Downward Dog

It was my first day at a yoga class at the gym we just joined. Coming over to me afterwards, what the instructor should have said was, “You really hung in there.” Or “You made a great start. I’m glad you came.”

Instead, she said, “There’s another class that’s a little lighter yoga, that you could try.” She went on, “You can go online and find out a lot about the poses we do in here.”

Now, I get it; both of these statements were totally true. Check out this article from the Houston Chronicle; they did a whole series on basic yoga earlier this summer. I know my downward-facing dog was an insult to canines everywhere! If I had said, “Wow, that was rough; is there more of a beginner class?” or if I had asked how I could learn more, her comments would have been perfectly appropriate. But I didn’t. I was preparing to say, “Well, that wasn’t horrible!” After her words, I was left thinking maybe I was.

I mention this–not because I need your sympathy about my faltering tree pose (which, again, no self-respecting tree would have recognized)–but because this is a thing we do. That thing that the yoga instructor did to me is something we do to other people. Usually it’s with the best of intentions–or absolute thoughtlessness. We say the thing that tells them they don’t belong.

Here’s how that might happen in the context of church:

“You might want to check out the AA group that meets in the basement on Thursday nights.”

“You know we have a nursery where you can take your [crying] child.”

“Oh, you don’t know that old hymn? Hmmm.”

“We have a singles group for people like you!”

“There’s a spot at the end of that row up ahead where we put people in wheelchairs.”

(I wonder what comments you’d add to this list.)

You can imagine times when offering this kind of information might be perfectly appropriate. (Probably not the old-hymn comment.) But let it be in response to a question the person has asked, or a need they’ve expressed. If we’re gonna be #FoolishChurch folk who make room, we’ll have to see whole people, and not just the need that might make us uncomfortable.

See, I think that’s what was going on with that yoga instructor. I think she knew that this isn’t a class that makes room for teaching the basics and helping people with their form. When a beginner like me stumbles in, the questions she carries come to the surface. “Maybe I should be doing this differently.” “Should I describe this class as ‘advanced’?” These are good questions for someone in her position to ask. But her response to me ought to be gracious and encouraging, and focus on the questions I’m asking.

So, foolish friends, let’s try that. Let’s be gracious and encouraging, helping people know they’re welcome, and we’re glad they’re here. If there’s information or help to be offered, we’ll let them guide us in what they want to know. That addict with a crying child might be most interested, in this moment, in where the bathroom is! Let’s be foolish enough to respond to what they need.

Says the #FoolishChurch warrior. Funny, that warrior pose is one I think I (almost) nailed yesterday. Hmmm.

(Photos are from that Houston Chronicle series….)