. The initial reading from John 19, however, isn’t part of the day’s lectionary passages.

Throughout the service, I’m pleased to see laypeople take part. Unfortunately, some attendees disrespect the service, measuring their way through the morning with casual indifference and whispered conversation. The children remain with us the entire time. There’s no kids’ activity and presumably no nursery. With a nice range of ages present, I see no visible demographic gaps.

It’s hard to follow the service. Multiple times a congregational response is required, but we never know what to say or do. About halfway through, we find some of this information in the front section of a book called the missal, which contains all the prayers and responses for mass for the year. The one we use doubles as a hymnal, containing several hundred songs too.

After the service, my friend apologizes for not pointing out a card in the pew racks that would have helped us follow the liturgy. Regardless, the proceedings aren’t hospitable to the uninitiated—or as some in the church growth movement would say, not “seeker-sensitive.”

The lone musical instrument is a keyboard, which I can’t spot. It often sounds like an organ, but it occasionally veers toward piano. After the service, I notice it tucked in the back corner. There’s a strategically-placed vocal mic for the keyboardist, so I presume he was also the song leader. A choir sits in the back. For one song, they sing the verses and the congregation—at least those aware of the words—sing back in response. I appreciate positioning the singers and musician behind us. This removes attention from them, making it less like a performance and more reverent. This is how it should be.

I’m surprised when the priest leads us in reciting the Apostles’ Creed. One phrase in the Creed often raises questions: “[I believe in] the holy catholic Church.” Small “c” catholic—as rendered in most versions of the Creed—is an improper noun, referring to the universal church or the entire Christian church. To eliminate confusion, some groups replaced lower “c” “catholic” with “universal” or “Christian.” Big “C” Catholic, which the Creed doesn’t use, is a proper noun that references the Roman Catholic Church.

I assumed the Apostles’ Creed was only a Protestant practice, but obviously it’s not. We also recite the Lord’s Prayer. Though I’m aware Roman Catholics don’t say the final line that most Protestants do, I almost call attention to myself by uttering the words out of habit. Interestingly, in his comments after the prayer, the priest recites these extra words, as found in Matthew 6:13, NIV: “for yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.”

The priest exudes a gentle persona, affable from the distance that exists between pulpit and pew. However, his English carries a heavy accent, making his words hard to understand. I fear I miss almost as much as I comprehend.

He begins his message with a series of humorous anecdotes about moms and motherhood. Just when I fear funny stories will be the sum of his message, he segues into love: reciprocal love, romantic love, and love-your-enemies love. I’m perplexed how a priest—one who doesn’t marry and is celibate—can address the complexities of romantic love, yet he does so quite well. More important, I’d never considered Jesus’s death on the cross as a love-your-enemies type of love. I appreciate the priest pointing this out.

The message is short, by far the shortest yet. Though they call the entire service “Mass,” the mass part—what I call communion and they call the celebration of the Eucharist, Holy Eucharist, or simply Eucharist—doesn’t occur until the second half. The priest calls it “a memorial service” for Jesus. I like that.

There’s much ritual activity, but I’m not close enough to make out the details. Several people go forward immediately and receive the elements from the priest. Then the rest of the congregation—or at least, most of the rest—go up row by row. It’s a quick and orderly procession.