We are on the adventurous search for a church in our new hometown. It's never been our favorite part of moving.I love being plugged into a church, knowing faces and names, growing, giving, serving along side friends that become family.
But with a long distance move comes goodbyes to your church family and being thrown into a search, sometimes rather eye opening, for the church home where God would have you serve and grow.
With multiple moves we've visited dozens of church bodies and can tell some crazy tales of the pulpits within. Church names, websites, and roadside signs are not enough to describe what goes on behind the doors.
We've seen suits and tie required and ripped jean deacons, we've seen grape juice & matza and kool-aid and crackers, offering plates and sacks, sprinkling and dunking, drums and guitars, pianos and organs. We've heard hell fire and brimstone and we've heard Gospel so watered down it could be a Beatles song.
We've seen families with kids welcomed and some where food, drinks, and children are prohibited in the sanctuary. We've seen clapping and arms raised, we've seen stiff robotic robed choirs. We've heard love your neighbor, ignore your neighbor, and what is a neighbor?
But I didn't realize how much the boys had been taking in during this whole process until I heard them playing the other day. Harrison was Superman and Jefferson was Batman and they were flying around "searching for the right church but we just can't find one anywhere."
One superhero asked the other what was wrong with all the churches they had stopped at so far? The problem? None welcomed capes, masks, and flying. They finally found one in their room that was full of other superheroes and they were ecstatic to be among friends. I think they're on to something, we'll just keep our eyes and hearts open for a church full of superheroes.