by Eddie Pipkin

Image by Peter H from Pixabay

While I was travelling during Holy Week, I had an identical experience at two separate places of worship that threw me off kilter and made me wonder how much thought the good folks at both venues were giving to the experiences of drop-ins.  On each occasion, as I arrived for worship, I couldn’t figure out how to get in the place!  Both churches were lovely, historic structures with sidewalk-facing stone stairs that led up to imposing wooden doors.  It turned out not to be a big deal getting into either building, but I sure was feeling flabbergasted as I worked out the options.  Thinking like a visitor is a fundamental hospitality mindset.

In both cases, I was visiting small towns, so you might assume that small town congregations would have a stronger (that is, friendlier) hospitality muscle.  And the folks at both churches were friendly enough once I figured out how to get inside. They weren’t organized about it, though. Neither seemed to have established hospitality initiatives, signage geared towards visitors, clearly badged volunteers whose role was to assist visitors, or moments in their respective worship services in which visitors were acknowledged.  One of them did have a QR code in the bulletin that visitors could scan to learn more information about the church.  Larger churches do frequently have a better organizational approach to hospitality: dedicated volunteers, training, greeting and informational materials, welcome centers, etc.  Perhaps resources are more abundant; perhaps expectations are different.

I certainly did not feel unwelcome in either of the small to medium sized churches I visited.  They weren’t standoffish in that way.  It felt insular; nobody was making a joyful effort to acknowledge I was there and welcome me to the fold, but no one moved to engage me.  [An editorial aside: This did not hurt my feelings; I generally enjoy being left alone in such environments.  But observing the scene with a professional eye, it was easy to see how they are missing some opportunities to put potential visitors at ease.]

They weren’t acting, in either case, like they had an expectation of visitors!  It just wasn’t a possibility on their radar!

Those are astonishing words to write in this age of shrinking and struggling local churches, but the proof is in the pudding.  These seemed like fine examples of local faith communities.  The worship was engaging and heartfelt.  The music and preaching was top notch.  The people in the room really seemed to like one another.  Maybe they had previously had robust, focused visitor-welcoming initiatives and had just been too disappointed too many times to make it worth the trouble.

There are some simple fixes for this issue, things easy enough to do without busting the budget or recruiting a giant new team of volunteers with complicated assignments.

Those doors, for instance.

In one case I parked down the street and walked up the sidewalk to the front of this beautiful, imposing structure.  In the other case, I walked a mile from the place I was staying, again approaching from the street to the front of a lovely, historic entrance.  In neither case, however, were the big wooden doors at the top of the steps the entrances that the congregation members used.  All the members knew to park out back and enter elsewhere (and for all I know, were greeted by an amazing hospitality center stocked with yummy snacks, snazzy gift mugs, and friendly faces).

In each case, I, on the other hand, entered the big front door after slinking up the stone steps without another soul in sight, tugging tentatively on the big brass handle, nervously pulling the oversized slab of wood towards me, anticipating an ear-shattering shriek of hinges or the brusque reprimand of an angry trustee.  Nothing of the kind happened.  I entered sanctuaries of light and love.  My anxieties were for nought.

But why make a visitor anxious in the first place?  The whole point of hospitality is to ease the fears and awkwardness of a person who has honored us by joining us in our home.  It’s a hard thing to do, go to an unfamiliar place filled with unfamiliar people!

How about a little signage, people?

I can see how you wouldn’t want to junk up historic portals with a big ol’ “Enter Here” sign, but how about a sandwich board sign out front when you are actively hosting worship or another event?  Or a directional arrow unobtrusively positioned at the base of the steps?  Or even a living, breathing person standing outside as a greeter?  Maybe even a note and some instructions on the website?  A whimsical touch like footprint stickers leading up the steps and to the door?  There are many possibilities.  Note how each one is a hopeful act which anticipates the arrival of a guest: an individual sojourner looking for a place to find respite or maybe even a new home.  We tend to lump visitors into a statistical blob in our thinking.  In truth, each and every visitor who walks through our doors (the big front door or the back parking lot door) is a distinct individual with their own special story.  What if we welcomed them as such?

I wrote last week about visiting my friend at her new home in Virginia.  I did not add that we think of her as the Queen of Hospitality.  When you stay with her for a few days, it’s like visiting an Airbnb on steroids.  She does everything within her power to make you comfortable and make you feel like a valued guest.  She is attentive to your needs.  The spaces you she provides are lovely and welcoming, sprinkled with warm touches from fresh flowers to freshly baked biscotti.  She doesn’t rush to do all of this welcome prep in a flurry in the twenty minutes before your arrival – which is what we tend to do at the Pipkin household, bless our hearts.  Her unequalled environment of welcome is the product of a passion: she is thinking about hospitality always, preparing for it perpetually.  She anticipates guests with joy!  And she is always hopefully ready for their arrival.

That’s how church should be, my friends.

Maybe you think your church is joyfully, anticipatorily ready.  We make assumptions about such things because it is hard to see our familiar habitation with fresh eyes.  That’s why we should recruit some fresh eyes.

When is the last time you made a point of conscripting an independent observer to pay a visit to your worship service or other event and report back on their experience?  I’m not talking about having your leadership or staff self-report on all the great things they are doing to enhance hospitality.  I’m talking about enlisting a neutral observer with no familiarity with your ministries or your campus to pay an unannounced visit and deliver objective observations.  It is often an eye-opening experience.  And it’s an experience for which we should be grateful.

Have you and your team marked all the potential doors through which a wandering soul might enter?  Do you take for granted that people can figure out how to navigate your spaces (literally and figuratively)?  Have you taken at least the simplest steps of hospitality – not the gimmicky ones, but the ones that help someone feel valued and noticed without pressuring them?  Share your stories and questions.