The Table and the Mess Behind the Fridge

The thing about being part of a house church is you can't fake it for very long.

Last Sunday we needed some help.

 We've been making do with a non-working oven for a year and a half, and there were some other appliances that were just as old and ready to go as well. One being the super annoying refrigerator with the strobe light (it couldn't be fixed...we tried), the broken shelf and the very inconvenient design. It was time.

The help we needed is moving the refrigerator from the kitchen to the garage after church Sunday night. Now, we've gotten good at making sure that the clutter is out of sight, the bathroom and kitchen counters are sanitized, and that the furniture is dusted and floors swept and mopped each Sunday. But, as our friends, the Messners stayed behind to help us unload our fridge and freezer and move it into our pretty unorganized garage space...all secrets were out.

In the deep dark pit of the freezer, we unearthed several ziploc bags so freezer burned we could not recognize the contents. We began piling the contents onto our (clean) kitchen counter and table until the (clean) kitchen began instead resembling a scene from "Hoarders."

"This is getting extremely intimate," I said, making light of the horror.

Because of the proximity to the laundry door, there was a space so impossible to reach within the fridge itself until it was moved into the garage, where doors could be fully opened and drawers removed. And there were two cheese sticks wedged behind a drawer, that may have been around since the Great Depression. Actually, we haven't had our fridge THAT long, but it was still quite the experiment.  I don't want to even talk about the dust behind the fridge. I will tell you that we found one of those little Tyke pull and release cars for toddlers, and my youngest child is 14. Please don't tell my dad, who would move and mop behind his refrigerator on a very regular basis.

All this aside, this was no small favor to ask of four people who were tired and probably wanted to go home, but instead were here MOVING A FRIDGE. And we were so very aware of our humanity and limitations in that moment. 

This past week I sorted the keep vs. toss, and rearranged hot sauce bottles and produce in our brand-new fridge I thought a lot about how humbling pastoring a home church really is.

It's often possible to keep a professional distance in another setting. Get my family to church in our Sunday best, with our brightest smiles on for two hours a week. Be choosey about who I show my cards to. Always be the strong one with all the right answers.

But in a way, with house church, all our refrigerators are pulled out, with old freezer-burned leftovers on the counter, and dust covered baby toys exposed. 

Our kids are right here with us throughout the meals and the majority of our worship time. Whether they're teething, or dancing or really, really want to go up the stairs. Our teenagers aren't in a separate section out of sight either...they're right there on the sofa in their baggy pants, fighting (not always successfully) the urge to look at their phones and trying to develop adult social skills (also not always successfully). We're in each other's homes...sometimes when the air conditioning goes out, or we didn't get the weeds pulled in the backyard. As we speak, Dan is trying to fix our toilet handle less than two hours before our congregation arrives. Our services are conversational and full of questions. There's no just sticking to what we know...instead there's plenty of opportunities to say, "I can't answer that one." There's also no keeping someone at arms' length if we'd rather they didn't know the real us. It's not possible. There's no faking a good mood or a calm mental state-we're not always mindful...not always demure. We're real, and we're raw sometimes.

And while this is a very hard thing about this style of church community sometimes, it's also beautiful. I don't stay awake at night wondering if my church family would still love me if they knew just how flawed I am. Because they do. And they do. I also know that I don't have to be afraid to reach out and ask for help, because they're already aware that I need as much grace as they do. 

Wherever you worship, and whoever your people are, I hope that you find a place you can be the no-makeup, messy bun, messy mood version of yourself sometimes. The one that can really grow because they're being really real. And the one that knows you are loved, even when your reality is messy.