Our little house church was dispersed this Sunday morning.  Lynn is in Boston visiting Steve Jr. and Chrissy, while others were engaged in other activities, leaving me to fend for myself.

 

At the last minute, I decided to visit Idlewild Presbyterian Church down the street.  From all externals, Idlewild is an old, traditional rich person’s church.  Its towering stone edifice stands watch over Union Avenue in historic Midtown Memphis.

 

From the “order of worship,” I knew this would be high church.  Sure enough, the hour was very liturgical with heavy emphasis on organ-led hymns and congregational recitations, leaving no space for personal expressions.  The service, held in a small and ornate chapel, was facilitated by clergy or “pastoral associates” as the website labeled those who participated.  Worshippers were primarily older (70+) couples, a few younger families and a couple of solo young women.  The main event would be their 11 AM service in the main sanctuary and broadcast over local radio.  I guess this was the warm up show.

 

Closely following the program as written, I stood, recited and sang when prompted.  I followed the lady next to me up to the front where we took communion.  I generally tried to blend in, but not too much in case an elderly lady recognized me as a visitor and invited me home for a home-cooked meal.  That didn’t happen.

 

Have you ever done something and wondered how such an activity might impact you?  I sensed there must be a reason for going to IPC other than curiosity.  The purpose of my attending was made clear during the sermon, delivered by a middle-aged woman named Anne.  The sermon text was Genesis 29, but the lesson I learned had nothing to do with that passage. 

 

Earlier this week, I read about the body of a murdered homeless man found in an abandoned apartment building not far from our house.  Other than the proximity, the news was just one more report of violent crime in our city.  I read the account and put it in the back of my mind where we log those worrisome sorts of things. 

 

Anne’s rather emotional sermon was about that homeless man, Mark Pilgrim.  Mark was a member of Idlewild.  And not just a member in name only; from what I gathered, he was very active.  He attended Sundays, Wednesdays, and of course, Thursday’s “More Than a Meal.”  He had his regular pew seat in the main sanctuary.  He helped other church members load a truck with relief supplies bound for Katrina victims.  Mark must have also been a rather talented artist.  Several references were made of his wood carvings and paintings that adorned various parts of Idlewild’s building.

 

Two things stick out in all of this.  One, Idlewild must have felt comfortable having someone like Mark around.  There aren’t too many churches in Memphis like Idlewild who make homeless people feel welcome.  Which brings me to number two:  Mark must have felt comfortable at Idlewild?  This was a rather odd connection…a man who sleeps on the street enjoying fellowship with some of Memphis’ more upper class citizens.  How did that happen?  What made that possible?  I’ve got a lot more thinking to do on the matter, but here’s one conclusion I’m making.  It must have been from God. 

 

Think what you will of a church like IPC, they welcome the unwelcomed.  More than once I’ve wondered less about how Jesus could feel comfortable in the presence of drunks and prostitutes than about how they could possibly feel comfortable in his presence.  For Mark to feel at home at Idlewild speaks volumes about that church.  After all, that’s the essence of the gospel. 

 

I think I was truly among the people of God this morning.