Jesus in the Pub

All to often in our society today, the church has become a ghetto because we believe that this infrastructure or institution we have built around Jesus is the essential means by which He meets with his people. We seem to have ignored the shock of the Pharisees that Jesus was a friend of wine-bibbers and gluttons. Interestingly enough, in years gone by, our church has met to worship in one of the local pub. In our ICONOGRAPHY service, we looked at the images which bring us closer to the presence of God and how they represent the facets of Jesus that most attract us. The main tenant being that Jesus meets people where they are, in a way that reaches into their world and makes them sit up to take notice. The church can support this role or it can be impotent but one thing it will never do is to restrict this amazing grace.

It's Sunday morning and you have come to church. Following your regular pattern of weekly worship, you arrive and sit passively throughout the service. A well worn and familiar pattern of liturgy and prayer. Some are now so familiar that you can repeat them from memory. The trouble with familiarity is that it is a hairs breath away from apathy.

You find yourself slipping seamlessly into he worries of the night before, arguments left unresolved or simply staring mindlessly at the image of Christ on the chancel window. A long haired white Jesus carrying a lamb. A Jesus that portrays safety, gentleness and vulnerability. Yet a Jesus that seems far removed from the world that you live in.

Suddenly, you shudder at the almost irreverent thoughts creeping into your mind. You are shaken by guilt back into the service which is by now nearly over. As others leave for the church centre to partake of coffee and tea mingled with a smattering of small talk, you take to your knees to pay penance for the wanderings of your mind.

The church is now almost silent and you raise you head hoping that the God that you serve so apathetically has heard your admission of guilt and answered it with forgiveness. But the Creator of all has other plans for you. You gaze back to the image of Christ on the window that led you to doubt in the first place and realise with amazement that the figure is no longer there. A noise behind causes you to wheel around and there at the door is the absent icon. The silent stained glass witness who has climbed down to walk in your world. He puts his finger to his lips to silence you and turns to walk down into the centre.

You stand rooted to the floor paralysed by a potent cocktail of fear and amazement. Then, as you come to your senses, you break into a run. You must follow him, you must find out what the real Jesus is like. Is he simply the milk white hippy whose image challenges no-one or is he the quick tongued rough diamond who made powerful authorities quake in their boots?

These thoughts race through your mind as you barge into the church centre, expecting to see a great crowd gathered around a solitary icon. The noise level and the gestures of the people tell you that something momentous has just happened but of the divine visitor there is no sign. "Where is he?" you shout excitedly, grabbing hold of the nearest person. They look through you, eyes glazed and voice distant, "He was here….he came in and looked around….he hugged a few people, you know like an old friend would and, well then he just left." You make a dive for the door, fling it open and run out of the building in the hope of catching up.

As you run into the village, you pass the usual group of teenagers hanging about by the bus shelter. They are excited about something and as you approach, they recognise you as someone from the church who they enjoy taunting as you enter the building. This time though, you are not the joke, they are full of questions. Questions about the stranger who stopped to share the time of day and a cigarette with them. The stranger who knew everyone of them by name and chatted to them about the important issues in their lives. Who, when he left, they realised that for the first time in ages, they all felt an acute sense of belonging and that their lives meant something significant. They point you in the direction of the playing fields.

Yet again, the same image confronts you on arrival. A Sunday league football match temporarily halted as the men discuss the skill and agility of the person who joined their game for a short while. A man for whom they had obviously developed a great sense of respect.

The rest of your day is spent following in the wake visitations until at last darkness descends. You begin to walk home dejected and miserable. Wishing above all the fear had not rooted you to the ground in the first place. As you pass the local pub, you hear an uproar of laughter that snaps you out of your self-pity. You gaze in through the window and there, in the midst of a large group of people is Jesus. He's obviously telling stories to an eager audience who wait on his every word. As you open the door, keeping you eyes firmly fixed on the figure, he turns and smiles. In that smile, all doubt, pity, exhaustion and anxiety drain from your body. He beckons you over and bids you to sit at a seat next to him. "What's been keeping you?" he says and turns to continue his story.