Well, bummer. Churches are fleeing the part of the city where my church exists. It’s not that there are fewer people in our area. No, these churches just want to make their future in a different part of town. A “better” part, perhaps.

First it was Abundant Life Tabernacle, which wants to buy First Assembly’s building on the north side of town (while First Assembly moves to the old Calvary Temple building). Just heard about that on Sunday. St. Francis University, right across the street from Abundant Life, will buy that property. So that’s one major church exiting our neighborhood.

Tonight I heard that the Wesleyan church, just down the street from us, plans to relocate to the suburbs. The good ol’ suburbs. That’s where it’s at. Forget about all those people living in the inner parts of the city. Sure, they need Christ. But do they have money? No. You can’t build a church on poor people. You need bucks. And the suburbs is where you find bucks. Lawyers, doctors, businessmen–they’re in the suburbs. Those people deep in the city–they’re just a bunch of uneducated, high-maintenance losers. God doesn’t care about them nearly as much as he does the people in the suburbs with nicely-groomed yards.

Yeah, I’m ticked. I’m sure there are all kinds of places like our neighborhood throughout the city. But does anybody think of planting a church in places like that? Not usually. No, you plant a church in the fast-growing suburbs, so you can cherry-pick the middle and upper-middle classes, and maybe land a truly rich person or two. That’s what my denomination has done for about as long as I’ve been around–go to the suburbs–and it seems to be everybody else’s strategy, too. When denominations talk about planting churches in major cities, what they really mean is plant churches in the suburbs. But there’s a whole lot more to cities than rich suburbs. Sure, maybe they plan to have a “mission outreach” into poorer neighborhoods. But to base yourself there? No way.

I’m sure Jesus would go straight to the suburbs, so he could hob-nob with rich people. Forget about the poor and needy. Let them drive to the suburbs. Oh, they don’t have a vehicle? Well, maybe they can take the bus. (Okay, Steve, take a breath, chill.)

Chris Kuntz leading worship at Anchor for the last time.

Yesterday in church, we said good-bye to Chris and Lisa Kuntz. Chris has been our worship leader for the past four-and-a-half years, and for those of us in the band, he’s a friend. We’ve laughed and learned and prayed together many times. Mostly laughed, I suppose. And made some great music. I, for one, will greatly miss Chris.

Next week, Chris begins as worship leader at Union Chapel, a United Brethren church located on the north side of Fort Wayne. Chris’s parents go there, and both are part of the worship team. The idea of going to Union Chapel arose in May, when Chris was invited to lead worship for a Friday night youth event. Other opportunities have arisen over the years, and Chris has shrugged them off. But he wasn’t able to shrug this one off. This one seemed to be of God. And doggone it to pieces, I think it was.

Chris plays acoustic guitar, plays a mean violin, sings, knows sound equipment. Knows what it means to worship. He doesn’t hold a college degree. He does hold a great deal of passion for what he’s doing. And I’m gonna greatly miss the sonofagun. I told him that while I support his decision, I will commence trashtalking Union Chapel for stealing him away. Actually, I won’t. Probably won’t. There is a reasonable likelihood that I won’t, except in the interests of national security. Having seen Chris wrestle with this decision all summer, I have no doubt that God wants Chris at Union Chapel. That doesn’t mean I can’t deeply mourn Anchor’s loss. Or throw random objects at walls.

The Anchor congregation had prayer for the Kuntz family as we, reluctantly, send them off to a new church. Somewhere in that huddle is Pastor Tim with Chris and Lisa.

At the end of the service, Pastor Tim brought Chris and Lisa to the front and invited people to express their appreciation for what they have meant to them, and to Anchor. Lots of soapy stuff was said, including by Yours Truly. Then there was a massive group-prayer-hug thing. I worked very hard to find an angle to take a photo which actually showed Chris and Lisa. Which means I wasn’t praying, of course. Call me bitter.

Chris is one of those old-school guys who throws himself totally into his church. A dying breed, regretably. He’s also a wonderful father. I enjoy watching Chris interact with his three young boys (who will now get to interact every week with their grandparents). And Lisa’s fabulous. Wonderful sense of humor.

