After delivering a eulogy, overseeing a memorial lunch, a Sunset wedding on the Beach, writing the bulletin, preparing a sermon and practicing the music, I'm pretty tired when I arrive at Benny's to set up for Bar Church.
Taking tables and bar stools off the raised stage area, I lug massive powered speakers into place, connect them to the sound board, set up microphones and arrange the area for the band ... which I have a vague notion of who it is today.
Bob Fulton arrives showing off his newest guitar. Eric Johnson brings his own microphone and plugs into the board. The steady and always pleasant David Duennebier rolls his self contained bass guitar and sound system into place. Tommy Hall strolls in carrying an electric Fender. Last is Gordon Hill and his suitcase of harmonicas.
As we run through the songs, my guitar isn't fitting in so I jiggle the chord and the electric pickup snaps slipping inside the box.
After fishing it out, David suggested I run it to the outside so I duct tape it into place.
"This is going to be a Hell of a service," I mutter.
Bob engages the make shift congregation with his rendition of John Prine's "When I Get to Heaven."
Eric's really on fire singing two songs about "Daddy" for Father's Day filling the Bar with a holiness.
When it's time for me, I limp through Jimmy Buffett's "Little Mrs. Magic", mercifully redeemed by Gordon's harmonica playing then I proceed to deliver the lamest, rambling, God-awful excuse for a sermon ever preached.
I hate hearing it as I say it.
Somewhere in all this, David's wife Elisa whispers I look angry. I reply I'm merely trying to orchestrate chaos into order.
"Well," she replies. "You should hug Bob."
After the service was over, leaving me feeling incredible inept and longing for redemption, I do as she asked and hug Bob.
Grinning, he says, "Well, another came together just like He planned."
Every believer worth her or his salt has doubts and I have a hard time believing God has anything to do with it.
Remaining at the Bar sit several folks in no hurry to leave.
"Can we ask you something?" they ask.
"You just did," I reply heading for the bathroom.
"Can we get baptized?"
It stops me dead in my tracks.
"In the Bar or the Ocean?"
"The Ocean," three different people agree.
I do not understand the mechanics of Church.
It's a horrible thing for the minister to admit but it's true.
Eric grabs me later, grinning from ear to ear. "I've found my calling," he proclaims. "This is it!"
At home, Sarah Elliott cheerfully asks, "How was it?"
Grimacing, I sit beside my wife and open a beer.
"I have no idea."
"So nothing unusual?" she smiles.
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Tybee Church ministers to those traditional churches can't reach and to continue doing it we are conducting a campaign to raise $10,000 to cover one year's cost. We're over 1/3 of the way there! If you've been helped by Bar Church, are blessed keeping up with us daily on Face Book or want to help Church without walls, you can at
Tybee Church
P.O. Box 1511
Tybee Island, GA 31328
or click https://www.gofundme.com/tybeebarchurch
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THIS SUNDAY AT BAR CHURCH ... we'll get back to you ... soon.
