Getting Kicked Out of Church

You know you’ve been bad, when you get kicked out of church. But, wait. I can explain.

We packed up all our gear in the car that Sunday morning and headed off to a guest speaking engagement. I was still a little too inexperienced to play the piano and accompany my mother’s singing, so we toted along a stereo and speakers with a cassette player. The small country church we were visiting that day had the preaching service first and then everyone divided up for Sunday School.

It was one of those older buildings with stained glass windows and a high ceiling. It wasn’t long and narrow like some. The sanctuary was actually fairly wide, like a courtroom. Off to the left, the jury box was the choir loft.

The organ was to the right. It seems that the piano was on the platform kind of behind the pulpit and up against the wall, which would make the pianist sit with their back to the congregation.

The pews had these big thick corner posts that were obviously made in a day when people gave little thought to forest conservation. My first piano teacher lived nearby and we were not sure about her soul, so we invited her to visit on the Sunday my dad was the guest speaker. She came.

My mom sang a beautiful, stirring song and dad started in. I was so proud of him. He was doing such a good job. Dad is “Old-School”. He is a straight shooter and a soul-winner. That day his message was a very practical one and actually quite non-confrontational. Dad has a real gift for teaching and he was showing the people how to, “lead a soul to Christ.” Toward the end of his message, to show everyone how simple it really was to share the gospel, Dad asked my mother to come back to the platform and roll-play what it might sound like for a Christian to show someone else how to be saved. My mom played the part of a soon to be, new convert and Dad was going to show her the verses in the Bible he called the Roman’s Road.

Suddenly a man was standing there at the end of the pew. He was shouting at the top of his lungs. I was small, but to me he seemed like a pretty tough guy. There he was, yelling at my dad and using his open hand to pound on the corner of the pew in front of him. I know, about now you’re waiting for the punch line, but don’t hold your breath. What transpired next, I’ll never really understand and I almost don’t expect you to believe, but this is what I heard.

“Enough! That’s Enough! You’ve gone seven minutes over and that’s enough. I am a deacon in this church and I speak for this church and I’m ordering you out of here.” He turned and pointed to the back door. He yelled as he pointed. “OUT, OUT, OUT!”

That day I learned what a man was. My dad had to have just experienced the most startling and humiliating experience of his ministry and he didn’t even blink. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t act hurt. He didn’t act angry. A total non-reaction. My brother and I looked at each other in absolute disbelief. Then dad bent down and started unplugging our not-so-portable sound system which we carried in my mom’s old accordion box with a little extra padding.

The congregation sat there even more stunned than we were. They didn’t move. No one spoke. I followed my parents down the isle and out the front door. We hobbled down the steps to our car as the congregation watched. We just sat there for a moment. Then my older brother began to say, with tears in his eyes, “I feel so sorry for those people.” The unmaking of a man that day saw the making of two men in my eyes. My father and my brother.

Dad backed up the car and pulled out onto the road. We began to make our way to see my brother, Ken, at his church where we had already planned to have dinner together at the parsonage. As we drove down the road one more horrific thought came to our minds as we all realized about the same time that my dear, first piano teacher, that we had invited especially for that day, was still sitting back there at that old church. Even as a boy I thought to myself, “What must she think of Christianity now?”

You know, the strange thing is? That experience never discouraged me from entering the ministry. It actually helped me realize that we really are in a battle. We aren’t playing church. There are sides to choose and I had already made my choice.

If my memory serves we enjoyed a wonderful time of singing and laughter at my brother’s church in the evening service, and the fellowship of other believers there. I’ve never had an experience quite like that since, and I sure hope to avoid ever again being kicked out of church.