Yesterday I went to three churches in Elkhart, Indiana.  It was a Sunday, and admittedly I hadn’t been to church in a while (had to catch up somehow).

At 10 am, I entered the New Hope Community Church, a non-denominational Christian group that meets at an old movie theatre in the downtown area.  In between songs, the music leader would move toward the microphone, and say things like, “We praise you, Jesus. We want to praise you and glorify you.”  At one point, he said, “We want to listen to you, Lord.”

Mmm. “We want to listen.”  Loved it.

Then “Pastor Al” approached the podium.  Al is a scary lookin’ dude.  Husky, broad-shouldered, bald, with a gnarly handlebar mustache, he looked more like a jujitsu wrestler than a man with a religious message.

As the pastor started speaking, I couldn’t help but cringe.  He opened the speech by talking about a UFC fight he had watched on television with several friends, and how the cage fight reminded him of other cages we have in our lives.  Okay.  I suppose I can hang on to see where this is going.  Ultimate Fighting didn’t seem like the most appropriate pastime for a pastor, but to each his own.

Pastor Al continued by explaining that “religion” is a cage that traps a lot of people, and that, although the term “religion” means, “to be bound,” he says, it wasn’t created by God.  He used the example of Cain and Abel, and said that from the beginning of time, man has been fighting in the name of religion, and that it has been used throughout history to keep people oppressed.  Fair enough.

Now this is where things started to throw me off.  Al said that we don’t need religion; we need relationships.  But he went on to bash anyone and everyone that belongs to a religion, whether organized or otherwise.  He said we shouldn’t focus on “their” sinful nature just because “we” understand the truth.  And at this point, I was ready to walk out.

I stayed for the entire service, but it was definitely a difficult decision.  When the service was finally over, I stepped outside to find a camera crew from ABC World News hovering over my van.  I knew they were coming, but wasn’t expecting them to find me without a phone call.  Elkhart is kind of small.

Pastor Al approached the van while the news crew was there, and proceeded to explain on camera that I had attended his church service.  He said he liked what I was doing, and then he plugged his church.  Something about it didn’t seem right.  This is about listening, not promotion, and I certainly didn’t get the sense that anyone was listening.

From there, I collected stories throughout Elkhart, and felt bogged down by the burden of having a camera crew.  People don’t like cameras; they don’t trust cameras.  But the guys were nice enough.  The producer even brought his two kids along because they thought it was a cool project.

In the evening, I was exhausted (as usual).  I drove past a Catholic Church and decided to stop in.  I wanted a quiet place to take a nap, and this was perfect.  When I walked into the lobby, I noticed a stack of donation envelopes sitting on a coffee table.  I remembered how, weeks before, a professional thief donated $20 toward my project.  I didn’t want to keep the money, but hadn’t determined where it should go.  I took an envelope and inserted a twenty.  I started to write an anonymous note, but fell asleep on a bench before I could finish the sentence.

An hour later, I was awoken by a loud, “Ahhhh!”  Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to be in the lobby, and I scared the priest.  The door I had entered through was supposed to be locked, but someone didn’t shut the door all the way.  He asked me what I was doing, and I said I just needed a place to rest.  He then walked me to the door, and I handed him twenty bucks.  “What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s for the nap.  Someone gave it to me, but it’s not right that I keep it.  Give it to someone that can use it,” I said.

“That’s providential.  I know just the family.”

So then I left, twenty dollars poorer, but satisfied.  It was a good nap.

Later in the evening, I pulled into downtown and discovered another worship service.  This time, it was a congregation of crazy, crazy people.  I stood outside, watching, until a minister in a bright red suit and shiny black shoes spotted me.  He came out and invited me in with a big smile and open arms.  My curiosity was sparked, so I walked in.

For the next twenty minutes, I shivered from the intentionally cold air conditioning.  The microphone was about three decibels too loud, and the people inside were yelling, screaming, and pounding their hands against the chairs in front of them.  Whoa.

They referred to their pastor as “Prophet,” and he was making some incredibly weird sounds.  Every once in awhile, he would say something in English, but it was mostly gobbledy-goop.  “Abbababa-Bu, Glo-Mach-Ding-Tata-Boo, Shloka-Dawpa, Matee-Co-Yempu-Schejay.  And God sold his Son.  He SOLD him.  Glampop-Ba Daw-Kly-Shoqua.  So that you could be FREE, and preach his Word.”

Abnoxious voices surrounded me, sounding more like cursing than praise.  “Christ Almighty!!!”  “Oh, Jesus!!!”  “Holy Christ, give me some of that!”

Eventually they got to the part where someone needed to be saved.  The minister in the red suit approached me and took my hand.  He started shaking and dancing.  He pulled me out of my chair, and I said, “No.  No, I appreciate it, but no.”  There was no way in hell I was going up front!

The red-suited man then paused and held my hands.  He said, “We don’t look down on you.  We’ve all been where you’re at in life.  Just because I wear a fancy suit and drive a Cadillac doesn’t put me above you.  We’ve all had tough times.  I used to be a heroine junkie.  I turned my life to God.  I don’t judge you if you’ve done something wrong.  Maybe you’re on drugs.  Maybe your family has rejected you.  We want to put that all aside.  We want you to hear the Word of God.”

At this moment, I couldn’t decide if I should roll with it and break down in tears and proclaim, “I’m saved!  It’s a miracle!” or if I should simply show him the van and explain what I’m doing.  After all, I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.  He thought I was a desperate, tormented bum.

We walked outside, and I said, “Look.  That’s my van.  I’m letting people share their personal experiences and express themselves.  I’m going all over the country listening to people.”

He said, “So.  Is that van gonna get you to heaven?”

What?!!!  That kind of threw me through a loop.  I didn’t know how to respond.  It was so irrelevantly argumentative!  “You’re not listening,” I said.

“Yes I am, I hear you.  I’m a great listener.  People come to me all the time for help.  But listening isn’t gonna get you to heaven.  You gotta do something about it.”

“I am,” I said.  “I’m helping people.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” he said, “I’m not saying you’re doing anything wrong.  But if Jesus came down today, do you think he would take you with him?”

I said, “That’s not for me to decide.”

Then he said, “So you think that van is gonna get you to heaven?  Cuz that’s what you’re telling me.”

Again… What?!!!  “No, I didn’t say that.  Those are your words.”

Then he said, “You can do whatever you want on the outside, but you gotta change the inside.”  And then we parted ways.

The man in a red suit solidified my belief that listening is the answer.  If you don’t listen, how will you ever know what the problem is?  How can you possibly serve if your perception is based on assumptions?  Unbelievable.