Backlit Limelight

I’m sitting alone in the big room at my church.

There’s no service tonight.

There’s a nightlight on the wall here in the stadium seats and a single fluorescent light glowing in the auditorium.

From the conference room on the other side of the wall, I can hear dozens of people singing. More specifically, it’s the people who comprise the multiple vocal teams that serve on different weekends each month. They’re about to break into small groups to pray together—for each other—and study the Bible. Some of the groups retreat to homes. Others find corners here in the building to huddle. They do this every week at this time.

Tomorrow night, they’ll join the band, the technical arts team, and the production folks to practice songs and run through this weekend’s program. They’ll repeat that again Saturday afternoon before the first of four weekend services.

After the Saturday night service, a multidisciplinary team will evaluate the flow of the service to make changes for the three Sunday services. A select group of insightful listeners will provide sermon feedback for this weekend’s teaching pastor—places he can develop more, diverge less, etc.

Like probably every other megachurch in the country, a large team of people work to create an energetic but organized environment that will help people engage with the message and the music, the announcements and the supporting environments. Around the country, the ubiquitous term in church circles for this dedication to production value is “excellence” (sometimes phrased “giving God our best”).

Earlier this week, a friend said he had a hard time connecting with God at my church because everything seemed to be a production here—filled with talking points and buzzwords.

I get that. In fact, I’ve had the same impression when visiting other megachurches. I saw worship teams and pastors put on a good show. I felt a contemporary vibe that looked plastic; I observed religiosity that seemed made for TV. I felt alone in bustling places that said they wanted me to feel welcome.

For the last couple of days, I’ve asked myself why I don’t feel that at my church. I don’t know that I have a satisfying answer for others, but here’s where I’ve found my personal answers.

Established Authenticity

Unlike other places I’ve visited, I know a large percentage of the people on stage at my church. A number have been in my home, around a backyard campfire, or at the same restaurant table. I’ve studied the Bible with a handful of them, prayed in circles with them, and even sought counsel from them. I’ve told a couple of them stuff I don’t tell even my good friends. Some have told me soul-level struggles they’ve battled. They’re real people to me—not distant performers. I’ve observed that they live what they emote on stage. That required me to move toward them—typically in more intimate environments, often in encounters away from the church campus.

Similar Mission

I serve on my church’s parking team—more than fifty folks in neon vests that direct traffic and interact with pedestrians to welcome them in an uncommon way. While we don’t have weekly practices, we do spend hours a week preparing to serve, serving in our respective posts, and evaluating our serving for future improvement. We are very deliberate to deliver a well-oiled experience for our drivers and their passengers. I know the heart of why we do that—why we take it so seriously. It’s a passion for me. Because I’m serving alongside the indoor worship team, I can give their motives the benefit of the doubt that I give myself.

Shared Journey

When I first started attending Blue Ridge 8.5 years ago, weekend attendance averaged about a third of what it is now. I came right after the church added a second service at our current campus. I helped start the additional parking teams, when our leadership added a third service, then a fourth. Most of the people in the limelight of my church have been a part of this assembly longer than I have. They were here when the limelight was not as bright. I’ve seen them learn and grow and adapt, bringing the rest of us along with them. I’ve heard them admit failures and pull back the curtain—not just to the green room and practice sessions but also to what others would cover with a public mask.

Offstage Scenes

This sounds odd; but when I think of my church, the first thing in my head isn’t necessarily what happens during one of the weekend services. So, stage stuff doesn’t rank at the top of my criteria for evaluating my Blue Ridge experience. I think of the study and community environments in which I’ve participated or served, where nothing’s recorded and influence is measured in how well you demonstrate authenticity. I know scores of people behind the scenes in places like the moving team and the grounds crew, the technical arts folks and the cafe staff—people who pursue excellence that isn’t accentuated with bright lights. While I engage with and often enjoy the services, I see them through a filter distorted by the personal and spiritual conversations I’ve had away from the auditorium.

Affirming Stories

For objectivity, I must recuse the revelation, realization, and emotion I’ve experienced in the hundreds of services I’ve attended. Thankfully, I’m surrounded with lots of people whose lives have been inexorably changed through Blue Ridge’s ministry, including the weekend services. I’m not talking about anonymous hand raising at an altar call (something Blue Ridge doesn’t do anyway). I mean broken addictions, repaired marriages, miraculous healing, restored relationships, healed emotional scars, redeemed pain. For all of those people for whom the impact is real, so are the services they attend.

Different followers of Jesus prefer different worship experiences, and my church certainly doesn’t chase the unattainable goal of universal appeal. Folks in my area have hundreds of assemblies with which to unite—tens of thousands of fellow believers with whom to walk their respective spiritual journeys. Wherever Jesus and his truth comes alive most and best to someone is probably where they should congregate—whether at my church or not, a megachurch or not, a contemporary church or not.

While you can learn a lot about any church on a Sunday morning, you’ll understand more after diving into its culture outside of its auditorium. Especially mine.