Shopping (for a church)

Mattie and I started “shopping” for a new church home this Fall. Our criteria was pretty straightforward: Episcopal; great children’s program and Sunday School; as near our neighborhood as we could find – and, ideally, a church which her BFF (plus the BFF’s mother and two sisters) would attend with her. Now this kind of shopping is really a remarkable adventure and I was struck with in how many ways it parallels the “lifestage transformation” shopportunities I discovered and discussed in my first book, Shopportunity! (Collins, 2006).

Just to recap a bit: My thesis in the book was that all shoppers are looking for transformation and the way they know they’ve received it, is they feel “lucky.” I outline three types of shopping transformations:

· The daily transformation rituals. Think coffee in the morning, cigarette, iPod on the way to work, martini at night as you cross the threshold.
· The lifestage transformations. Consider the run-up to your decision to trade in that zippy two-seater for a sane and safe minivan and then 15 years later envision trading in your sensible, children’s chauffeuring device for another zippy two-seater and fondly honking the kids adieu as they speed off to college in their previously-owned Civic.
· The cultural transformations in which you participate along with the rest of the culture and the culture itself is transformed: cellphones, Blackberries, iPods, laptops, Starbucks. You know it: The things you lived successfully without – until you just couldn’t.

For me, the decision to switch Churches came slowly. We had been happy at our neighborhood church and then, suddenly, I began to be worried that the children in the parish were perhaps seen as something to be “put up with,” rather than celebrated. Mattie, at age nine, is becoming (slightly) more interested in why we’re going there every Sunday and was picking up on what I had begun to feel was an ambient hostility. When she remarked on it, I decided it was time to consider options.

We visited several churches and were disappointed in some facet: Services too long and not kid-friendly. Too much incense. Welcome notes in the pews with the promise to follow-up, only to reached via email, instead of human contact. Sunday Schools the girls described as “goofy.”

Whatever. I began to despair. (Think of searching for the perfect something that you really, really need to acquire.) I began to search the web. (Classic searching behavior in the 21st century.) One church seemed to rise above the rest in its children’s ministry. But it meant we had to opt for an out-of-the neighborhood (comfort zone) choice. It meant we’d drive to church and stop along the way to pick up her BFF & Co., moving in the process from Tribeca and the West Village to the Upper East Side. Now granted, the early Christians were willing to be fed to the lions, so this transportation issue seemed tiny enough. Still, for denizens of Manhattan, the culture shift is well-known: We were making a leap every bit as big as going from Porsche 901 to Ford Explorer.

But, as we entered the foyer and were met by the friendly smiles of children and young adults, we became aware that we were definitely in a space which enjoyed kids. (Note to retailers: How would you do on that criteria, if you expect mothers to linger long with you?) The 9:10 service is ushered by kids. The scripture readings are read by kids. The choir is made up of kids. I watched Mattie and her friends – and they were listening. This was a service voiced not by the Charlie Brown adult-speak they were used to, but by children and teens they could actually hear!

After the service, the kids were invited to go to the various age-appropriate Sunday School classes – well staffed and decidedly not “goofy.” The woman who runs the children’s ministry at this church came right to us, introduced herself and explained the Church’s approach to making sure going to and being in Church is both a spiritual and engaging activity. We still had to await the verdict of the children: Each came from her respective classes grinning and giving a big thumbs-up (rather like emerging happy from a fitting room, if it’s not too sacrilegious to make the parallel). We had been shopping for a church and we had found one that fit the kids.

It was in the weeks following that we became further entrenched, however, as adults. The rector came to great us. The head of the welcome committee. Eye contact. Hand shakes. A sense of serious, generous, genuine welcome. There were adult education presentations thoughtfully organized in the coffee room during the interval when the kids were in Sunday School and the parents otherwise just hang out. We got up-to-speed quickly on the 200 year history of this fabulous place. This church was bringing us thoughtfully and methodically into our new fold. We are made to feel at home.

So, we emerge from this shopportunity feeling lucky, indeed. One minor coda: Mattie and I – as a very small family – have a two-seater. I’ve never had to turn mine in for a sedan. It’s the kind of two-seater with wee shelf seats in the back that seem just right for her and one friend. But, our Sunday Odyssey to the Upper East Side has done what nothing else has: Made me consider that as these kids grow and we want to preserve the convenience of driving up there – we may well, indeed, need a minivan.

The processional effect of one right step sending us down entirely new roads and roles.