Years ago, when I was in my twenties and relatively newly ordained, during summer vacations I used to rent a house on the beach in Harwichport on Cape Cod. It was close enough to my mother’s house to visit and yet far enough away to enjoy some privacy. As was my custom I’d worship at the local Episcopal church, there, on Sunday mornings. As was also my custom I’d stay for the coffee hour to enjoy the fellowship of meeting the members of that parish. That is to say, that was my intention. As it turned out that’s not exactly what happened. Each year, Sunday after Sunday, I’d go to the parish hall directly after the service – following the flow of the other worshipers. Sunday after Sunday I’d stroll over to the refreshment table. Sunday after Sunday a pleasant-looking woman (different ones from week to week) would expertly pour coffee into a cup and pass it to me with a smile. And then, Sunday after Sunday, there I stood amidst the pleasant exchanges of people in pairs and clusters – chatting pleasantly with each other. And yet, Sunday after Sunday, no one from that church ever took the initiative to turn to me to welcome me or to exchange introductions. They were too engrossed in their own cordial conversations with others.

Now, truth be known and as some of you may have had occasion to notice from time to time, I’m no wallflower. And I haven’t been since middle school. In fact, unless I’m feeling sleepy, I can be fairly outgoing. But I was, after all, raised a true Bostonian, and one simply didn’t stride up to perfect strangers on their turf, stretch out one’s hand, and say, “Hi, I’m so and so.” That’s something one might do if one were in sales, but not in other social settings. And I was also not one to assume that it was something about me, which would keep others away. Admittedly I did have much longer hair, back then, but I shaved and showered before church (yes, I shaved back then). Why, I even wore a tie and jacket as men did in those days (I never have wore a collar on vacation; it would be too creepy). There was nothing socially objectionable about me. In my opinion there never has been. So it had to have been something else. Ah, but what?

Following that initial experience some might simply have given up and left church right after the service or never come back, but not me. I must have a stubborn streak, or perhaps I’m a bit of a masochist. I wouldn’t give up. It was a matter of pride. Still, Sunday after Sunday, nothing changed.

Then, on the fourth and last Sunday of my vacation, I broke my own rules. Not only did I take the bull by the horns and initiate conversation with someone, but I intentionally introduced myself as a priest and rector of a parish in Pennsylvania. Well, a red carpet suddenly got rolled out of nowhere, and the person I spoke with promptly ushered me around the room to introduce me to others. That’s exactly what I wanted to see – not exuberant hospitality, but whether the behavior changed with the information that I was a priest. It did, and I was more disappointed.

That was not a pleasant experience. Even though I’m not one who lacks confidence, I felt isolated. I felt conspicuous – as if everyone saw me alone, there – an outcast. I felt a bit awkward, even a bit annoyed. Of course, I knew it was about them and not about me, but I still felt annoyed because it had to do with me. Who wants to go to church and feel less good – angry – as a result of it! That’s why many newcomers to a church or not-so-new-comers actually don’t return to a church that isn’t hospitable. I’d never want people to have that sort of experience at St. Paul’s. My hope is that our parish will always be hospitable and welcoming – friendly.

Church is meant to include social participation and hospitality. Three hundred years ago folks at St. Paul’s would stay at church for a three-hour service and then spend another hour or so chatting together. Church is meant to be a time for worshipping God, learning about how to live as a follower of Christ, and sharing fellowship together. Worship, instruction in faith, and fellowship – these three are all part of Sunday mornings.

Oh, I realize that different folks have different attitudes about going to church. I wasn’t raised a Catholic for nothing! When I was a child no one ever talked to anyone in the afterglow of Mass, except the few words exchanged with the Newsy outside the church – to get the Sunday paper. And I’m also keenly aware that people are possessed of different personalities and temperaments. Some folks are introverts and even extroverts can be shy. That’s great, but just because it’s hard doesn’t mean that it isn’t worth it to stay around for fellowship after worship. I’m also aware that since the parish hall is across the street it makes it more difficult to make the extra physical as well as emotional effort to participate in the fellowship time following the 8:30 service. But who ever said that church or being a Christian was supposed to be easy! That’s what makes the extra effort worthwhile!

Throughout the first fifteen hundred years of the Church it was often emphasized that people should make the extra effort to reach out to other – especially strangers – because you never know when you might just be meeting an angel or even Jesus himself, incognito.

So I’m strongly encouraging people to think about choosing to participate in Sunday morning fellowship times in anticipation of meeting Christ in others. And more than participation, I’m strongly encouraging parishioners to make the extra effort to initiate conversation with other people – especially spotting those who are standing alone, going up to them and saying, “Hello, I’m so and so.” After you say hello, you can always follow up with talk about the weather (always a safe subject) or talking about the sermon if there’s absolutely nothing else that comes to mind. My hope for St. Paul’s will always be an outgoing and friendly, hospitable, community – where people will always be and feel welcomed. After all, hospitality is the gentlest and easiest form of evangelism.

I’ve never forgotten the seventy-something year old man at Park Street Church in Boston – dressed in a morning suit with tails no less – passing out bulletins, who looked dead in my teenage eyes, and said, “Welcome home, friend.” It was corny, but boy, did those few words ever strike home and stick with me! How hard could it be for us to say, “Hi, it’s good to see you here today.”? Who knows how that might stick with the other person!

Affectionately in Christ,

Phil +