EVER BEEN TO EVART?

I think they spell it, EEE-vart.  Evart is one of those towns you imagine well before landing on its main street.  In our case, Evart was a relief for two frozen, numbed bike guys.  The morning had passed in 41 degree chills that reduced my feet to two stumps of numbness.  I sometimes encourage the troops by making up lyrics--helps take our minds off the cold and hill climbs.  But with a name like EEE-vart, your lyrical options are limited.  Best I could come up with was the marine melody that the sargeant sings to frightened recruits as they march in formation . . .

We are going to EEE-vart

Don't eat beans or you will ________.

Anyway, we weren't expecting much from Evart--we'd been through hundreds of small towns before.  But no sooner had we coasted down a slight hill and into the main drag  when two smiling gals, a kid brother, a sad-looking dog, a tall man in a bright yellow shirt and disarming smile, and a confused guy wearing "Mexico" on his shirt accosted us in the street.  The cheerleader types flashed cardboard placards that read, "STOP AND SAVE" and "CASH MOB."  An I-Phone hooked to an amplifier boomed out Beetles tunes.  The Mexican guy did nothing just swayed, his eyes closed.

The mob befriended us, stuck fake gangsta dollars in our hands and said we could use the money if we ate at the diner they stood in front of.  So we did.  I have never seen a diner so filled with human bodies.  Apparently, this hodgepodge team had worked their PR magic on the whole town of Evart.  We finally managed to grab two stools at the counter.

I'm finishing up my reuben on rye when Mr. Yellow strides in with his clipboard.  What's this all  about?  I asked him.  "We love our town--so we encourage people to discover it.  Each week we do something special with one of the businesses in town.  We want folks to get excited about our town and invest in it.  Our whole community participates in one way or another and everybody wins."  Clearly, the guy was electric with energy and enthusiasm for his little town.   And when he learned that we were headed further east, he pointed us to the Rail-to-Trails bike path that was right behind the diner and promised that it would take us nearly all the way to our day's destination.  Then he shot me an infectious grin. "We're a great town; and we're doing our boy scout duty of telling others about it!"

Couldn't help but but overhear another Evart that happens under our noses every weekend. I wonder what would happen if we were as passionate and excited about worship as EEE-var-ites are of their little town.  Sometimes I've observed folks attending worship as if they were doing their religious duty.  As if God should be pleased because they had suffered through another dull service.  Annie Dilliard once said something to the effect that if we really became aware of the powerful, even dangerous presence of the God we worship in such a ho hum way each week, we'd install seatbelts in the pews.

So this Sunday pull an EEE-vaarts.  Put your big hitter greeters out there in their cut-offs jiving to jazzed up Amazing Grace while flashing cardboard signs that say, "WHOA!  YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE WHAT'S HAPPENING INSIDE!  and "OUR GOD ROCKS!"  Then have the ushers doing their own polka jig of joy as they welcomed confused, stunned, estranged people into their worship service.

Now that would be worship worth checking out.