Today was my first unofficial day as part of my new congregation. Normally when you join congregations there’s a formal moment: a moment when the person steps forward and joins by either making a confession of faith, transferring membership, or joining as a “student member” (maintaining membership in your home congregation, but affiliating yourself with the community you’re with while a student). Today I affiliated myself with an Episcopalian congregation. (I’m now a Seminary Intern!) For my Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) friends, don’t worry: I’m still in the Disciples ordination process. But … for my first time since arriving in Chicago, I’m now officially, unofficially part of a congregation.

I’ve visited Church of the Holy Nativity frequently over the past five months. It’s a congregation in the southwest suburbs of Chicago (Clarendon Hills – to be specific). Like all church-seeking processes, this one took time. There wasn’t one moment while in the congregation that I knew “this was it.” Some of you are probably curious: “why would a seminarian, of all people, be looking for a congregation?” I often tout the answer as a benefit for why, a year-ago, I chose my MDiv program: the University of Chicago has the first-year students visit different congregations on our own throughout the year and then pick where we want to work for our second year.

Even though the process has its obvious downsides (how can you have a nurturing faith community when you don’t have a constant community?), the benefits are immediately practical for ministry: I know the visitors’ best-kept secrets for avoiding a community’s embrace. Really — it’s kind of funny — I know how to attend a congregation and not be noticed … how to make it in and out of the church doors without being added to the newsletter mailing list. The visitors at Holy Nativity next year will have no idea what to expect; I luckily have also seen the “too pushy” approach and know what to avoid in courting congregants. Before describing my new congregation, here are some of those tips (use them as you will):

1. Have a smile when you enter the door and don’t look nervous. The congregation members will assume you’re either a member or a constant visitor and do a polite introduction, but won’t ask you to come back next week (since they assume it will already happen).
2. When the minister or elder mentions that all visitors should feel free to continue passing the offering plate, don’t take them up on their offer to fill out a visitor information card … while those don’t necessarily mean an entry pass to the newsletter mailing list, they will mean a personal letter from the minister.
3. If visiting a black church, be ready — they’re the most on-the-spot congregations. They ask visitors to stand up during the announcement time. If you’re white don’t even try faking that the minister isn’t talking to you. However, once you stand up there’s usually a congregational applause which causes what I term the “Sunday uplift” in the ego. It’s great, and the two black congregations I visited were incredibly welcoming.
4. There are several strategies when it comes to the offering time — I’ve had congregation members sitting close try to pass-it-on over me, so that they try to bypass me (knowing that I’m a visitor); I’ve turned in the information card (and still get the newsletters); I’ve donated cash, usually ensuring a clean get-away; I’ve donated using a check. Normally with the check the congregation simply processes it … except for Providence Christian Church in Lexington, KY. I visited Lexington for a weekend and was added to the newsletter list I’m assuming based on the return address on the check. It was unexpected, but then again, I welcomed it too.

So, Church of the Holy Nativity (we abbreviate it CHN) …

Several members of the congregation and some of my friends I’d told about it, think that my main connection is the reason I want to learn there: I knew the pastor, the Rev. Aimée Delevett, from last summer. Aimée was my small group leader at my FTE Ministry Fellowship conference and we got to know each other pretty well in that setting. Once arriving to Chicago, a friend at a nearby seminary (who was also in our small group) alerted me to Aimée’s installation service at CHN. I was free that weekend and made the trip down to the congregation. Even though much of the events of that Sunday revolved around Aimée, it was apparent what kind of community she was serving: a genuinely open congregation.

There have been periodic clarifying moments leading up to today. When visiting other congregations, while many of them were excellent, I constantly checked my schedule to figure out how soon I could return to CHN. Each time I came back to CHN, someone else knew my name. Then there were the little details: Mimi Johnson making a point in the uber-crowded Fellowship Hall on Easter Sunday to stop me and make sure I had somewhere to eat since she knew I was alone and away from family; or Val Birch making a point during the passing of the peace to walk the extra three pews to say hi; or Jim Massie stopping after the service while still in his choir robe to say hi as I stood in line to leave.

The foundational moment I knew CHN was right was during Holy Week when some of my housemates were talking about congregations they’d visited during Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. They asked where I went and I said “my congregation.” Their looks betrayed their lack-of-comprehension; my housemates hadn’t known I was committed to one congregation yet. It wasn’t hard for me to say, however, since the congregation had already accepted me … this was my moment to accept them in return: they’re my congregation.

