During his studies at the New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary to become a pastor, my husband encountered a question on one of his many, many tests. It was a bonus question, worth extra points for whoever offered the correct answer.

It was a simple question. It didn’t require any study, just the practical application of the course curriculum.

“What is the name of the woman who cleans this classroom?”

Brett was the only one who knew.

Judy, the housekeeper, was usually outside in the hallway when Brett’s class ended, ready to sweep and tidy up behind the students. Brett would usually tell her hello and chat about unimportant things.

But were they really unimportant?

By taking an interest in even small things — how’s your day, how’s the kids, fine weather we’re having — he acknowledged that she mattered, that she was worthy.

When Brett was a pastor at Mars Hill in Summit between 2001 and 2007, he’d take his family to their favorite Mexican restaurant after Sunday service.

They immediately took a liking to Oscar, the young man who brought the chips and salsa to the table. Oscar soon was promoted to waiter, and Brett would ask to be seated in his section.

A few weeks ago, we found ourselves in McComb on a Sunday afternoon and stopped into a somewhat new restaurant in town.

And there was Oscar, whose grin spread into a huge smile when he saw Brett walk into the restaurant to be seated, recognizing my husband instantly after nine years. It was because Brett had made an impression on the man years before, and he remembered him fondly.

And all it took was a warm smile and a friendly hello.

Brett, my daughter Jess and I have been visiting churches throughout Lincoln County since we moved to Brookhaven a month ago. For me, it’s a difficult process, trying to find a church with the right fit. I want to be comfortable, but challenged.

We’ve been to a few places where we felt like we were at a family reunion and we were the cousins who brought the fried chicken and potato salad. The hugs were plentiful and usually accompanied by a pat on the back.

But unfortunately, there have been a few on the opposite end. I wouldn’t say we were shunned, but I walked out of the service feeling disappointed.

While a message about loving your neighbor was spot on, it seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Not one person in the congregation said hello to us before the service, though we sat for at least 15 minutes before the music started.

It was only when the music minister suggested during a song that everyone stand up and greet their neighbor did we get an acknowledgment. Two women, on a pew in front of us, turned and said hello, offered a light handshake and a perfunctory smile.

My father-in-law used to tell his three kids, “It’s not who you are, it’s whose you are.” He’d remind them they weren’t just his children, they were His children as well.

As the children of God, we are to strive to be like Him. As Christians, everything we do or say is a reflection of Him. Everyone we meet should see Christ in us.

One of my favorite songs was written by John Mark Hall of Casting Crowns. In his lyrics, he asks, “If we are the body, why is His love not showing them there is a way? Jesus paid much too high a price for us to pick and choose who should come.”

I’ve thought about it a few times this week, and realized that I don’t practice what I preach. While I’ve waited in my padded pew for that hug and a handshake, I’ve missed opportunities to let others see Christ in me.

The people I expected to acknowledge me were not seeing a Christian filled with love. Instead they saw a flawed sinner casting judgment with her glance.

It’s easy to witness to those sitting next to us on Sunday mornings, but when that becomes a difficult task, how are we to reach those outside the church walls who need to hear the Gospel the most?

 

Donna Campbell is managing editor of The Daily Leader. Contact her at donna.campbell@dailyleader.com.