As we walked up our friends’ long driveway towards our car, I looked over at my spouse, “You know what that was, don’t you?”
“A barbecue for their social club?”
“I mean … yes, but did you notice we were the only ones there who weren’t already in the club?”
“Yeah.”
“We were just invited to church.”
He thought for a beat and chuckled. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Like church potlucks, food was shared freely among friends and strangers alike. The circle around the fire mirrored the way congregations gather around sacred spaces. People shared community announcements – upcoming shows, friends needing help moving, and local causes needing support – just as churches share prayer requests and ministry opportunities. Most striking was the palpable sense of belonging.
Their common bond is a love of punk rock music (how my husband and I got connected with them is another story for another day) and their most foundational rule in the group is “No turds.” Their dress code is jean jacket vests covered in patches and pins from all the punk bands they’ve seen live, paired with a healthy serving of piercings and tattoos. For those gathered in the field around a fire on a Saturday night, this was holy community, even though it was a strictly secular gathering. It offered the same kind of community church offers so many of us: a tribe based on shared beliefs that reinforces our innate value and calls us to a larger collective sense of worth.
For those gathered in the field around a fire on a Saturday night, this was holy community, even though it was a strictly secular gathering.
As I met people that night and they found out what I do for a living, many expressed to me the hurt that organized religion caused them. They shared stories of being judged, shamed and left out. They were part of this punk rock social club because they longed for community connection, but they hadn’t found the church to be a safe space for them.
This punk rock club created a harbor for people to gather and foster community by removing the traumatic religious language, hurtful doctrines and holier-than-thou judgeyness that has hurt so many people.
As safe as I knew the space was for the members of the club, joining the community for an evening as an outsider still felt awkward. My sweet friend intentionally made sure we knew everyone and proudly shuttled us around, saying, “These are my friends, Charissa and Tim. You’ve heard me talk about Charissa. She’s the one who I swam with the sharks with.” It was fun, sweet, charming … and a little embarrassing.
The social rules and expectations of the setting were different than we were used to, and the music was only vaguely familiar. When someone started passing out papers, we were given a whispered explanation of what the man up front was talking about. We were the only non-members there, and while I have no empirical evidence to back up my feeling, it felt to me like each person who met us wondered if we were on a path to membership.
When we enter new and different community spaces, we get to know a beautiful and diverse collection of God’s creation.
That evening, I regretted the awkward “bring a friend who hasn’t been to church lately” campaign I launched 7 or 8 years ago in the congregation I was serving at the time. No wonder it was a dud! It’s a crazy feeling to walk into a place where everyone else already seems to belong and where you’re not quite sure of all the social norms.
Churches wonder where the “young people” are. Many are bonding and having fun and building community with people their own age who are doing things they find way more fun and welcoming than strawberry festivals and church basement flea markets. Strawberry festivals and flea markets have certainly served their purpose, but their time has come and gone.
Perhaps instead of just trying to get the word out more about the same old things we’re doing within our church, it’s time to step out and enter into someone else’s space to experience something new. And I don’t just mean going to the other church down the road. You need to try going somewhere with a whole other language and modality and central understanding of the world. In fact, going to a mosque or synagogue event probably isn’t even far enough — they’re still traditionally religious spaces.
When we enter new and different community spaces, we get to know a beautiful and diverse collection of God’s creation. Get connected with a punk club or the local drag brunch scene. Start hanging out with a caving grotto or check out an ice bath club. Make the weirdest friends you’ve ever had in your life, and go to their clubs and events. Feel awkward and ask yourself what draws people to that place. Get really and truly connected. This interest in the world of people who gather in other spaces within our neighborhoods is a powerful way to share the message that God loves us all in all of our weird and wonderful uniqueness.
What we do and how we genuinely connect with people outside the walls of the church matters way more than what we’re doing on the inside to “draw people in.”
What we do and how we genuinely connect with people outside the walls of the church matters way more than what we’re doing on the inside to “draw people in.” Look for the goodness out in the world, even when it’s uncomfortable or unfamiliar or has a septum piercing. In my friend’s words, as she lovingly described the people in her club, “These are all just really ******* good people here.” She was absolutely right, too. What a privilege that she values us as good enough people to bring in with the best ******* people she knows.
That night, we met bearded guys with their wallets chained to their jeans. We connected with people with every unnatural color of hair imaginable. We passed around homeless kittens in need of a forever home. We hung out with many people (and animals) who would probably get double takes in most sanctuaries on Sunday morning. However, I do not doubt that every single creature there knew that they were welcome and valuable and would have plenty to eat around that table no matter who they were and that there would be “no turds.”
In the end, I hope this punk rock social club invites me back to more events. I hope they invite me back, even if I don’t really have an interest in being a formal member and going to punk shows more than once every blue moon or two. Although if they asked me to come alongside as their official spiritual advisor, I might just jump on that. My clerical collar would probably look pretty badass under that jean jacket vest.
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