He sat in the back pew, shadowed by an older couple, and let the experience wash over him. Having just graduated from high school, the nineteen-year-old was trying to find purpose in life this first year away from home. He passed by this church many times on his way to the university. Tall and ominous, it felt as if it were staring at him, condemning him. He knew he had done his share of “wrong” stuff and the gaze of the building filled him with dread. Finally, he made up his mind to go. He was going to prove the condemnation he felt was in his head. So here he sat in the back row, staring at the heads of an older couple that never moved.

The organ music reminded him of his grandmother’s funeral. Then, a song leader took the stage with a fervor he could only describe as raw energy. The place became a sea of raised hands and people singing at the tops of their lungs. The young man thought they were love songs but could not figure out to whom they were directed.

Later the young song leader introduced a well-dressed, middle-aged man who asked for money. The gentleman was polite about it and said something about giving joyfully but the young man didn’t really understand. He was not used to giving or feeling joy when he paid for anything.
The well-dressed man gave way to a trio of women who sang a song of passion. Although he struggled to understand the lyrics because of the heavy vibrato and harmony parts, he had to admit they weren’t absolutely terrible.
More than anything at this point he wanted an interpreter – someone who could tell him what was going on. The only people who had talked to him since he arrived, however, were a mass of people wearing nametags at the front door and an older man who gave him a “bulletin” and showed him to his seat in the back row. He was grateful for the back-row seat, yet still curious. He noticed other people his age, but they were seated together way up front and didn’t seem to notice anyone outside their own group – not even the nice-looking gentleman who had reassumed his position at the pulpit.

As the man spoke, the methodical rise and fall of his voice emphasized the main points and downplayed the details. He appeared certain and unfailing in his convictions. This threw the young man off. He had never known anyone so sure of a truth. Were there not many truths? As the teenager listened to the speaker he began to feel even worse than when he first walked by the building. The sermon was on something called “the wages of sin” and he did not want to die. Although the man said something about being saved by grace the young man did not know anyone named Grace.

The teenager envied the group’s belief in God, but could not bring himself to believe. Sure, he did not fully understand “salvation,” but he understood that he did not belong. On his way out he slid a cigarette out of the pack and lit up out of habit. The same group that had been so overbearing when he walked in told him he couldn’t smoke. He did not argue. He just left as fast as he could, vowing he would never return.

This is a fictional account, yet experienced by many when they enter our churches. We alienate them. We confuse them. We have our own music, movies, and language and then wonder why people do not flock to our services or outreaches. We need to go where they are and quit expecting them to come to us, because when they come to us they do not understand. Are we too far removed from a world we are commissioned to help?

Through his own experiences working with unchurched people, Phil Simmons has developed insight into an “outsider’s” viewpoint of church. A college student and discipleship group leader from Ankeny, Iowa, Phil has a heart for reaching people outside the walls of the church.