Consumer Church
It was our first time in America. We were savouring the experience of eating breakfast out at what is unappetisingly tagged as a ‘greasy spoon’, diner. Our server was a wildly enthusiastic soul, apparently thrilled to be helping us with the first meal of the day. But the ordering process soon became perplexing.
‘And what can I get for you fine folks?’ he twilled, all teeth and smiles.
‘I’d like eggs and bacon, please’, I replied when it was my turn, eager to keep things simple, which they were not.
‘Awesome sir!’, he chirruped, as if I had discovered a solution to global warming. ‘And sir, how would you like those eggs?
Bewilderment immediately set in. ‘Er, put them on a plate?’ I ventured.
‘Ha ha! Awesome sir! Very witty. No, you can have your eggs scrambled, boiled, or fried - over easy, sunny side up, or over hard’.
Baffled by this unfamiliar glossary of terms concerning the fruit of the chicken, I went for what sounded most familiar.
‘Scrambled, please’.
‘Awesome! What about toast? We have sour dough, whole grain, wheat, white, rye, or English muffin?”
Now I was really confused, not least because I was unaware that the English have their own muffins. I went for wheat toast. But the culinary inquisition continued, and I had to decide whether I wanted American or Canadian bacon, and would I like it crispy, and would I like to add further side dishes? When at last our ecstatic server skipped joyfully towards the kitchen, I felt momentarily exhausted.
As a consumer, I was being given the opportunity to have things exactly the way I want them. No one size all approach is sufficient; Burger King, a popular fast food emporium, has ‘Have it your way’ as their marketing slogan - when it comes to choices, we, the consumers, really are Kings.
Perhaps that’s just fine. But when an attitude of consumerism enters the church, we’re headed for trouble. We all have our preferences and style choices about how church should be - if you doubt that, ask any worship leader. We like the volume just right, the songs that are our favourites (sing them just twice over, not ten times), we want the leader/vicar/pastor to use our chosen translation of the Bible, if you please. Some of us prefer pews, (move them at your peril) while others opt for chairs. Even though the song is now more ancient than modern, Frank Sinatra’s ‘My Way’ is still quite a favourite at funerals. We live and die quite liking things to be the way we like them, thank you very much.
Surely the cursed Covid plague accentuated our sense of individualism and consumerism. It was wonderful to see churches large and small adapt, offering online services of varying quality (my personal favourite is of the lone vicar who set himself alight while pontificating next to a candle - helpfully no humans or cassocks were harmed in that production). But since then, we no longer need to experience Sunday morning pre-church tension: gathering the family, calming conflict over Cornflakes, finding a parking space when we arrive, dodging that usher with halitosis…
Courtesy of google, we can jump on and offline as we like. Don’t enjoy that hymn? Simple, fast forward. Is the sermon somewhat snore inducing? Log off. Watch when you want, what you want, in the comfort of your Winnie the Pooh pyjamas. Covid may have been tamed, but virulent consumerism may well linger.
So now that we can gather again, let’s do so as congregants and family, not picky customers who demand that things are always done to our liking. When it comes to church, there really is only one King.
Meanwhile, back at the diner, our previously ebullient server was looking distraught. When he brought the food, we discovered that he’d mistakenly ordered my scrambled eggs as fried, sunny side up. We did our best to comfort him, but in that temple of having-it-my-way, I thought he was going to cry….