Being a freelance writer, I get to choose where I work. If I’m hungry and haven’t had breakfast (and if I’m not going anywhere where the odor of french fries on my clothes might offend someone), I head to McDonald’s. Love me some yogurt parfait. And an occasional biscuit. Don’t judge.
In my vast knowledge of McDonald’s locations in the Nashville area, I have noticed a couple of things:
First, the McD’s inside Nashville are way more posh than the ones in the outlying areas, specifically the tiny hamlet of Kingston Springs. You won’t find any faux leather seats or flat screen TVs there. Just hard plastic booths.
Second, McD’s is a place to find community. Three groups of community, to be exact. At least in the Springs.
First, the senior men. They talk about men’s issues—the weather, politics, sports, local gossip. No emotional topics please. And no women, thank you. Another group gathers on the opposite side of the restaurant—the hunter/redneck crowd. Which allows women, by the way. They’re almost always in cammo, always wear a ball cap, and talk about deer, fishing rods, and football. There’s always time to talk about football when you live in SEC territory.
The third group? The employees.
You might be thinking, sure, they take breaks together. Yes, that’s true, but the members of this circle come to hang out…even when they don’t work that day. These people will actually show up just to be together—when they could be doing a dozen other things away from the smell of coffee grinds mixed with grease.
The group is a ragtag lot. Most are tattooed at least once. Some have body piercings. Most smoke. Their ages range from pimple-faced teens to senior adults who are working there because they need the income. Quite a conglomeration of cultures.
If you listen to their conversations (which I NEVER do), you might think you were in a normal office setting:
“How’s is your mom?”
“How was your doctor’s appointment?”
“My son is driving me nuts!”
Other times, though, you listen to their stories and realize WHY they are a community:
“My child support…”
“I can’t pay my rent until…”
“My partner and I…” (same-sex partner, that is)
They come to experience community. (They certainly don’t gather because they can’t get enough of the food.) They come because, in that space and place, they find acceptance. As is. They find the much-needed feeling of being understood. Of someone caring for them. Supporting them. They gather because they’ve shared the same experience of being shunned in other places, even (especially?) the church.
Be honest: Would the gay cashier with his striped socks and funky shirts be welcome in your church—even when he starts talking about how to mix hair colors? What about the barely-adult woman who has had three children by three different men? What about the recovering addict who has to sneak out during worship for a cigarette?
What would you do if you found out if a visitor (or a member!) has a criminal record? Cheated on his wife? Had an abortion? Would you treat those people any differently? Would you invite them in to your community of faith?
Better yet, would you invite them eat with your family (or friends) after the worship service?
These people gather because they all have scars—and they all know it. There’s no need for pretense or pretending because everyone in that circle acknowledges that they’ve messed up and have no room to judge. They gather because they’ve found some sense of belonging in spite of poor decisions and sinful pasts.
In short, McDonald’s provides what the Church often does not—a place of flawed yet accepted humanity.
If Jesus were alive today, I’m pretty sure He’d stop by the Kingston Springs McD’s…
…and He might even eat a biscuit.