This just in, dear readers: Flying First Class is no joke.
This may not come as news to you, but now in my 44th year, I’ve always been relegated to Economy Class; the commercial airline equivalent of the loud, sweaty bowels of the Titanic, where the incredibly average commoners are crammed shoulder to shoulder, unable to exhale without the consent of the person next to them, where peanuts are traded like uncut diamonds, and where a 2-inch metal armrest is a brutal battleground to the death.
And in light of this, it’s probably no coincidence that I dislike flying. To be more accurate; I despise, abhor, and loathe it with every atom of my incredibly middle class being.
But that all changed this week, when as I walked from the airport check-in desk toward security along with my two kids, I noticed that our seats were in row 3. This meant little to me, being uninitiated in the way that the other five percent lives. Yet even I, with my limited understanding of customary travel perks, understood those two words: First Class.
The questions came like a flood: “How can this be? Did I inadvertently hit a button at the kiosk? Is my credit card now five hundred dollars lighter? Did some airline employee completely drop the ball? Did they see my dizzyingly adorable, yet possibly high maintenance children, and take pity on me?”
Surely this had to be a mistake!”, I thought to myself. Yet after two airline desk visits and one phone call to my credit card company later, I realized: This is happening.
And from the moment my kids and I, (my wife had been on a separate reservation, and was relegated to the land of non-existent foot room and criminally overpriced snack bags), stepped into the plane, we were treated like visiting royalty. There were pillows and blankets, and the soda flowed like carbonated water, and the cookies and towels and smiles cascaded over us endlessly, as we reclined in seats that actually reclined.
As I laid back against my plump, cushy headrest, I thought to myself, “If flying were like this, everyone would love to fly.” I felt respected and welcomed and cared for, and the experience left me thinking that I mattered.
Can you imagine if people felt that way in church?
Imagine if people walked through the doors of your church, and were seen and noticed and welcomed and spoiled; if they were treated with hospitality and dignity; if they were so blown away by the attention and affection they received, that they couldn’t wait to come back.
I bet that kind of reception would make a whole generation of people, who feel about church, the way I did about flying, beat down the doors of our buildings. Revival would happen, not because we put it on the calendar, but because people finally experienced the God we talk about all the time, but so rarely display.
I think those who brave their fear, and their bad past experiences, and their own laziness and doubt and apprehension, and step into the church this Sunday for the first time in years, (or ever), deserve to be treated like First Class guests.
I’m not talking about amenities and facilities, as those only signify resources and size.
I’m talking about the lavish, generous, barrier-defying love that we see Jesus pouring over the lepers and the tax collectors and the demon-possessed and the adulterers throughout the Gospels; the respect he showed priests and prostitutes, scribes and servants, holy men and hellraisers.
If we in the Church, give that kind of treatment to everyone who comes through our doors, regardless of income level, social standing, skin color, sexual orientation, past mistakes, current messes, number of tattoos, odd piercings, strange accents, or any other identifying marker we like to use, maybe we would do something amazing; maybe we’d actually show them all why Jesus is worth following.
May you and those in your place of worship, consider all who will walk through your doors this weekend, and may you prepare to give them the Jesus Upgrade.
Amaze those who’ve always been treated like Economy Class people, with a Grace-soaked hospitality, that reflects, not your self-centered biases and preferences, but your boss’s wild, extravagant heart.
They may just become frequent flyers.
