Second seeker.

Why have churches stopped posting their service times on their outside signage? That is useful information. I need the name of your church, so I know what kind of crazy you are. And I need the service times, so I can participate in the crazy promptly.

Just some thoughts from the drive down Battlefield this morning. I had set out to attend the second service at Second Baptist, but on the way, passed about 10 churches that might have lured me off my mark, had I been able to tell from the road what time their services started.

Anyway.

Kudos to the architect, this Second Baptist is a striking vision from the road. Though different in style, it reminds me of The Baha'i temple in Wilmette (IL)--the way it hits your eye, and explodes back through your brain, leaving you a little stunned with the beauty. That's how I felt when I first saw it. I remember swerving to the side, staring and trying to drive. Thinking, "those people get beauty."

For all of that, the inside is pretty standard stuff. I am met by a greeter. Not all of the churches I've visited have great greeters, but I think they're a must. Also a must--a newcomer meet'n'greet. Sadly, Second Baptist doesn't have one. No coffee for me, and no opportunity to ask all of my questions about what's offered for unmarried, 25-year-olds, or what makes the Baptists distinct from other denominations, and this church distinct from other Baptist churches. I am graciously given an email address, but that is so much work for a casual visitor.

The ground floor is PACKED, so I head up to the balcony. I've never liked sitting in the balcony of a church. The balcony is for slackers, and the congenitally late. I might have just been primed by my visit to Central Assembly, but the more traditional aspects of the sanctuary are not hitting me quite so hard this time. There's an odd hybrid here. Conservative surroundings, but contemporary feel.

There are pews, and very traditional decorative motifs, and hymnals. Many people are dressed up. But there's also a pretty impressive mix of ages. And a charisma oooooozing out of the guy up front. I love it when baby boomers use words like "cool," and "awesome." It's like watching my grandmother text. This guy does it well, though. In fact, it seems that his charisma accounts for a lot of this contemporary feel. It's not what he says. It's the way he says it.

Oh, a bell choir! Bell choirs are sexy. I was in a bell choir, once upon a time. The music here is more traditional than what I've become used to over the past four months. But they're tryin' to rock it, and I appreciate that. Not a raised arm in the place, though. But, wait for it, wait for it... a male octet takes the stage. They have very shiny shoes. They begin to sing. As verse builds upon verse, I feel the first emotional crescendo of the service (for me). And oh, holy rollers, I see an arm go up down in the second row. Ten seconds later, it comes down. This continues for a couple of minutes--one after another a Baptist sticks his/her arm up, holds for about ten-twenty seconds, and gets tired (I guess).

Then, suddenly, the swell of the music hits the crowd and pushes them up onto their feet, like a wave from the front of the sanctuary to the back, and up into the balcony. It's WILD. I see the balcony slackers looking at one another, silently asking, "Do I get up? Are you gonna get up?" The arm-raising never makes it out of the first five rows, but every one of those Baptists gave a good hearty clap at the end of the song. It was good times.

As I leave, I wonder why this feels so comfortable, so familiar. I wasn't raised in any church, but my family were Mississippi Baptists through and through for generations. My grandfather sent money to the 700 Club every month until the month he died. His daddy had been a Baptist preacher in Tupelo, Mississippi, and his daddy before him. My Mom toured the world with the Blackwood Brothers when she was just a few years younger than I am. She tells me stories of week-long tent revivals, spent silent on the hard-hewn boards of a wooden bench, while the preacher's voice rose and fell above the heads of the sinners assembled. Is there Baptist in my blood?

I don't know. Interestingly, there should be pentecostal in my brain. A friend lent me this amazing book about the pentecostal movement, called "The Century of the Holy Spirit," by Vinson Synan. From what I understand, this is required reading for Evangel seniors, and not all of them relish it quite the way I do. Well, friends, if that's you, be absolved of your boredom and go in peace, because I am enjoying it enough for all of us.

About my brain, though, turns out that John Alexander Dowie, a favorite historical topic of mine, had influence in the beginning of the pentecostal movement. Though I use the term "Chicago area" to relate easily to people, I'm actually from Zion, IL. Originally, Zion City, Reverend Dowie's settlement on the coast of Lake Michigan. And Christ Community Church, where I first heard the gospel, was first known as Christian Catholic Church, so named by Dowie. It was his church, hence my interest in him.

Interesting, huh? There's a nice bit of symmetry in my experiences. Also, this book is starting to make sense of some of the more charismatic elements to my AG involvement. I hate it when these people start to make sense. It either means that they weren't crazy to begin with, and I'm just catching onto that, or that they were crazy to begin with, and I'm just catching it.