Jacob
The boy slouched on the armchair that sat in the middle of the small hallway, his scooter falling to the carpeted floor. His dad precariously walked into the overflowing room of strangers, seemingly without a glance at his son.
"Jacob*," he called quietly, a few seconds later. The boy didn't move. "There's a spot for you," his dad said. We relayed the message to the young boy who begrudgingly stood and walked the few steps into the church's packed meeting room.
I sighed. You know there's a problem when, as a church planter, you cringe at the sight of unexpected visitors.
The music continued, and within 3 minutes, the boy was back through the crowded hallway and out the door. I glanced after him, expecting someone else to follow. No one came. I continued to sing, keeping one eye on the doorway, hoping to see the boy. He disappeared. I hesitated, then walked out the door to find him sitting on the entryway stairs.
"What's your name?" I asked, crouching next to him. He gave me a weird look, likely in response to my accent. "Your name?" I asked again.
"Jacob," he responded.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"8 1/2," he mumbled.
"You don't want to be with everyone else?" I pressed.
"No. It's too hot and there's no room," he said roughly.
I couldn't blame the kid. I, myself, was left in the hallway of our office space, with no chairs or even standing room available in our little church. "There are a lot of people today, but the kids won't stay there forever," I tried to assure him. His eyes flickered with hope and he looked at me.
"No? Where will we go?" he ventured.
"Well," I said, "You'll be in the same office, but in a different room."
He slouched again, disappointed, before jumping up, running into the office, and emerging with his scooter. Soon he was riding up and down the empty enterprise hallway.
An internal battle raged as I watched this 8 year old teenager ride small loops across the tiled floor. He went outside, I ran after him. What 8 year old plays in the streets alone? I didn't know what to do. I gave him the code to re-enter the building then left him. A few minutes later he came back. "It's raining," he complained, noisily riding his scooter into our office hallway. I was at a loss.
He wasn't doing anything inherently bad. He was justified in being disappointed by the crowded space and lack of seats. But I didn't want him to disturb people - neither those squished in the meeting room listening to a sermon nor the rare employees in the Cité de l'Entreprise who happened to be working on a Sunday afternoon.
Just then, one of the teenagers stood up. "Come here," he said kindly to the younger boy. He took him outside and showed him where he could ride, covered from the rain. They stayed together outside for the remainder of the church service.
And this was a defining moment for me.
On Sunday, thanks to Jacob, I got a glimpse of what coming to church could be like for the people of Aix-les-Bains, people who don't have the same traditions as me, people who aren't comfortable in a church environment. I got a glimpse of our church's potential, and how defining our space can be - for better or worse.
Sunday was our last service in our current office space, where we've been for 2 years. We've known for a while that it was not an ideal space, but Sunday made that abundantly clear to me. We had over 45 people crowded into our main meeting room and only 28 seats. There was barely even room for standing or sitting on the floor. I often prefer small kids to play alongside of their parents rather than force them into a nursery, but Sunday didn't allow there to be space alongside of anyone. How can we engage the two teenagers who come regularly when they are forced to sit in the hallway? Even I can't pay attention in that environment.
And what about the Jacobs? What about the kids who have never been to church, who don't know anyone else in the room, and who don't want to be there? How can we love them well when we are distracted by our own anxiety over the noise and space and details around us?
We are packing up our office this week, but we don't know where we are going. Would you pray with us? While I'd be happy to have house churches, Sunday gave me a glimpse of what could be if only we had a space of our own to welcome people from all walks of life.
*His name has been changed
"Jacob*," he called quietly, a few seconds later. The boy didn't move. "There's a spot for you," his dad said. We relayed the message to the young boy who begrudgingly stood and walked the few steps into the church's packed meeting room.
I sighed. You know there's a problem when, as a church planter, you cringe at the sight of unexpected visitors.
The music continued, and within 3 minutes, the boy was back through the crowded hallway and out the door. I glanced after him, expecting someone else to follow. No one came. I continued to sing, keeping one eye on the doorway, hoping to see the boy. He disappeared. I hesitated, then walked out the door to find him sitting on the entryway stairs.
"What's your name?" I asked, crouching next to him. He gave me a weird look, likely in response to my accent. "Your name?" I asked again.
"Jacob," he responded.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"8 1/2," he mumbled.
"You don't want to be with everyone else?" I pressed.
"No. It's too hot and there's no room," he said roughly.
I couldn't blame the kid. I, myself, was left in the hallway of our office space, with no chairs or even standing room available in our little church. "There are a lot of people today, but the kids won't stay there forever," I tried to assure him. His eyes flickered with hope and he looked at me.
"No? Where will we go?" he ventured.
"Well," I said, "You'll be in the same office, but in a different room."
He slouched again, disappointed, before jumping up, running into the office, and emerging with his scooter. Soon he was riding up and down the empty enterprise hallway.
An internal battle raged as I watched this 8 year old teenager ride small loops across the tiled floor. He went outside, I ran after him. What 8 year old plays in the streets alone? I didn't know what to do. I gave him the code to re-enter the building then left him. A few minutes later he came back. "It's raining," he complained, noisily riding his scooter into our office hallway. I was at a loss.
He wasn't doing anything inherently bad. He was justified in being disappointed by the crowded space and lack of seats. But I didn't want him to disturb people - neither those squished in the meeting room listening to a sermon nor the rare employees in the Cité de l'Entreprise who happened to be working on a Sunday afternoon.
Just then, one of the teenagers stood up. "Come here," he said kindly to the younger boy. He took him outside and showed him where he could ride, covered from the rain. They stayed together outside for the remainder of the church service.
And this was a defining moment for me.
On Sunday, thanks to Jacob, I got a glimpse of what coming to church could be like for the people of Aix-les-Bains, people who don't have the same traditions as me, people who aren't comfortable in a church environment. I got a glimpse of our church's potential, and how defining our space can be - for better or worse.
Sunday was our last service in our current office space, where we've been for 2 years. We've known for a while that it was not an ideal space, but Sunday made that abundantly clear to me. We had over 45 people crowded into our main meeting room and only 28 seats. There was barely even room for standing or sitting on the floor. I often prefer small kids to play alongside of their parents rather than force them into a nursery, but Sunday didn't allow there to be space alongside of anyone. How can we engage the two teenagers who come regularly when they are forced to sit in the hallway? Even I can't pay attention in that environment.
And what about the Jacobs? What about the kids who have never been to church, who don't know anyone else in the room, and who don't want to be there? How can we love them well when we are distracted by our own anxiety over the noise and space and details around us?
We are packing up our office this week, but we don't know where we are going. Would you pray with us? While I'd be happy to have house churches, Sunday gave me a glimpse of what could be if only we had a space of our own to welcome people from all walks of life.
*His name has been changed
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