Of Birthdays and Anonymity

Sunday, January 16, was my birthday. I turned 33 (so I now enter into my “Messianic” year). I was out in Palm Springs for the weekend, spending time with my extended family. Because I knew I was going to be there on a Sunday, I investigated going to a local church. The idea in my head was that I would wake up early, sneak out of the house we were renting and enjoy a quiet, anonymous Sunday as just a “normal” worshipper.

It didn’t work out that way.

I voiced my desire to get up and go to church on Sunday to my wife (however, I didn’t say anything about wanting to go alone) and she said great, she and our two kids would accompany me. I grieved the loss of time to myself for approximately three minutes and then was fine with it. This is actually good, I thought, our family can attend church for a Sunday out of the public eye; this will be nice. Then my parents who coordinated the weekend stay got wind of our plan and wanted to come along. This was quickly changing from how I originally viewed my quiet, simple Sunday morning. Still, as long as I was no longer going solo, what’s a couple more people added to the mix?

So we got up on my birthday morning, had a quick breakfast, got dressed and drove over for the 8:30 service at Palm Desert Community Presbyterian Church. We arrived just five minutes before the service started so my parents went in to save us a seat while Jen and I dropped Jeremiah and Riley off at the nursery. When we arrived in the narthex, an usher met us and said to me, “You’ve been described, follow me,” and led us down the aisle to the very front row, apparently the only space my parents could find four seats in the packed sanctuary (it was the peak season and a holiday weekend, after all).

So there I was. Not only was I not alone, but I was front and center, not in the back pew where I would have naturally gravitated. But the “fun” was just getting started.

The prelude (beautiful by the way, as was all the music) was just ending as the usher led us to our prime seats, and as we sat down the pastor began his welcome and announcements, walking down the steps from the chancel area to be among the people (nice touch). After he said good morning, he walked right over to Jen and me, stuck out his hand and said, “Welcome, what’s your name?”

Now, once I had seen how my fantasy of anonymity had slowly been peeled away (not being by myself, sitting in the front row, etc.) I made the decision to have a good attitude about the whole thing. At this point, I was sitting there with somewhat of a bemused smile on my face, just soaking in the irony. So when the pastor approached me and singled me out, I wasn’t annoyed like I thought I would be and volunteered my name fairly easily. Jen did the same when she was asked but then, apparently determining that the spotlight that shone on me was still too dim, she mouthed to the pastor these words: “It’s his birthday today.”

This pastor, who was very much an extrovert, very much a people person, very much an individual who I believe probably thrives in the spotlight (and I mean that in a good way), took this new information and ran with it: “Ladies and gentlemen, I have just learned that it is Paul’s birthday today, let’s sing happy birthday to him!” The organist played, and the choir and the congregation and my family and the pastor all sang to me.

You’d think that was it, but there’s more.

At the conclusion of the announcements, they moved into a time of standing and greeting one another (the introvert’s favorite part of any worship service). While this was going on, my Dad thought it would be good idea to crank things up another notch. He approached the gregarious minister and informed him that the birthday boy (“Can you believe it!”) was a pastor too, visiting from a Presbyterian church in Los Alamitos. Yeah, you guessed it: at the conclusion of the greeting time, I was on my feet being introduced as the birthday boy who is also a pastor (a question about how tall I am was also thrown in for good measure).

Anonymity abolished. Sigh.

C.S. Lewis wrote that one of the appeals of atheism, for him, was that it was a worldview that satisfied his desire to be left alone. If there was a God, Lewis had the opinion that this God was a “transcendental Interferer;” a God who would refuse to keep his distance, a God who would mess with his life.

My birthday cravings for anonymity sprang from this same desire to not be interfered with. The events that subsequently transpired served as a reminder to me that the God I believe in is a God that doesn’t work that way. God, by nature, is relational: three persons in one Being; and praise God that he did not choose to stay anonymous and only relate within the Godhead. Instead, assuming flesh, God entered into the messiness of human history.

I know I’m called to be relational too, and I’m largely okay with that; in fact, like most people I have a deep-seated desire to be known. But sometimes (alright, most of the time) I just want to slip in the back door, sit in the back row, and disappear. Still, I’m thankful God loves me enough not to leave me alone.

Keep interfering with my life God, I need it.