A Parody of The Modern Christian Church

Society

Aug 19

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**The following is a satirical piece. It uses humor, irony, and exaggeration, particularly in the context of contemporary Christendom and the state of the modern church. The events, characters, and organizations depicted are entirely a product of the author's imagination and are used for satirical purposes. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real-life events or organizations is purely coincidental and intended as satire. So don’t clutch your pearls!**

There is a new church grabbing headlines in the Chicagoland area.

"The Ecumenical Church of Greater Harmony is one of Chicago's most diverse and inclusive Christian churches," the lead pastor, Joanne Solomon, told NBC Chicago. "It is a safe space where all minorities, oppressed groups, and denominations can worship."

There were a ton of red flags from that statement alone. Safe space? Oppressed groups? But, people have told me in the past that I am too judgy and close-minded, and I need to be open-minded to new experiences, as if being open-minded is a virtue in and of itself. So, as a Christian, I decided to take a leap of faith and attend a service.

The building, situated near Northwestern University's Chicago campus in the posh Gold Coast neighborhood, was a bland and sterile-looking structure. It wasn't ugly, but it wasn't beautiful or awe-inspiring either. It was aggressively average. No stained glass, no crosses, no arches. The building looked like it could've been a Foot Locker in its past life. Getting there was its own pilgrimage, navigating Chicago's ruthless traffic and dodging potholes large enough to baptize my grandmother in.

The sanctuary was as bland as the exterior. One of the elders, 22-year-old Sarameesha — a black woman with a blonde buzzcut, a nose ring, and a tattoo on her left forearm that read "Love is Love" — explained the church was intentionally designed to be inclusive to all denominations. Instead of an altar, there was a "multi-denominational meeting area" with small cups of grape juice, a large gold chalice of wine, and three different types of bread. Instead of a cross or maybe an image of Jesus Christ, there were framed signs with vague modern phrases like "Find Your Truth," "God Is For Everyone," and "Love Is Love." Maybe that's where Sarameesha got the inspiration for her tattoo. I wondered: Can we own truth? What God are they talking about? Love of what? But let me stop being so judgy!

I sat in the seventh row from the altar — I mean, multi-denominational meeting area — and I started striking up small conversations with some of the God-lovers around me. It quickly became an exhibit of how modern Christendom divides itself into smaller and smaller factions while apparently chasing the same resurrected Lord.

Sitting directly in front of me was an older, black gentleman named George, a self-described Catholic-Baptist. That's like being a bacon-loving vegan. Catholics believe in infant baptisms and Baptists believe in adult baptisms. He talked about the importance of the Papacy while simultaneously denying that the Pope had any influence on him.

Three seats to my right sat a sweaty, bearded German man named Erwin. He was a "proud Lutheran-Episcopalian." Proud? Odd choice of words for a Christian, but okay. Lutheran-Episcopalian? Even odder choice of a denomination combo. He praised the church for having no bishops overseeing its affairs, then spoke for what seemed like twenty minutes about his favorite bishop.

Behind me and to my left was a pleasant 20-something-year-old nursing student named Lisa. I asked her about her denomination, and she replied that she was a Protestant-Presbyterian. A truly redundant classification! She was Protestant in the sense of opposing the Roman Catholic Church, and Presbyterian in the sense of constantly correcting the other Protestants. She was a staunch believer in predestination, and she was predestined for Heaven.

After hearing these three people discuss their beliefs, I wondered if the church got its own name wrong. Maybe the church should be called the Ecumenical Church of Greater Disharmony. They were seemingly unified in their disunity. Each person thought the other's belief system was an oxymoron. They weren't wrong; they were just wrong about themselves.

Joanne, the lead pastor, gave a sermon centered around Proverbs 22:10: "Drive out a mocker, and conflict goes too; then quarreling and dishonor will cease." She read the verse from eight different Bibles to make sure every denomination was represented. She then called President Donald Trump a mocker, and the church filled with thunderous applause. Joanne's wife, who was seated in the front row, stood up and started shouting, "Yes!!! Yes!!!" (So they are unified in their hatred of Trump. Got it.)

And then the choir. They performed songs that sounded like Gregorian monks chanting over Drake's "Hotline Bling" with a random electric guitar solo in the middle. I took the opportunity to find the restroom.

I left the Ecumenical Church of Greater Harmony in a state of bewilderment. Everyone was together celebrating some abstract form of God. Yet, everyone was divided, convinced that their division was not division at all but rather the most authentic expression of their abstract form of God. I say "their" because I never heard the words "Jesus Christ" mentioned at all, by anyone. I was convinced that if there was any unity to be found at this church, it would not come from the Catholic-Baptist, the Lutheran-Episcopalian, the Protestant-Presbyterian, or the gay Jewish female lead pastor. It would come from the man cleaning the restroom, who, when I asked what denomination he was, smiled, said "Christian," and went back to work.