I love going to church. I am not sure what it is about church but I love going. I have been to so many churches in my life that I can't even recall, and while most of them have been Nazarene, each church has taught me a little something about "church". Sunday mornings roll around in Nashville and I wake up and get ready for church, but church here is a different kind of church, there are a lot of "bless your hearts" and "sweet spirits" but to be frank I was growing exceptionally weary of encountering sweet spirits, and not "the spirit". I wandered from church to church in Nashville looking for more than an old man greeter telling me good morning, I was starving for more than just another sermon and a benediction, I needed to find a place where worship wasn't about performing but reverence for an awesome God...and while I may not be at the best fitting church last week I found a sprit that was more than simply sweet, and for a moment I found a place that reminded me a little bit of home. I'm positive that the fact that they sang "Believe" by Natalie Grant was a contributing factor.
Mr. Dunlap is a greeter, and his wife, Nancy, has an exceptional memory for any Nazarene that she has ever encountered. From all appearances Mr. Dunlap was the typical old man greeter that hands you your bulletin, and ushers you to your seat, has a friendly smile...but is guiding you to your seat quickly so that he can get back to the door and repeat the process all over again. He wears pleated khakis, a polo, and a sports coat, and while it is not a suit...it is the "contemporary" take on church clothes these days, and for him it's "hip". His name tag was positioned just so, and when I came walked into to church he was there ready to shake my hand, I shook his hand and slipped into a seat in the back of the church where I was sure that I wouldn't be approached.
I have been to church four times now and I have yet to be approached by anyone other than the greeter, and I am not sure if that counts...because after all it is their "job". So there I sat, in between the aisle and a couple that couldn't keep their hands off of each other. I tried not to look at the love birds, but it was like when you see someone has a huge facial birthmark, you know that you shouldn't look, but it's nearly impossible not to. So there I sat between an aisle and an awkward place, which is similar to a rock and a hard place only much much worse. I suppose I never really understood why people said it was hard to find a church home, but on Sunday I knew why...for the first time I couldn't hide behind the lines "oh, my dad's the senior pastor", "that's my mom on the piano", or "my dad basically raised the youth pastor"....So there I sat in a Nazarene church with nothing that made it feel like home.
As soon as service ended I put my coat on walked out of the sanctuary...I made a pit stop, and when I walked out of the bathroom there were so many people in the foyer of the church, they were trying to hustle out the doors to get to the restaurants...heaven forbid that they have to wait fifteen minutes for a table. I made my way through the traffic filled room and to the doors, and it was there that I was stopped by none other than Mr. Dunlap. He asked me a few questions about myself, told me about his claim to fame...which happens to be that he is a grandpa, and then he introduced me to Nancy. After a few minutes of conversation he asked me what I was doing for lunch. In all honesty, I was so embarrassed that I didn't have lunch plans (I don't think that you can be a Nazarene and not have Sunday lunch plans) that I thought about making something up...I don't know why I was so concerned about looking "cool" to a old man (it was probably because of his super suave sports coat, and pleated khakis) but I was...but being that I was in church I opted for telling the truth...I conceded that I did not have lunch plans. They offered to take me to lunch, at a restaurant of my choice. I agreed to meet them at a taco place not too far from either one of our homes, and I got in my car and prepared myself for what I was sure would be a very uncomfortable afternoon.
Lunch wasn't awkward at all. For the first time in a long time I felt as though I was apart of a church, I didn't have to check the visitor box on the attendance card anymore, and when the pastor said "y'all" I could finally feel as though I was included in that...I had become part of the "y'all" (clearly that means you have arrived). I never thought that I would be a fan of southern lingo, but I must confess that to feel apart of the "y'all" is comforting.
I'm pretty sure that the Dunlaps did not think that taking an aloof, homesick graduate student to a taco joint on a Sunday afternoon would prove to be such a big deal, but as for this graduate student I am grateful for their generosity...they became the spirit, the "sweet spirit" of Jesus to a distant twenty-two year old college girl...and on that Sunday Nashville became semi-permanent to me.
My fifth grade teacher and Mr. Dunlap are not related, and thank goodness I didn't gorge myself on tacos...but I have a feeling that Mrs. Nancy Dunlap would have loving held my hair back while I purged the fragments of taco from my overfilled stomach. It is because of people like Mr. and Mrs. Dunlap that it is easy for me to "believe in a cross".
