Where's the Hospitality?

Illustration Copyright 2014, Used with Permission

The family makes its way through the narthex, a bit scared and intimidated; the other people bustling through the doors are unfamiliar to them. Mom and Dad finally decided just last night that it is time that the family start giving God His due by attending Mass, though it's been many years since they have darkened the door of any Catholic church.

Both were raised Catholic but drifted from their faith in college. They perfunctorily got the kids baptized, because that is simply what you do, but the promises they made to raise their children in the Faith sort of faded with the memories of the color of Dad's tie on that day.

Now that the children are getting older, Mom and Dad have found themselves wondering what a difference it would make in the life of the family if they had that foundation of faith that they remember from their own childhoods, with some nostalgia.

They feel awkward in this new place, but their growing desire to have God in the life of their family and their longing for a faith community to journey with pushes them on toward the double door entrance to the church.

Standing at those imposing doors, a couple of strange creatures loom, garbed in checkered sports jackets and fat ties, deeply engaged in some sort of communication made up of grunts and cackles.

One of the creatures gives the father of the family a precursory nod with minimal eye contact, without interruption to its chattering exchange. The father notes that the creature is wearing a tag that reads, "Joe. Minister of Hospitality."

The family makes its way into the church and grabs a back pew for ease of escape if necessary. People continue to slide into the pews around them, with nary a glance or a smile, right up to the entrance procession of Mass and even after.

From the time they entered the church parking lot to the time they return to their car, the only real human interaction has occurred at the Sign of Peace, during which a few people around them extended hands and offered a smile, some saying, "Peace be with you," while others distributed mere nods while keeping their hands to themselves, apparent germophobes.

On the way home, Dad shrugs and says to Mom, "You know, Carl at work goes to that Bible church on 66th Street, and says they are so welcoming there. Maybe next Sunday..."

How many times since my entry into the Church twenty years ago have I heard the complaint, "I don't feel welcome at (fill in the blank) parish!"

I have experienced the ice-receptionist, endured the frosty receptions at the front desk. I have witnessed adult Catholics spoken to like they were children by uppity lay ministers and impatient clergy (come to think of it, in fact, I have been on the receiving end of that behavior, as well).

But I must confess I have been the inhospitable parish representative, too.

Once, years ago, on a Friday, a day I normally found quiet and undisturbed because much of the parish staff took Fridays off, I was deeply engrossed at my computer in the throes of teen retreat planning, when an elderly woman came knocking on the door of the catechetical department building. I had seen her roaming the campus a few minutes earlier through my office window. I figured she would eventually see the huge sign on our door that read in bold letters: "Main office," with the giant arrow pointing away from our building and northward toward the church building. I had been interrupted at this point at least four times by people like her, seeking the main office and seemingly unable to read.

I just wanted to focus, for crying out loud! I had work to do, important work to help teens know Jesus Christ!

I heaved a profound sigh and left my computer to go to the door and point out the main office yet again.

I opened the door and met Caroline (not her real name).

Caroline said, "I am looking for some books about Catholicism."

Books are right down my alley, and I love to turn people on to good ones, so I softened and asked her in rather than directing her to the main office.

She shook me completely from my retreat-planning mode when she said, tears bursting, "I want to come home."

We ended up talking for an hour, during which she related the story of how she had left the Church forty years before when her then new husband, a man with no taste for "organized religion" (I wonder how he felt about disorganized religion?). He had told her, "It's me or your Church."

She was young and smitten, and made the choice that led to her forty year estrangement from the Church and the sacraments. Her husband had recently died, and now she wanted to come home. She added, bitterly, "I have wasted so much time!"

I almost lost it. I was a tear-drenched mess.

I repented of my sinful attitude and learned a hard and beautiful lesson. When people come to the parish, they are often wounded and scared, and dying for someone to be kind and to welcome them, to make them feel like they matter, that they do indeed belong.

Two years after our discussion in the office, I attended my final Mass at that parish, having ended my employment there, and I ran into Caroline on the way out the door after the dismissal. She was working a ministry activity in the narthex. We hugged and I said to her, "Caroline, it's great to see you so active in the parish!"

She responded, her face radiant, "I have fallen so in love with Jesus Christ! I am so happy!"

I lost it again (okay, I admit it: I am a hanky type of guy).

We Catholics have got to get it together. We have got to take an honest look at ourselves in the mirror.

I am not claiming that all Catholic parishes present an unwelcoming face. Not at all.

But I believe many, many parishes give the impression to visitors: "We are self-satisfied and content with what we have. If you want to join us, fine. But if we are not used to your presence, prepare for it to take a long time to experience any real acknowledgment."

When I give staff retreats, I say, "Your person at the front desk is everyone's first potential contact with Jesus Christ in the parish."

We have a lot of work to do in the Church when it comes to hospitality.

Many people complain of having a negative experience on their first venture into a Catholic parish.

Am I advocating for incessant hand-holding during Mass  and the unfortunate pre-Mass comedy routine some parishes resort to? Not on your life.

But some warmth would be nice. A genuine smile at the doors. Ministers of hospitality (or whatever you call them at your parish) could stop the banter amongst themselves and focus on welcoming all the people coming though the doors. Smile brightly and actually say, "Welcome! Glad to see you!"

We could hire receptionists and office administrators who actually like people and don't see them as nuisances to be endured.

We might invite the catechetical leaders to remember that kindness goes a long way in the project of evangelization (look at any one of our recent popes for inspiration on this), and remind them that they weren't always the "got-it-all-together" Catholics they think they are now, so they may exercise some charity and patience with those among us who don't have it all together (like the parents that have not baptized their children yet, or come to the parish seeking First Penance and First Communion but haven't had their children in any sort of faith formation up to this point). I am not saying to ignore the necessary protocols, such as giving the children sufficient faith formation before their reception of the sacraments, but we can practice the art of saying, "Here is a better way to approach this," instead of belting out the typical and off-putting "No!"

Priests may find it helpful to every day read and reread the following Gospel passage: "When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd" (Matt. 9:36 NRSV). Every person that approaches is seeking Jesus, whether that person knows or acknowledges it or not.

I think most people-- most people--- are not seeking some seventies-style peace-and-love-baby church experience. Rather, I think most people are seeking--- longing for--- communion.

Ultimately, that is exactly what everything that goes on at the parish should point to, and intentionally lead to.

We are not in the "Catholic Club" building business. We are in the business of proclaiming the Good News of Jesus Christ, and leading souls to communion with the Father, through Jesus Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit.

That is why we do all that we do--- including the priests, the front desk person, the parish maintenance and grounds-keeping staff, the bookkeeper, the catechetical directors.

People come to us because they are seeking communion with the Lord, again, whether they are aware of that or not.

We are on a mission from God, to quote Jake and Elwood Blues. We must remember that mission in all that we do, whether we are staff member, parishioner, or both.

Mom and Dad, in the example given at the beginning of this post, may think they are seeking some sort of foundation and spiritual edification for their family, but really, in a much deeper way, they are seeking communion with the Lord--- for themselves, and for their children.

And if they don't recognize him here, in this place, they will happily seek Him elsewhere.

And then, shame on us.