I am rich.

God has been showing me so much stuff about the man I am and stuff I'll do and who he sees me as that it's ridiculous. I'm still pretty vague on a lot of things, but the more I know, the more I know there is to know and the less I care. What hits me the hardest is that he is crazy in love with me. I know that like I've never known it before and I know I'm not still fully getting what that means. I feel a little narcissistic saying that, but really, no. Because God loving me is not about me. It's about him. And the most personal thing I know about him is that he loves me crazy.

So lately, I've been feeling like he's calling me to explore. Since I came back to church about 8 years ago, I've stuck with non-denominational(ish), evangelical small churches. Two of them, to be exact. Both have been wonderful in some ways and problematic in some ways. This is human life, whether Christian or not. I personally am wonderful and problematic. I can't expect any more or less of anyone else who's still wearing skin.

Last week, I noticed the Lord leading me to visit a Baptist church a couple of blocks from where I live. I just kind of kept noticing it and then talked about it with some people who told me about their website. When I looked at the website, there were a couple of things that just said, "Robbie." For example, the pastor posted an essay he'd written about how he was brought up Presbyterian (as I was), later went in a more charismatic Pentecostal direction (as I have) then ended up at a Baptist seminary (as I'm about to). I just thought I would probably like to hear what this guy had to say.

I saw they had an 8:30 AM service on Sunday, so I'd be able to go be a Baptist for an hour and still make it to my regular church on time.

Sunday morning came and I got myself up and ready and was off. I normally go to a Vineyard church, which is pretty casual. The pastor often wears jeans; that kind of casual. It's been a while since I attended a big denominational church (although the Vineyard is getting there...) but I was guessing ties would probably be de rigueur. I think my reluctance to wear a tie planted the notion in my head that an 8:30 AM service would probably be a little more casual. Choosing to go middle-of-the-road, I wore chinos, loafers and a button up shirt which I neither ironed nor tucked in.

It was sunny and crisp, making the three block walk as exhilarating as a three block walk can be. Approaching the building, I was wrapped up and drawn in by a sense of age and establishment that reminded me very much of my Presbyterian upbringing. I approached the first man I saw and asked him which way to the sanctuary, as I had come in the back door. I noticed that he was wearing a suit and tie. I assumed he must be an elder.

As I approached the sanctuary, I kept seeing more men in suits and ties. Women were in dresses. Not skirts. Dresses. Dressy dresses. Hose and heels and matching purse dresses. Feeling significantly less fresh and attractive than I had felt just ten minutes earlier, I chose to slink up the stairs to the balcony that Mr. Probably Not An Elder had shown me. I was hoping to be less conspicuous. Well, coming in the back door had led me to the entrance at the front of the sanctuary where the service was beginning. It was a big U-shaped balcony that covered the whole room, so basically, I was making an entrance visible to the entire congregation. The sanctuary was slightly less than half-full, so approximately 8,000 people were looking up at me. OK, more like 250 and most of them weren't really looking at me, but still... I felt like a slob.

I'm skipping a lot in order to cut to the chase:

After a hymn and some announcements and a testimony and an offering, the pastor began his sermon. He spoke basically just for me as far as I was concerned. The presence of God was almost smellable in that place and as the teaching out of Matthew began, I knew for certain that it was Jesus who had led me there by the Holy Spirit.

He taught the bit about how you can't serve two gods, because you'll love one and hate the other. You can't serve God and mammon (money). He unpacked how it flows into the next verse about not being anxious and how so often we look to money to satisfy our anxiousness. At that point, my own heart was revealed to me and I saw how I had been slipping into that old trap for about the 80 millionth time. I physically felt the burden being lifted and was full of thanks to God who is my caretaker.

When he continued on to the part where it says not to be worried about what you'll eat or about your body and what you'll wear, I felt another string of my heart plucked. I felt so stupid for being concerned about my wrinkly shirt in the presence of God. As I rested again in the truth of my acceptance, I began to feel like Jesus was sitting next to me. He was wearing cutoff cargo shorts, $2 Old Navy flipflops and a Depeche Mode tee shirt. I snickered. I always somehow knew the Lord liked Depeche Mode. He said to me, "What? This is my house. I can wear what I want." He went on to say that everything the Father had given him, he gave to me, ergo it's my house too so I shouldn't feel intimidated into dressing any way other than how I dress.

The service wrapped up pretty neatly and I headed home after shaking hands with a couple of very nice older gentlemen who probably thought I was there for the Clothes Closet and Showers ministry to the homeless. I didn't care what they thought at that point. I nearly skipped home, had another cup of coffee and changed clothes to go to the Vineyard.

At the Vineyard, during the first song, I saw Jesus sitting next to me again. I think he must really like me. Anyway, now he had on a very conservative suit and tie. His hair was parted on the left and plastered to his head, probably with Dapper Dan. Yes, folks. Jesus is funny.

As I continued to worship, thinking about how he looked just as out of place at the Vineyard in a suit as he had looked at First Baptist in cargo shorts, I saw him again. Now he was wearing a 70s powder blue tuxedo complete with bell-bottoms and a ruffled shirt. I began to laugh out loud. He just sat there looking as serious as anything with a Bob Newhart straight face on. (Thanks, Janet.)

The chorus of the song we were singing goes

How I love you, great and mighty King
You are faithful, through the ages
You never change

As we sang "You never change" I heard him say, "But I change my clothes." I looked again and he was wearing a pink tutu and red Chuck Taylor high tops. Now I guffawed. "Will you stop messing around? There are people trying to worship You. Get on the throne of glory, for crying out loud!"

Then I began to see him dancing around the room, clothed only in robes of light. The Bob Newhart face was gone and replaced with an expression of purest joy. Angels crisscrossed the ceiling of the room in all kinds of geometric formations in time with the music and under the direction of his desire.

As all of this was going on, I took note of the fact that over half the room seemed to be otherwise engaged, whether in conversation or noshing on a bagel or just sort of zoning out in general. Jesus was undeterred. The fact that we had assembled in His name was enough this morning, whether we were all paying attention or not. He loves us all so much.

A couple of days ago, I felt that nagging worry about money begin again as I thought about all of the things I needed to pay for with it. Bills, tuition, food, drum machines... I quickly squelched all of those thoughts. The reality is that I'd rather have Jesus in a tutu than any of that stuff and that is something that money will never buy.