The Gospel at Cici's

I don't like spending money to eat out.

I just don't.

We try to limit our dining out to once or twice a week--usually around grocery shopping time.

Yesterday was one of those days, so we packed up and headed to Brenham.  Nothing really captured my wife and I's fancy when it came to getting something to eat.  The kids wanted McDonald's or Whataburger.  We'd had hamburgers the day before, so Whataburger was out.  MickeyD's just simply wasn't an option.  I can't stand that joint, and I'm personally praying my kids develop their mature taste buds rather quickly.

We decided to settle for something cheap that most of my kids would eat: pizza.  Unfortunately, we hadn't thought to order ahead, and I didn't really want to deal with three hungry, fidgety kids for 20+ minutes while a pizza was cooking, so we pulled into Cici's Pizza--otherwise known to me as cardboard with tomato sauce and cheese.  (Surprisingly, the food was actually edible this time and somewhat tasty!)

Being the pastor and theologian that I am, I couldn't just sit there and be dad while cutting up my kids pizza, getting them drinks, urging them to eat, telling them to sit down, etc., etc.  I had my "God stuff" brain going.  And on this particular occasion, it was in the evangelism mode--no not in the mode of walking up to complete strangers and asking them if they've found Jesus.  I'm not convinced that's the best method of evangelism anyway.  I believe in a much longer term approach, but that is beside the point.

As I looked around the room, my thoughts turned to asking, "Which of these folks here would feel comfortable in my congregation?"

The socio-economic fortunes of those around the room were not great.  Lower middle class at best.  High school kids wearing black.  Young Latino families with children.  Mid-20 somethings who looked like they spent more time on the range than in a town. 

I know my congregation pretty well.  I'm almost absolutely positive any one of the folks there at Cici's that day would be genuinely welcomed to worship with us at any given point.  They would be greeted with a smile.  They would have someone talk to them before or after worship.  They would be invited to share in our coffee and refreshment time, and one of our folks gifted in hospitality would eventually have them cornered for a good five to ten minutes, I have no doubt.

But would they feel comfortable?

Would this group of 20 somethings and younger who were rough around the edges feel at home even in our congregation where the pastor himself wears boots and blue jeans to church?

I had my doubts.

As we were winding down our meal, a bus-boy came to begin cleaning up our table.  He asked me if he could take some of our plates, and I said sure.  My wife and I began stacking them up to make his job a little easier.  Suddenly, my youngest, who is not quite three, picked up his plate and said, "Here you go, sir."

It was just as polite and sincere and as touching as all get out.

My wife and I smiled and giggled at what our son said and the perfect manners he showed (that's a rarity, by the way).

What was more interesting was the bus-boy's reaction.  You could visibly see that he was touched too.  I am sure that most folks treat him like a simple minimum wage, under 20, Hispanic worker (all true) who has no ambition, uses his pay for booze, and refuses to get an education or else he wouldn't be working at Cici's Pizza (all assumptions, and bad ones).

But my son, and our family, treated him with respect and dignity.  My son's use of the term "sir" made a difference for him for just a few moments.  He was treated with honor, and you could see it in his facial expressions and his demeanor.

I can almost say with confidence that if he walked into our church and saw us sitting there and laid eyes on this little boy who treated him with respect, he would feel comfortable in our congregation.  Because there was a connection.

But how to connect to so many others?  How to connect and begin establishing that little bit of trust?

That can be a little more difficult.

Unless God decides to use a not quite three year old (or even you) to proclaim the Gospel at Cici's.