First United Methodist Church
Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: Psalm 34:8, John 1:43-46
Let’s start with a word about economies and how they change, or birthday cakes and how they evolve. Back in the days of the agrarian economy (when most of us lived on farms or depended upon those who did), mothers made birthday cakes from scratch, mixing farm commodities like flour, sugar, butter and eggs, that together cost mere dimes.
As the farms gave way to the factories….and as the agrarian economy gave way to the Industrial Revolution….moms paid a dollar or two to Betty Crocker for birthday cake ingredients that were already pre-mixed and pre-boxed.
Later, when the service economy took its place alongside of the industrial economy, busy moms ordered cakes from the bakery or the grocery store, which (at $10 or $15 a pop) cost ten times as much as the ingredients that Betty Crocker provided.
Now, in the time-starved nineties, moms no longer bake the cake or even buy it and bring it home. Instead, they are likely to spend $100 or more to “out source” the entire event to McDonald’s, Chuck E. Cheese’s, or some other entertainment emporium that will stage a memorable event for kids (and probably throw in the cake for free).
“Welcome to the experience economy.” Which is not so much my greeting as that of Joseph Pine and James Gilmore, who are the co-authors of a book entitled Every Business a Stage: Why Customers Now Want Experiences. Truth be told, I haven’t read their book. But, thanks to Bill Burnett, I did read their article in the Harvard Business Review published in July of this year. And they make an interesting case. They suggest that from now on, leading-edge companies will find that the next competitive battleground lies, not in providing goods or services, but in staging experiences. Unless companies want to fall by the wayside, they will be compelled to upgrade their offerings to this newest stage of consumer gratification.
But how does an experience differ from a service….and how do you sell it? Some of you remember the old television series, Taxi, and a rather sleazy character named Jim Ignatowski (who sometimes went by the title Rev. Jim). One day, Jim decided to become the best taxi driver in New York. So he served sandwiches and beverages to his passengers, conducted guided tours of Manhattan, and even sang Frank Sinatra tunes while cruising the city. By engaging his riders in a way that turned an ordinary cab ride into a memorable event, Jim gave them something decidedly extra for their money. His customers responded by giving bigger tips. And a few even asked him to drive around the block one more time, the better to prolong the enjoyment.
Now all kinds of businesses are trying to get in on the act. Earlier this fall, I told you of my invitation to attend the grand opening of the Kroger store in downtown Birmingham. As one who seldom frequents such places, I declined. But then I began to understand that I had missed something. So I went to see for myself. And what I discovered was that this was “not my father’s grocery store.” It engaged all of my senses. There were things to look at….things to smell…. things to taste. There were things to stretch my imagination, from seaweed to sushi. And while I haven’t been back many times since, the Kroger people have broken through my earlier barriers, thus guaranteeing return visits at some time in the future.
Or consider movie theaters. I used to fork over my money and sit down to see a film. But now the owner of the Star Theater complex in Southfield suggests that “it should be worth the price of the movie just to enter his building.” Which is why the Star Theater annually charges its 3 million customers a 25 percent higher admission than the local competitor down the street, because of the fun-house experience it provides. And with 65,000 square feet of restaurants and stores being added to the complex, it is not inconceivable that Star will charge us to walk through the front door, whether we ever see a movie or not.
Which brings me to Great Lakes Crossing. Some of you wondered about its inclusion in this morning’s title. Actually, when I selected the title, I’d never been to the mall. I feel about outlet malls pretty much as I feel about grocery stores….maybe even worse. But I kept hearing those advertisements promising “eye-popping, heart-stopping, jaw-dropping shopping.” And I kept reading about traffic jams at the Joslyn Road exit, not to mention five hour waits at some of the mall’s more popular restaurants.
So last Thursday night, I took a little field trip. In the company of my wife (a seasoned shopper), I actually spent two hours in the place. Not that my heart stopped, mind you. In fact, I was rather disappointed. To be sure, the place was big. There was a food court “half the size of Utah.” And there were 204 places that would have been glad to take my money, had I chosen to part with any. But half of the shops, I’d never heard of. And the biggest discounts were clearly reserved for the least popular items. I did take a closer look at a place called Neiman Marcus’ Last Call (which sounded like a title chosen by a bartender rather than a retailer). And it looked like the sale of a bunch of stuff that nobody else had wanted. Which didn’t do much for making me want it, either.
