A New Perspective

I love the church.  As the body of Christ, it is where salvation is found.  As the family of God, it is where encouragement and comfort are shared.  As the kingdom of God, it is where my hope for eternity rests. Yes, I have a deep and sincere love for the church, but I have to ask myself this question, “Do people in the world around me see that love reflected in my life?”  I couldn’t stop thinking about this the other night after the memory of a pickle woke me from my sleep.

You’ve seen the jars.  They are typically found in gas stations, near the cash register, with a sharpie written price tag taped to the front.  With their Martian colored liquid and floating oval shaped specimens, the glass containers look as if they belong on the shelves of a secret laboratory and not on the counters of Kangaroo Express and Mapco.  I’ve never had the slightest urge to buy one of those big, green pickles…until last week.

It had been a long day.  Our Spring Break trip to New Orleans was coming to an end and we were spending our last day exploring areas of the French Quarter.  Following our third consecutive breakfast of beignets and cafe lattes at Café Du Monde, we enjoyed a wonderful tour of the Quarter then walked to the French Market for souvenir shopping.

We were hot.  We were tired.  We were hungry.  At one point, in the middle of the market, I distinctly remember thinking, “It’s time for us to stop and take a break;” and that’s when I saw the pickle.

Dressed in a little white napkin skirt and held in the hand of a happy tourist walking in front of us, the pickle looked anything but threatening.  It was already missing a bite or two from the top and its consumer appeared to be thoroughly enjoying the experience.  She laughed as she snacked, casually wiping pickle juice from her chin, and shared a bite with a child.  As I watched the lady eat her pickle, I found myself wondering how it might taste.  Sour?  Crunchy?  Delicious?

The gas station delicacies that I formerly regarded with suspicion suddenly became interesting!  In the heat of the New Orleans sun, with exhausted children, and an empty stomach, my perception of the pickles changed because of a stranger.  In that moment, as I stood between tables of leather purses and hand-carved wooden puzzles…I began to crave a big, green pickle.

Thinking about that day I am reminded that you never know who might be watching you and who might be searching for something you have.   What a difference we could make, as Christians, if we would remember this when it comes to the church! 

For some people, church is like a jar of pickles at the gas station—it holds no appeal to them, it’s something questionable, something a little odd, something they just don’t think they need.  But, the time will come when they catch a glimpse of one of those pickles in the real world and that could be a perception changing moment!

Here is what I learned from the lady with the pickle in New Orleans that I believe we can apply to the church:

She invested time and money in the pickle.  She waited in line and when her turn came to place an order, she willingly—happily—gave the amount required to purchase her pickle.

She handled her purchase with care.  She placed the pickle in a napkin, but not haphazardly!  The napkin looked somewhat like an ice-cream cone holder, wrapped around the pickle and then twisted at the bottom into a point.  All she had to do was push up the pickle as she ate, and her hand and arm stayed drip free. 

She enjoyed her treat.  You could see it in her face!  She was eating her snack of choice and it was clear that she loved every bite.   

She shared it with others.  At least a couple of times she received a tug on her sleeve when one of the little people with her wanted a bite.  She would gladly give a taste and then offer some to those who hadn’t even asked!

She disregarded the opinions of pickle doubters.  She didn’t care if people with a disdain for pickles surrounded her in the French Market.  She proudly ate her pickle regardless of what others might have thought.

I hope that when others look at me, they see someone who invests her time and money in the church, someone who treats the church with care, someone who enjoys the church, someone who is willing to share the message of the church—the Gospel of Jesus Christ; and someone who stands up for the church despite the efforts of the world to bring it down.  Even more, I hope that there will be moments when my love for the church is seen through my actions, and someone—even a complete stranger—will be inspired to seek that joy in their own lives.

You might be wondering if I bought a pickle that day in the market?  I didn’t.  I bought a King Cake Snowball.  But I left the market with a new perspective because of the lady with the big, green pickle.  Without even knowing it, she reached up, took the pickle jar off the laboratory shelf, and placed it on a countertop in my world.  I don’t look at those jars and cringe anymore, instead, I think about the lady in the market with pickle juice on her chin and a smile on her face.  And someday…I just might buy one.