Lessons from a Tavern

 

I well remember listening to the vacuum tube radio in my grandfather’s house.  At the time it seemed agonizing to wait the couple of minutes it required to warm up.   When it finally did it was  usually tuned to programs like Back to the Bible or Nightsounds. 

 One of my favorites on that old Zenith was Insight for Living with Chuck Swindoll.  His practicality, laughter and honesty drew me into his message.  Listening soon developed into reading his books.  I read Improving Your Serve thirty years ago while recovering from wisdom teeth extraction and Grace Awakening three years ago while recovering from prideful judgmentalosis.  Three days ago I stumbled across one of his articles entitled Lessons from a Tavern in an old copy of Leadership.  It’s worth the following read: 

 "An old Marine Corps buddy of mine, to my pleasant surprise, came to know Christ after he was discharged.  I say surprise because he cursed loudly, fought hard, chased women, drank heavily, loved war and weapons, and hated chapel services.

 "A number of months ago, I ran into this fellow, and after we’d talked awhile, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘You know, Chuck, the only thing I still miss is that old fellowship I used to have with all the guys down at the tavern.  I remember how we used to sit around and laugh and drink a pitcher of beer and tell stories and let our hair down.  I can’t find anything like that for Christians.  I no longer have a place to admit my faults and talk about my battles–where somebody won’t preach at me and frown and quote me a verse.

 “It wasn’t one month later that in my reading I came across this profound paragraph: ‘The neighborhood bar is possibly the best counterfeit that there is to the fellowship Christ wants to give his church.  It’s an imitation, dispensing liquor instead of grace, escape rather than reality–but it is a permissive, accepting, and inclusive fellowship.  It is unshockable.  It is democratic.  You can tell people secrets, and they usually don’t tell others or don’t even want to.  The bar flourishes not because most people are alcoholics, but because God has put into the human heart the desire to know and be known, to love and be loved, and so many seek counterfeit at the price of a few beers.  With all my heart,’ this writer concludes, ‘I believe that Christ wants his church to be unshockable, a fellowship where people can come and say, ‘I’m sunk, I’m beat, I’ve had it.’  Alcoholics Anonymous has this quality–our churches too often miss it.’

 Now before you take up arms to shoot some wag that would compare your church to the corner bar, stop and ask yourself some tough questions, like I had to do.  Make a list of some possible embarrassing situations people may not know how to handle.

 "A woman discovering her husband is a practicing homosexual.  Where in the church can she find help where she’s secure with her secret?

 "Your mate talks about separation or divorce.  To whom do you tell it?

 "Your daughter is pregnant, and she’s run away–for the third time.  She’s no longer listening to you.  Who do you tell that to?

 "You lost your job, and it was your fault.  You blew it, so there’s shame mixed with unemployment.  Who do you tell that to?

 "Financially you were unwise, and you’re in deep trouble.  Or a man’s wife is an alcoholic.  Or something as horrible as getting back the biopsy from the surgeon, and it reveals cancer, and the prognosis isn’t good.  Or you had an emotional breakdown.  To whom do you tell it?

 "We’re the only outfit I know that shoots it wounded.  We can become the most severe, condemning, judgmental, guilt-giving people on the face of the planet Earth, and we claim it’s in the name of Jesus Christ.  And all the while, we don’t even know we’re doing it.  That’s the pathetic part of it all.”