It’s a deadly title, I know, but I’m limiting the topic to one Christian doing one weird thing: namely, me doing “Second Sunday” outreaches.
If you don’t attend my church, Second Sundays is an an afternoon of community outreach.
To give you a little insight, here are some things I hate: people thinking I’m weird, standing out, awkward conversations, risk, and rejection.
Here are some things I love: people thinking I’m normal and people thinking I’m normal.
So when I find myself yet again in a car delivering homemade bread and church invitations to new move-ins or some such direct activity, I think, “Hmmm. How do I get myself into these situations? Why am I going to bother some poor stranger and maybe play into the obnoxious Christian stereotype? Why am I not safely home on the couch right NOW! Why do Christians do weird things?”
The obvious answer might be that I’m married to Mr. Outreach who never met a stranger and has people sharing the depths of their souls with him at first glance, AND who happens to oversee Second Sunday. But he never pressures me to go. The fact is, I actually choose to do the weird thing myself, and here’s why:
I have found that my gut reaction is wrong. (This is shocking and might I add extremely rare. :)) But in this situation, the predictions of my idols are incorrect: I don’t leave feeling embarrassed and people aren’t turned off. In fact, some–like yesterday–are super grateful and eager to accept our invitations.
It’s surprisingly faith-building to talk to people about the hope we have. It’s faith-building to silence my fears and welcome others, showing them God’s love and care. It’s even faith-building to be rejected and realize I’m experiencing one itty-bitty minuscule part of Jesus’ sufferings.
I’m still a huge wimp, trust me, but I’m learning that what feels right to me isn’t always right, and that sometimes, what feels weird is the best and most meaningful thing I could do. Who knew?
This isn’t a plug for Second Sundays, although if it works that way, great! It’s a reminder to ease-loving souls like mine that Jesus is worth more than comfort, that people desperately need him, and that our gut reactions aren’t always good counselors. Mostly I’ll stick to natural, relational conversation, but every once in a while, being a weirdo for Christ is a great privilege.