It’s cool being part of a smaller college

I’ve been amazed about the amount of times (and the oddest of places) I have conversations with people because I teach at Sterling College. Yesterday, while frantically grading papers at Starbucks, a lady on the way out of Starbucks (Note: she was in a hurry; it appeared as if she was with her mother-in-law, whom appeared to have the spiritual gift of driving her crazy) saw my Sterling College jacket and asked if I was a student at Sterling. (Note: my baby face is a hindrance now, but 15 years from now, I am going to reap the benefits)

I shared with her that I was a teacher at Sterling. She immediately asked me about the famous (and still mysterious) sword in the stone story that aired on TV news earlier this month. We had a brief laugh, then she proceeded to try to not be seen with her mother-in-law.

After she left, I rejoiced in the fact that I was able to have a brief conversation with someone about my school. I mean, how many times have graduates or faculty from major universities had a similar conversation when the were sporting their WSU jacket (that they purchased after the Shockers won the NIT last year)? Probably never.

There is a defense for micro church, for the little faith communities out there who probably can’t afford Children’s wings in their church building. (or the routine times when they hire Woo Shock to come into Sunday School to remind kids to not pick their nose or cheat on tests at school)

Living on the West side of Wichita, my wife and I normally get into conversations with folks about church and, when we ask where they attend (where they belong) we get an array of answers. We’ve discovered that when someone wants to admit that they don’t go regularly, they say they go to one of the larger churches in town. They probably do, once and awhile. And they probably go unnoticed. (Even when larger churches do all they can to try and connect)

Jesus challenges us to go further. He picked up those who were looked through, he restored the broken, he even called Zachaeus (a tax collector who worked for Rome and served as an employee of an Empire that was strangling the life out of the Jewish community) by his name. The first name someone gave God in the Bible was El Roi, “the God who sees me.”

Isn’t it interesting that one of the first impulses that we have as we enter into the family of God is to not learn the depth of doctrinal precision, nor learn all of the right answers, but it is to see the world differently, and by default, see those that we normally look past?

Who are we going to notice today that we missed yesterday?

 

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