The restaurants were cool. There was a place with the word “Alcatraz” in its title, offering me the opportunity to bite a burger behind bars. But having spent quite a bit of time in prison the last few weeks, that was the last thing I wanted to do. So Kris and I tried the Rainforest Café….where it really does rain….right beside you….all the time. I didn’t stay long enough for mold to grow on my sport coat. But the food was decent. And there were animated animals, ranging from elephants to crocodiles. Which were fun the first time. And my grandchildren might like them a second time….if and when I ever have grandchildren. But I passed on buying a T-shirt. And probably won’t go back anytime in the near future. It’s a mall, for crying out loud. Although others would call it “the wave of the future.”
Notice that in my mild critique of Great Lakes Crossing, I said less about my shopping than about my experience. Which didn’t match the hype….or my expectation. Had I actually bought something and saved several dollars in the process, I might have come home thrilled. But I did not go there to purchase a product. Nor was I invited there to purchase a product. I was invited to participate in a pleasure. Which did beat cleaning the leaves out of the gutter. But not by a lot.
Still, this “enchantment with experience” intrigues me, given the degree to which I find it impacting the church. Increasingly, people come not just to “get something” or “give something,” but to “experience something.” For years, people who studied the church market (the better to instruct marketing dummies like me), said that what people wanted from the church were a wider-range and better-quality of goods and services. Sunday schools for the small ones. Youth groups for the growing (and, potentially, straying ones). Choirs (vocal, bell, handchime, instrumental, folk, soft rock and praise) for the musical ones. Teams for the athletic ones. Support groups for the troubled ones. Growth groups for the searching ones. Social groups for the gregarious ones. Work projects for the handsy ones. Day trips for the antsy ones. And seminars for the studious ones. Every year….more. Every year….better.
Which was a message I heard. But now, I am told, there is another shift. One which is more subtle….less specific….harder to classify….harder, still, to satisfy. People are now coming “to experience something.” And when they do, they are not altogether sure what it was. But they announce a willingness to come back (as they tell me), because they liked the “feel” of the place. Which puts a lot of pressure, don’t you see, on those of us responsible for creating the “feel” of the place….given that we don’t fully understand this phenomenon, and don’t agree 100 percent among ourselves about what a fitting and proper church of Jesus Christ ought to “feel like” in the first place.
But there is one thing I do know. This business of “experiencing church” is never more pronounced than at Christmastime….when people who seldom darken our doors suddenly find themselves streaming through them. Which is fine by me. You will never hear this preacher decrying (or denying) the “C and E crowd,” or the “twicesters” as some of my colleagues call them. Because I, for one, can’t always tell the mildly curious from the deeply devout. And even religious voyeurs, peering through the Christmas Eve darkness from the shadowed corners of the balcony, would appear to be looking for something. Although I doubt that many of them understand the nature of their search, or the depth of their need to be here.
At Duke Chapel, they have already announced (well in advance) that the ushers will close the doors to the 11:00 p.m. service after 1700 persons have been admitted to the sanctuary. This is in response to a would-be congregant (last year) who berated the head usher, screaming: “This is Christmas Eve. You’ve got to let me in. I’ve got my rights. You can’t keep me outta church on Christmas Eve.” I doubt that anybody (usher….preacher….screamer) fully understood what lay behind his behavior….or his need. All I know is that when you are hungry….and somebody tells you there is a two hour wait at the restaurant….more than your stomach will growl.
But (on Christmas Eve) hungry for what? I’m not always sure. Certainly for something old. An old story. Several old songs. An old face. An old faith. Certainly, an old feeling (“I came Christmas Eve, and got that old feeling”). And perhaps (just perhaps) an old assurance….that the timeless verities we trumpet at Christmas (sometimes to the point of spirit-numbing banality) are still verities (meaning still “true”). I’m talking about things like peace, love and joy….light in the dark places….highways in the crooked places….songs in the silent places….those sorts of things. Christmas Eve is the one time of year when the sheep come to be fed yesterday’s food….having remembered that it filled them once….desperately hoping against hope that it will fill them again. And in a world where cruise missiles are falling, impeachment votes are flying, and Marcy Devernay’s list of 20,000 names is longer than Santa Claus’, who can blame them.
