Due to a family logistics situation, Sunday, September 14 will probably prove to have been the last time that Chris wore his reflective vest to welcome cars onto the Blue Ridge Community Church campus. Since he joined the 8:30 team, he’s been a critical part of our grass lot crew—where servers and committed attendees are asked to park in order to make room for our guests, who park on our six asphalt lots. Few on the team prefer that dusty area, but he embraced “the field” and eventually asked for it.
Walking across that grass to get in his Kia and leave for the unknown, he passed me. With a lump in his throat and a firm grip of my hand, he locked eyes with me. “Take care of this grass for me.” It was an imperative that sounded like a question. What I heard was, “Will you make sure someone parks my cars like I would?”
Maybe I heard that, because that’s what I would demand, if I ever had to turn in my vest and light wands. In fact, that’s what I do request from my teammates on the few weekends I miss each year.
Why? Because small things matter in both first and subsequent impressions. Things like facial expressions, intuitive conversations, and remembering someone’s name or parking preferences—they matter. So do authentic, calm interactions in a frenetic situation and a sense of empathy when trying to leave quickly. We get emails, social media comments, and face-to-face conversations that tell us that our demeanor contributed to watershed moments or at least mile-marker events in someone’s spiritual journey. Some even say that just seeing us in our pre-game prayer circle gets them excited for what they’re about to encounter in the building.
What Chris didn’t know in that moment was that those of us trying to empty the lots after the crowded 10:30 service were stuck in a precarious situation, unable to clear the log jam. Just minutes after Chris’ heartfelt request, a driver berated one of our leaders, accusing the team of messing things up and not knowing what we’re doing. At least two other drivers in a span of minutes verbally let us know they were not happy, either. See, due to a couple situations beyond our control, our 10:30 exit took between 50% and 75% longer than it normally does to clear the 400-500 vehicles we dump onto Thomas Jefferson Highway at 11:45 each Sunday.
In response to this anomaly, we had three different team leaders walking from minivan to SUV—thanking people for their patience and assuaging negative energy. I so wished for the time to be able to express our hearts to those vehicle occupants!
The fact is that, compared to a couple years ago, exit times average much lower since we instituted our new one-way loop system. That’s even more impressive, when you consider that the church has grown by multiple hundreds of average attendees each weekend. Now, the parking pattern is consistent and predictable, no matter which of the four services you attend. Two-way traffic has been almost eliminated. That, in turn, reduces the risk of gridlock, vehicle damage, and pedestrian injury. We’ve got more trained volunteers and large, reflective signs in the parking lots to improve communication. We now have sheriff deputies on the road, most of whom expedite the exit process and all of whom protect drivers from the dangers of the blind curve on the northbound side of the highway.
We are constantly evaluating our system and testing new ideas to make pedestrians safer and exit more efficient.
With only strategic exceptions, we park the spots closest to the building toward those farthest from it—so that an excited child doesn’t run into traffic and so that other pedestrians don’t slow the ingress of other guests. Outside of that constant, we keep tweaking—not because we are control freaks and not because we’re doing social experiments. We care for guests’ hearts and their physical safety. We long for them to feel as welcomed and compelled to spiritual environments as we do. We know that a slow exit might keep someone from returning to a powerful spiritual experience. Like Chris, we pray over those drivers and their passengers.
In short: our heart drives our logistics.
That’s why we cone off what would be 18 convenient parking spots—so that vehicles backing out of those spots after the service don’t stop the hundreds of cars that would have to wait for them. That’s also why we hold exiting servers in the field until the asphalt full of guests is cleared. We want the people who are checking out our church and maybe even Jesus to have the quickest exit, since they’re the ones most likely to find an excuse not to return. As hosts ourselves, we see it as a spiritual chivalry.
We welcome criticism, especially constructive feedback. (In fact we have actively sought it from traffic experts and other church logistics folks.) We want you to know that we understand your frustrations; the realities of our infrastructure sometimes frustrate us, too. Know that we’re bringing our best efforts to the situation—not so that you think we’re smart or professional. We just want you to feel the kind of uncommon welcome and lingering impression that brings you back next weekend.
