Today I will be addressing a phenomenon that my husband and I were privileged enough to experience at our church a few weeks ago. This phenomenon, which I have so endearingly coined Name Tag Sunday, was most likely the result of an "Overbearing Christian Care and Compassion While Making Annoying Connections Committee" meeting where its members decided that the best way to make people feel welcome at our church was to make them all wear name tags.
And when I say all, I mean all. Try to sneak by the Starbucks-esque table stationed reverently in front of the sanctuary door and covered with blue and white "Hello, my name is . . ." labels , and you ran the risk of being hunted down and marched out of the worship service until you had properly applied the adhesive over your heart. Just in case you haven't read Exodus 20:1-17 recently, the Bible clearly states "You shall not neglect to wear name tags on Name Tag Sunday" right after "You shall not covet your neighbor's wife." It's that important.
How do I know all of this? Easy. My husband and I had the nerve to attempt to enter the sanctuary without filling out name tags on (gasp) Name Tag Sunday.
It was an honest mistake. Dan and I were running a little late, so we sneaked in the back door of the church rather than entering through the "Meet and Greet" door, where everyone gets a handshake or a hug, and we unknowingly bypassed the name tag table. As we were just about to sink into the back pew, relieved to have made it on time and before the first hymn, we were stopped by a woman with a sucralosely sweet smile, perhaps a member of one of those aforementioned committees, perhaps even the member who came up with the whole "Name Tag Sunday" concept.
"Can I get you to go out there and fill out a name tag?" she said with a sing-song, reproachful tone. "We're asking everyone to fill out a name tag."
She escorted us back out of the sanctuary, to the lobby, and stood over us as we obediently filled out our name tags.
"We're trying to get to know everybody's names," she said.
The conversation in my head replied, "And I'm sure forcing people to fill out one name tag on one Sunday is a great way to learn everybody's names."
In real life, I just nodded.
"Are you new here?" she asked us.
"I've been attending this church for 14 years," I said. "We got married here."
Dan and I attached our name tags and were about to tiptoe back into the service, which had incidentally started by this time, when she stopped us again.
"Wait. You didn't write your last name," she reprimanded. "What's your last name?"
"Duggan," I said.
"So, Dan and Becky Duggan," she said with deliberation as she read our name tags. "Nice to meet you."
Finally, we were released from this compassionate ministry that our church had so zealously taken on. We sheepishly slid into our seats, like children who had just been released from a time out. Ironically, the sermon had to do with thanking God for your spiritual family even if they cause you anguish. Of course, if my spiritual family causes me too much anguish, they end up in my blog.
As we were on our way home, Dan, who is never bothered by trivial matters, said, "If we were new to the church, would that really have made us feel welcome?"
I am pretty certain that I can make the distinction between the true nature of God and meaningless church frivolity. But what about people who are new to the faith, people for whom church parishioners are the only reflection of Christ? What exactly are we emphasizing here, church people?
