The service had already started at our 10:30 service this morning, when a visitor walked half the length of a football field to me instead of toward the door of our church.
“Do they require masks in there?” he asked.
I heard the question as though from someone who had forgotten his mask. So, I answered, “Yes, sir. But they have masks at the door, if you don’t have one on you.”
He stared into my eyes without saying a word. He made a face that was somewhere between disappointment, disgust, and resolve. Without any more words, he walked back to his vehicle to leave our campus.
My friend, Adam, watched the whole encounter. After the stranger left, he nodded his head back and forth with that slow blink that says with resignation, “What are you going to do?” This wasn’t the first time people have walked right back to their vehicles in our parking lots during COVID. Usually, though, they make it to the door first.
In a way, I spared the disgruntled visitor from a lot longer walk. I definitely saved him from going the extra mile.
In America, “going the extra mile” means customer service above and beyond expectations. During Jesus’ earthly ministry, he introduced that phrase to an authoritarian culture under very different circumstances. Back then, Roman soldiers could impress any bystander into service. Military personnel could force you to walk up to a mile with them, carrying their bulky gear. While Jesus’ audience craved for him to overthrow Rome, he boldly told his listeners to surpass Roman law and carry that burden two miles. And really, that meant four miles, because you had to walk back to where you were forced into service. Jesus didn’t just tell his audience to comply with Roman law—like he did when he talked about taxes. He told them to surprise our secular authorities by over-complying. 200%.
Apparently, American evangelicals heard Jesus say something very different: “Tell that soldier to take a hike.” We’ve got pastors on Facebook, tearing up cease & desist letters or describing why they will no longer be compliant with their governor’s guidelines. We’ve heard friends, family, and Christian thought leaders imply or straight out accuse the government of denying our religious freedom.
They haven’t. We can still conduct church services online. In most states, we can have smaller, in-person gatherings with masks & social distancing. Almost every state allows small group gatherings outdoors or even in our homes. We are still allowed to serve the homeless, provide for widows & orphans, and share our faith online and in-person. I have to cone off every other parking spot in my church’s parking lot to keep cars six feet apart; but I can still pray with my teammates, eat meals with my ministry partners, and discuss Bible passages with my friends. So can you. We can both write encouragements cards and texts. We can still keep each other accountable in areas where we struggle. We can still invite foster kids into our homes. We can still read Christian books and the Bible. We can still share what we’re learning with others. We can still sing worship songs and listen to others sing songs. We can still walk with Jesus in the woods and watch him paint sunsets. We can still teach our kids about our heritage and our faith.
It just looks different. The American church faces an inconvenience, a temporary annoyance—not a threat to our faith.
I work in the auction industry, and I’ve already started to see a wave of business liquidations from the past seven months of commercial restrictions. Many of these businesses are those that rely on in-person experiences (bus companies, trampoline parks, arcades, amusement parks, etc.). Republican and Democrat governors are not picking on Christians. If anything, they’ve made exceptions for faith communities. Ask touring musicians and live theater companies how much they’d love to have the freedoms extended to churches right now. The church has more going for it than not right now. We have more freedoms than we have restrictions.
We can be the church without large gatherings. I’ve heard pastors talk about how these restrictions have actually helped their churches align better with its original design. Instead of personality-driven, sermon-focused, one-directional services, we have a built-in excuse to study Scripture in egalitarian circles, to get to know fellow parishioners at a deeper level, and to serve our community—not just the people who attend our services. Several of my friends have shifted their lives and found ways to walk extra miles.
If any segment of the population should be compliant with gathering guidelines for the good of our community, it should be Christians. If any group in America should be loving their neighbors in innovative ways during a pandemic, it should be the church. If any of us should be walking the extra mile, it should be those who walk with Jesus.
If that’s a mile too far, I’d ask whether you’re a fan of Jesus or a follower. If these temporary restrictions are unbearable, I’d ask whether your greater identity is anchored in the Bill of Rights or the Gospel. If church for you is just sitting in rows on a Sunday or chatting with friends in its foyer, I’d invite you to imagine that church can be more. Much more. And it’s only two miles from where you’re standing right now.
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Stock images purchased from iStockPhoto.com