But in addition to being hungry for something old, I think they (and we) are also hungry for something deep….perhaps too deep for human telling. I’m talking about a mystery that cannot be explained, so much as entered into (which is another word for “experienced”….which is another word for “felt”). Unlike the late Joe Friday of the L.A.P.D., people come on Christmas Eve wanting more than “just the facts.”
It took me awhile to learn it….but learn it I did….that nobody comes to church on Christmas Eve for an explanation of the incarnation. And when, in a darkened sanctuary we sing “Round yon virgin, mother and child,” no one is interested in debating gynecology or paternity (not that such subjects aren’t important….but, at that moment, hardly appropriate). Whenever people tell me they’re having a hard time “getting Christmas,” they are not talking about a problem with the intellect, but a problem with the emotions.
So what is this mystery that the church would have us enter? Namely, that God has not, will not, and perhaps (if God be true to God’s nature) cannot abandon history. God is not an absentee landlord who lets the old place run down because he doesn’t live there anymore…..doesn’t go there anymore….and doesn’t care what happens there anymore. Rather, God is a stakeholder in history….in humanity….and in the happenings of ordinary human beings like you and me. If Easter is about a God who comes back to collect us at life’s end, then Christmas is about a God who comes to “comfort us” in life’s middle.
How can this be? Well….come and see! That’s the answer of the carols. That’s the answer of the gospels. That’s the answer of the shepherds. That’s the answer of the angels. That’s the answer of the star. And that’s the answer of pretty much everybody in the Gospel of John….from Philip speaking to Nathanael….from the eleven speaking to Thomas….from the blind guy speaking to the Pharisees….and from a five-times-married lady speaking to a bunch of guys who used to pick her up at a local watering hole. Come and see. “O taste and see how gracious the Lord is” (Psalm 34:8). Meaning, move in….draw near….come close….open up….drink it in (first with your eyes, then with your heart).
And how might one do that? Well, it depends on whether you are a kid or a parent. If you are a kid, all it takes is putting on a costume. I mean, which one of us (at least one time in our lives) didn’t don a bathrobe, lace up some sandals, put a crook in our hands or attach some wings to our back, and stand around some straw-filled box with a plastic baby in it. Most of the really good Christmas stories have to do with something silly or sublime that once happened when a bunch of neophyte munchkins answered a casting call for a script that began: “Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way.”
In fact, Sue Ives tells me that 105 kids have signed up to take part in our 4:30 p.m. reenactment on Christmas Eve….meaning that we truly will have a host of angels and (perchance) an entire brigade of kings. We could, I suppose, have multiple Marys. But Kate Wilcox tells me we have but one Mary suit. And we wouldn’t want to open ourselves to the promulgation of a new (and potentially deceiving) doctrine….namely, group childbirth.
But, if there is no costume that fits you and no pageant that requires you, let me invite you to get in touch….not with a childhood memory….but with a parental one. I want you to remember the first time somebody gave you a baby to hold. Your baby to hold. How shriveled it looked. How small it appeared. How fragile it seemed. How proud, excited, humbled, dumbstruck and frightened you felt. Perhaps even to the point of resolving (as one father did) that: “I had better clean up my act and become somebody….because she is somebody.”
What if, on a night of great solemnity, you were to draw nigh to some simple nativity, only to have Mary call you over….with a name….with a nod….or maybe with but the merest movement of a finger, and say: “Yes, Ron, you….why don’t you hold the baby….just for a moment. Because it is your child, you know.”
What would it feel like to hold that much of God’s future for the world….and that much of God’s faith in you….in your very own hands?
Should Mary make the offer, don’t deny it. And, for God’s sake, don’t drop it. For, as Sister Mary Corita once said: “Be, of love, a little more careful than of anything.”
Note: I am indebted to Bill Burnett for sharing the article by Joseph Pine and James Gilmore entitled “Every Business a Stage: Why Customers Now Want Experiences.” Look for it in the July-August issue of Harvard Business Review. I am equally indebted to Peter Gomes and his perceptive understanding of the Christmas Eve congregation, which can be found in his newest work, The Good Book, in a chapter entitled “The Bible and Mystery.” And for those not familiar with Oakland County politics, Marcy Devernay is a highly-publicized provider of female escorts whose “black book” allegedly contains the names of some 20,000 citizens (many of them prominent).