PS – The picture above doesn’t show my favorite people, but I decided not to scare them too much with the camera this morning. Also, there will be many more 1000:1s about CHN, but until I start working there (September), check out the re-initialized blog section on my website which I’ll update more often than my 1000:1s.

In my last 1000:1, I intentionally failed to disclose one part of my spring break. My trip down to Texas was better than I deserve. My friends/professors overflowed in their hospitality. During the week I relived the same calendar week from last year with an informal gathering at Judy Dodd’s house remembering Daryl. It was painful, calming, and reaffirming all at the same time. We gathered for wine, food and memories. The trip was exactly the refocusing agent I needed.

I did not mention that my spring break had two parts. One was indeed the 2400 miles on the road down to Texas and back. However, I put in an additional 700 miles once I returned to Chicago. Three weeks before embarking to Texas, my aunt called and asked me to come home the last weekend of break for a surprise 50th birthday party she, another aunt, and friends would throw for my parents. The best part about the party: it wasn’t a birthday for either of them! My Dad had his last August and my Mom has hers this coming November. Retrospectively, the idea to split the difference between the dates was genius! They had no idea!

Before divulging the elaborate surprise, I have to exegete the above picture. While the exposure is a little harsh (thanks Becky) and causes the bare skin to shine a little too much for my taste, I need to credit my aunt Becky for liberating me from camera-duty (THANKS BECKY!) and letting me enjoy the party. You’ll notice the two men on the left. Many non-familiar observers undoubtedly question which gentleman is me; I’m the one in the black shirt. No, the other black shirt. Hehehe. [More on the shirts below!] From left to right is my dad (Dan), me, my mom (Kate) and my brother (Luke). Those readers with keen eyes can also distinguish a genetical pattern; Luke especially hopes evidence of this continues. Through the years, people see more of my dad in me and my mom in Luke. Our facial structures cause this identification. The hair continues in a similar manner — enough said.

The party began with Desi, a family friend from church, alerted my parents she was throwing a wine party for PEO and church people. Unbeknownst to the parents, my aunts Peg and Terri were also in on the hoax! When the invites came through e-mail the gauntlet was thrown: my parents would be at the door greeting people and as everyone entered it would hopefully take a lot of time before they realized all of the people shouldn’t have had a common reason for being there. Desi was so convincing in her initial sell that my mom offered to bring brownies — to her own party!

The event could not have been executed with any more precision. As my parents tell it, with every arrival they internally justified why each person showed up. There were too many factors for them to comprehend the scope in advance, however. Every person who entered the door was wearing black. The priceless moment was when my mom realized this, still couldn’t figure it out, and blamed my dad for getting the message and her being oblivious!

The ruse continued until family members from Fairfield (2.5 hour drive from home) entered. At that point they new something was up, but still had no idea what. All of a sudden people started singing Happy Birthday; my dad laughed, thought it was for my mom, and joined it. It wasn’t until everyone sang both names that the scales came off. It was perfect.

Now fast-forward five minutes and my brother and I are still avoiding the party. We knew when we entered, but especially when I did, that the game was finished. My parents knew I was in Chicago and had no clue I was in a holding pattern at my aunt’s and uncle’s house. My brother and I waited a time, drove to the party and as we pulled up we saw a church friend (Mark Durham) walking up to the clubhouse. When he saw me in my brother’s passenger seat, I lifted my finger to my mouth and he stopped in his tracks, did a double-take and his mouth dropped open in shock. He smiled and entered, keeping the secret. My brother parked, we looked at each other, looked at the car in front of us and listened to two more songs on his iPod before getting out. I wish I had a video of it. When we entered my parents were already in-the-know, but my mom’s eyes teared up since my presence took it to a new level. It was a perfect moment.

The weekend as a whole was fun since, besides reconnecting with friends at the party, I also abstained a week from my first-year church-hopping for Divinity School, and returned to my home congregation. They are the people who helped shape my calling and every visit home reaffirms it. There is something about home congregations: they often influence you without them or you being cognizant of it; but memory and a re-examination of history clarifies the process. Speaking of which … some congregation members reminded me of my sophomore year of high school — I’ve changed!

Oh, before I wrap this up … the shirts: my dad’s shirt is definitely navy. It’s a shade of blue. It may have been the lighting at the party, or perhaps the wine, but the color was often unclear. And also, before you pay me one of the biggest compliments by saying I even dress like my dad, recognize there’s a reason the dark colors. Without hair on the tops or sides of the head, clothing is the most efficient way to add contrast, which hopefully slims up and shapes the face! But yes, we are very similar — and I love it!