A Church in the Fast-Food Chain
I went in for a burger. I went out contemplating community.
The other day, I walked into a Braum’s for a late dinner around 9 p.m. and ordered a burger and fries and sat down at a booth by myself. It was a bit late for a meal, but I was far from the only one there. Teeming throughout the seating area was a literal church congregation, munching on their own meals around tables all across the room, chattering joyously, conversing in pockets of light. I knew some of them. Or, at least recognized them in the small-town way of the world. A couple of them looked at me with slight recognition. I knew one of the couples fairly well. They’re leaving soon to go on mission in another country.
I don’t believe there was a smartphone in sight, either in their hands or on the tables. I’m probably misremembering that. But you need to understand that they actually knew each other, these people; every person could mingle with the other just as well, with rings of children making merry-go-rounds around their parents and other passengers picking up their food from their counter. One young woman bent down to gawk and ogle at a toddling lad who kept testing the waters a few feet from his mother.
I bit into the cheeseburger.
It’s a strange feeling. Wondering how something so healthy and natural to the human race suddenly presents itself as an anomaly. Something almost out of this world. That people would chat and laugh and disregard their virtual worlds as if really believing that the real one remained preferable. I don’t know how to explain it. It was like realizing my own life, in its abundance of solitude, was put into stark contrast with the way things are supposed to be.
Why aren’t I speaking with them like they’re brothers and sisters? Why won’t I go home tonight knowing that I’ll wake up to share life arm-linked with the faithful?
Why, even as a Christian who has written who knows how many listicles on the “importance of community,” am I still subdued by the notion that not many people actually know me?
“God,” I prayed. “I want what they have. But, gosh—am I willing to go after it?”
I have friends all over the country, created through college, internships, and divine interceptions, but they’re now states removed, and I can only reach them through phone call or text. Where, though, are the people who you’ll walk with tomorrow? Who depends on me, or for whom do I form an element of the day? Having broad connections is not the same thing as living interdependently with others.
Maybe it was a moment of rose-tinting the world. No doubt church communities, small and large, are never perfect. Doubtless some, and sadly many, have wounded and cast out. But many, many, many of them actually practice the tenets of a community: sacrifice, investment, and a genuine joy in being with each other. Can this digitalized world, obsessed with personal autonomy and unfettered access to an infinite number of choices (impossible to live this way, BTW), match the energy? It can’t. It never will.
I walked out with a full stomach, but realizing ever-so-slightly that my approach to community wasn’t unlike a late-night drop-in for a quick bite to eat. I’ll go here a bit too late to get the picture of what’s going on, pick up a to-go order, and be on my merry way. Suppose, though, I just stayed a while?
