I’m always amazed how dissimilar people in the same church can be. These days it’s tough to adjust from one series of cultural heroes and theological nuances to the next. A pastor runs into so many kinds of personal tastes that it’s almost impossible to “become all things to all men”-even Christians.
I would love to sense the like-mindedness that is the mortar of close koinonia-kinship. But we are all so different! Sometimes the differences that most nettle are of little real consequence.
For instance, I fashion myself a connoisseur of art. I remember visiting one of our church members who was displaying a new oil painting in the living room. It matched the velour of the couch perfectly. I wondered silently, What if Michelangelo had given his life to painting pictures that matched carpets and couches?
“I see you have a new painting,” I said.
The proud new collector nodded.
“Did you get it at the Holiday Inn art sale?”
“Yes! How ever did you know?”
“Just a guess.” Actually, it was more than a guess; the picture had that definite “absolutely no picture over $39.95 this weekend” look about it. She was happy, and I was happy. Still, our tastes in the fine arts remain separate.
But art is not the only area where tastes differ.
Not long ago I visited a family that advocates home schooling. They were keeping their little Elijah home to learn his ABC’s in the nonhumanistic atmosphere of a Formica dinette table. Elijah is bright, and he may mature as a scholar even if he does begin his lessons before the bowl of wilted Cheerios and yellow milk is cleared away.
At the next home, Collette was in the “bright class” at the public school. Her mother was not fond of the home-school concept. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think Elijah Jones needs more social skills and group inspiration.” She turned to her daughter. “Collette, show the pastor your floor plan of the U.S. Senate you did in Miss Lodge’s field trip group. And bring that darling scrapbook of Geraldine Ferraro’s campaign.” She did. As I looked at the scrapbook, I wondered how both Elijah’s family and Collette’s managed to find their way to our church.
Our taste in media is as varied as our educational philosophies. Most people in our church like evangelical radio-Swindolleze Dobsonites who keep up with “Joni and Friends.” This is a nearly unanimous persuasion. All but Joan. Joan has never really said how she feels, but her friends say she does not listen to Christian radio. “She listens to public radio,” they whisper. We try not to castigate her.
Joan is a good friend, a committed Christian, and “loves the Lord,” which is our unanimously approved clich of endorsement. Still, what is this PBS thing? I became distrustful when I asked her what she thought of Sandi Patti and she asked, “Who?” Plus, she had never heard of “Back to the Bible.”
“What do you do in your spare time?” I asked.
“Did you catch the Pops on public radio this week?” she asked. I knew I’d failed, and I wondered if she could ever experience “the abundant life.”
There are two Bills in our church, both highly successful. At a Sunday school class party last week, Bill One casually asked, “What’s your favorite Rachmaninoff?”
“Concerto in C,” I bluffed. “It was a part of the theme of Somewhere in Time.”
Bill looked contemptuous. “Mine is his Piano Concerto on a Theme of Paganini.”
“Really,” I responded, fighting to recall Music Appreciation 105. “Well, it’s OK, too.”
I play racketball with Bill Two. Driving back from a game, Bill Two crammed a cassette into the tape deck-Waylon and Willie! He cranked open the sun roof and the warm spring sun poured in on us as we rocketed along the interstate, drinking Diet Sunkist, and feeling good about all those who love the Lord, Waylon, and Willie (in that order).
“I grew up dreamin’ o’ bein’ a cowboy,” the nasal voice on the tape deck sang.
“This is really living,” I said, picking up a Nashville falsetto and singing along . . . “An’ lovin’ a cowhoy’s ways. Persuin’ the life of my high-ridin’ heroes . . .”
“Yep, this is living,” said Bill Two. “Sun roof, Sunkist, and Willie Nelson.”
“I lived out my childhood ways,” I harmonized, ignoring him.
“You like Willie and Waylon?” Bill Two asked.
“Well . . . yes . . . but don’t tell Bill One.” I cupped my hand over my mouth. “He likes Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto on a Theme of Paganini.”
“Rachmaninoff to Willie Nelson?” he bellowed. “Hah!” Still, a pastor must pastor the whole flock. To each his own. I braced for the contrast, turned up the volume a little, and dropped back into my Nashville falsetto . . . “I learned all the ways o’ a modern-day drifter. Don’tcha hold on to nuthin’ too long. Old worn-out dreams and old worn-out Levis, an’ the words of a sad country song.”
Diversity in the body, I mused. All things to all men.
I promised myself that if Bill One ever crammed a cassette of Rachmaninoff’s Concerto into the tape deck, I’d do my best to hum a few bars.
-Calvin Miller
Westside Baptist Church
Omaha, Nebraska
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