For years, I’ve been taking our sons to an eye doctor in town. It’s the same one I went to as a child, and I’ve never had any complaints.
But the last time we went for an appointment, something felt off. Then, when I ordered extra contact lenses for my son, they had them shipped to the office instead of to our home. At a time when I can have almost anything delivered directly to my house, I was a little frustrated.
It took me almost a week to find a way to get to the office to pick the order up, especially since you had to go during business hours.
I politely expressed my disappointment over the phone, and I felt brushed off. There was no apology or explanation. It just wasn’t a big deal to them. I get it. They have more important problems to handle. But that extra hassle mattered to me. The lack of concern on their part frustrated me. The office might provide fine medical care, but if I can’t count on them to care about an inconvenience to me, I can take our business elsewhere. So, I will.
It might seem like a weak reason to decide to leave a medical office. After all, I had no objection to the actual medical care. But we all make decisions based on those interactions that make us feel unvalued and unseen.
I was thinking about how often people share with me their reasons for leaving a particular parish or even the Catholic Church. You might assume that people leave over bigger, more fundamental issues. That certainly happens. But I’m often struck by the fact that the stories I hear are focused on seemingly smaller—more easily fixable—concerns.
Parents tell me that they went to a baptism class, and the instructor didn’t show up.
People in the pews around them glared at—or even corrected—their children.
The parking attendants were rude.
And on and on.
So many complaints reflect a sense that people don’t feel seen or welcome or valued. It’s not that they are leaving because they think the Church is fundamentally flawed. It’s that they personally don’t feel included.
I understand that. The truth is that we should go where we feel most welcome and at home.
The good news is that we, as members of the Body of Christ, have the power to shape the experience of those around us. We can scoot over in the pew to make room for those arriving after us. If the child sitting behind us jostles us or squeals during Mass, we can give them—and their tired parents—a big smile at the Sign of Peace. If the drivers parked near our car are anxious to get out of the lot right away after Mass, we can wait a few minutes and let them leave first. There are a thousand things we can do to help make our church a more welcoming one for others.
And that gives me hope. How wonderful that we each have the power to have an impact on others’ faith experience. Maybe by helping others feel more seen and valued, we can open a door to help them continue to grow in faith—as we grow in ours, too.
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