We're called barflies, drunks, winos, sods, needy, reprobates, felons, cheats, lawbreakers and undesirable.
We don't deny it, though some among us would fight you over calling us that.
In all honestly, there are a few in our crowd who make good money, pay taxes, don't smoke or drink, obey the traffic laws, vote and wear clothes that match.
We're an oddity.
Every Sunday Tybee Island tourists stop to laugh at the sign duct taped to window of The Sand Bar, snap a picture for the folks back home, shake their heads and keep going.
We're not their kind.
But we take solace in the fact that when Jesus started, he didn't recruit top scholars, successful business people, elected officials, Chamber of Commerce types, politically connected, beautiful people to start the Church.
He didn't insist on synchronized, complementing, Angelic harmonies in the choir, perfect sound for solos, the finest of music designed to challenge and uplift or even being in tune.
Instead he picked fishermen who smelled bad, ex-prostitutes, a midget, crazy ideologues from both ends of the political spectrum and people no one had ever heard of to start the Church.
There's no evidence any of them knew how to do a damn thing except ... argue.
The Bible's clear they were all masterful in arguing.
We don't argue much in Bar Church.
People quit rather than argue.
And if you inspect us individually, we're mostly a weekly gathering of people struggling to get by ... But ... more Sundays than not something happens ... something in spite of who we are as individuals ... because Lord knows that ain't much ... and we have no idea how it happens ... just that it does.
Joy gets made.
In spite of egomaniacs trying to be the center of attention, singing over each other, playing too loud, doing all manner of things wrong ... BEING all manner of things wrong ... God somehow takes our ugly gathering of dickheads, fuck-ups, terribly incorrect, socially unacceptable and deeply flawed people and turns us into something more.
It doesn't last long.
Then again it doesn't have to.
But it's just long enough to touch our hearts, drop the scales to see we're all brothers and sisters in the eyes of the Lord and it doesn't matter how we sing, just THAT WE SING.
And it's joyful!
We're going on a decade now and, in spite of awful leadership, eviction from two Bars, no real structure, creed, dogma, rotating musicians, thrown together services and a rich history of people who took what they needed then moved on, Bar Church continues.
It must be because God wants us too.
And as long as you're looking for it, there's joy to always be found when it's happening.