Next week, Anchor’s worship team is playing at Union Chapel’s 150th anniversary. Or maybe their 100th. It’s a biggie, anyway. It’ll give us another chance (I refuse to say “one last chance”) to play music with Chris. I told Chris I would take a can of spray-paint so I could leave nasty graffiti at Union Chapel. Though I probably won’t. Probably. It’ll be fun watching Chris–and Union Chapel–flourish in the years ahead.

And maybe, just maybe, God will bring along somebody new to Anchor. As Chris’s Uncle Dave Ward told him point-blank as we prayed before practice on Sunday morning, “Chris–you’re replaceable.” Which is exactly how Chris wants it.

There’s a young man, an expectant father, I’ve been praying for every day this summer. I hardly know him, but I’ve wanted the chance to get closer and, hopefully, gain the right to invest in his life. Since we only have one service this summer, and it’s an early one, most of that age group haven’t been coming to church (hey, most aren’t even Christians, so don’t criticize them for lacking commitment or making excuses). So I haven’t even seen this guy since early June. But I’ve continued praying for him, because God most definitely put him on my heart.

But today, at a get-together at a home after church, he was there. And when I took my food outside, he was sitting on a chair by himself. I joined him, and had the kind of conversation I’ve been wanting to have all summer. Chalk up another answer to prayer. It’s so sweet when it happens.

So I get to church this morning, I’m nervous because I have to preach, and one of the first things that happens is that Chris Kuntz makes fun of the fact that I’m not wearing sneakers. Then Dave Ward comes down the center aisle just before music practice and asks if I have my camera, because he wanted to take a picture as proof that I can wear something other than sneakers to church. Okay, Chris and Dave, that’s just what my frazzled nerves needed.

You see, I always wear sneakers to church. But today, since I was preaching, I donned some casual non-sneakers, not to mention some of my nicer Dockers pants (which didn’t strike Dave as photo-worthy). In retrospect, I feel I sold out to “what will people think” paranoia. Why didn’t I wear my sneakers, as usual? Did I think I needed to impress people because I was preaching? Did that role demand that I dress up and be not me, but not-me? A phony?

I should have worn sneakers. Instead, I sold out to false expectations. I’m a fraud. A mere pleaser-of-people.

I preached about the story in Luke 7 of Jesus and the “sinful woman” at the home of Simon the snobbish Pharisee. As part of the message, I told the congregation we needed to go on a field trip, so I had them all come to the front of the church and gather around a makeshift table, and we sort of acted out the story.

Just before that, though, Pastor Tim Hallman took one of his kids out of the sanctuary to the bathroom. When he returned, he was surprised to see everyone up front. He thought, “Wow, did Steve just have an altar call and the whole church is getting saved?” Alas, that was not the case. But I got a good laugh when he told me about it. Even now, I’m typing this with a big smile on my face.

Today a young adult man who lives near the church came to church without shoes. He walked to church barefoot, and went into the sanctuary barefoot (also wearing shorts and a button shirt with the sleeves cut off). This young man first came back in March or thereabouts, and he has returned maybe eight times. He’s had some trouble with the law, and I’m sure he has a very difficult life. I want him to feel accepted at Anchor. And I think he does.

He hadn’t been there in a few weeks, and I was concerned. When we musicians finished and I walked out the back, I made a point of tapping him on the shoulder and saying, “Great to see you today.” He looked over his shoulder and acknowledged me.

The thing that’s great is, nobody seemed bothered that he came to church barefoot. I didn’t hear anyone even mention it. We had a party at our house tonight, with about 20 people, and it never came up.

We pride ourselves on not making an issue of dress. But this was a new one, and I thought at least someone would say something about it. But nobody did. It’s like we just collectively realized, “Okay, haven’t seen this one before. But it falls under the same heading as wearing shorts and T-shirts. It’s not something to make a fuss over.”

And that absolutely delights me. Nobody said a thing about his attire, negative or positive. It just wasn’t an issue.

In every church I’ve attended in my life, it would have been an issue. People would have at least whispered about it (unapprovingly). But it wasn’t an issue at Anchor today. And that thrills me. It’s fun being part of an atypical church.