Our pastor likes to tell homespun stories, Dad-jokes, and yarns that have message buried deepdeepdeep below the surface. So when he asked me if I knew about the time a cow came to church, I was certain this had to be one of those moments. I was ready to cue the eye-roll and rim-shot sound effect.
We were talking about how welcoming our congregation is and how we—as a group of believers—don’t judge. We follow a “everyone is welcome” policy.
One sunday, the pastor told me, that welcome was extended to a man who appeared wearing a full-body cow costume, something you might see at chick-fil-a. For real.
It wasn’t Halloween. It wasn’t a Bring your Pet to Church Day, a Vegan Statement, or a national Love a Holstein Day.
The man simply came in wearing a black and white spotted cow costume with a hoody sporting ears. He sat down, listened and participated in the singing and worship. He didnt moo or stampeed or offer milk. A few people shook his hand. No one questioned or confronted him or quized him on his intentions. At the time for the altar call, he came up for prayer. Pastor prayed with him. Several others came up for prayer, too.
“More people than usual came up asking for prayer,” pastor said. “It was like he set off something. I guess people figured if a cow can be loved and prayed over, then they could be too.”
After the service, the cow left, without further incident. He never returned.
So, rest assured, you don’t have to worry about getting all dressed up to join us Sunday. Cow costumes welcomed.
Did I tell you about the time a cow came to church?
“Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling.”
The crowded office is messy. We’re out of storage space. Boxes of left over VBS treats are stacked next to cases of pens with the church logo and blue offering envelopes. I have to move a stack of this week’s bulletins so I can sit down. It’s part of the excitement of seeing the “behind the screen” logistcs of church operations—chaos combined with passion for serving. We meet about marketing sporadically, whenever I can grab a minute from the always-busy pastor. I toss out ideas, ask questions, and am routinely overwhelmed with the power of this person’s convictions. Pastor tells stories about why reaching the community with our message is so important.
That day he was wearing a polo shirt that said Chaplain and the logo of the local police department. I had no idea he volunteered in that capacity. As a humble person, he never mentions this ministry. But, I ask, and he tells heatwrenching stories of what it means to minister to people who are on the front lines of despair. He talks about seing people at their worse and still feeling compassion. He talks about the families in the background, devastated by the outcomes of bad choices, death, loss, destruction. He tells a story about a young officer being called to the scene of a suicide attempt. The officer cut down the noose around a ten-year-old’s neck and tried to revive the girl, for several minutes until the ambulance arrived. The young girl didn’t survive.
Neither did the officer. For quite awhile he would drive around the town, looking for her crusier to check on her, see if she was okay. He would sometimes find her parked behind a grocery store or in some park, just staring off at nothing. He treid to help. He’d knock on the window. He’d pray with her. Soon after the ordeal, she quit the force, and left town. “There was just too much pain. There’s so much pain people face.” he said. “We need to let them know there is hope. And we’re here.”
So, a ministry of wellness and hope was born that day. We’re (proverbally) driving around, knocking on windows, finding people who are overwhelmed and offering to pray with them.
We’re calling it a Lighthouse Ministry. The light always shines. If you are needing some guidance, we hope it can be helpful.
If we can help you, let us know. Visit us Sunday.