The Wanderer for Wonderwhat (8)

(Parts 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17)


A long time after that fateful day…
The Wanderer was racing down the hallway of the “Big Room”, trying to get to his office for one last glance at his notes before he stood up to teach. As he rounded the corner, he almost walked right into a woman who was standing halfway into the hallway. He moved to the left of her, making as graceful a dodge as he could, and realized that she wasn’t the only one there. The woman was actually the end of a line of women, who were waiting to get into the restroom.
“There’s a line for the bathroom?” The Wanderer thought to himself. Then, he noticed there was a line of two men waiting for the men’s room.
For just a moment, a surge of panic swept over the Wanderer, and he re-traced his steps back down the hallway, and ducked into the empty “nursing mother’s” room. He stood in the darkness, and looked through the two-way glass at the Big Room.
“Where did all these people come from?” The Wanderer thought. A creeping sense of déjà vu perplexed his mind, and he realized he felt similar to the day he left the church as he’d known it behind.
“How do we take care of all these people? Who’s in charge of this?”

The Wanderer left the dark room, and again moved down the hallway toward the coffee house, and out toward the offices.
“I have an office. It’s expected that I have an office. How did I end up with an office?”

As he opened his office door, he noticed it was occupied. His brother was sitting in the chair to the side of his desk.
“Mind if I sit in here for a moment?” asked his brother.
“Not at all.” Said the Wanderer as he eased himself into his chair behind his desk.

“I have a desk.”

“Lotta’ people here today.” Said his brother, looking out the window. “They just keep coming in too.”
“Probably 200 in the first service, and from the looks of it, second will be full too.” Said the Wanderer, also looking out the window.
“How’d this happen?” the Wanderer asked, squinting his eyes.
“Not sure, but I do know it’s all your fault. It was your idea to start a church.” Said his brother. Then, mimicking a whiney voice he said “I hate church, lets start a different kind of church…it’ll be fun!”

They both laughed.

“I didn’t think it would get this big. Who knew so many people would like this idea.” The Wanderer shrugged.
“Doesn't everyone know that we don't know what we're doing?” his brother's trailed off.
“But see…to me that just means it’s not about us, right? I mean: if it were, it would be a debacle. But this has a life that has nothing to do with who we are. This is exactly what we were hoping for, something that had no religious agenda, no egos to feed; a place where anyone is accepted. No hang ups on church subculture stuff…just real people loving Jesus. It’s really happening, and there seems to really be a need beyond my own personal angst. It must be something God’s doing, because screw-ups like us couldn’t have done this.” His own words began to encourage the Wanderer.

It was true; this growth had come from no design of theirs. People were coming from all directions, drawn to the same simplicity that had drawn the Wanderer to begin with. They came from high-church backgrounds to no church backgrounds. They came young, old and middle aged. They were well dressed and dressed down. Tattoos and piercings sat next to gray hair and ties.

All of them unique, but all of them hungry for something real.
“How did we get here? How did this happen?” the Wanderer thought, watching from across the court as some leather clad bikers entered the door to the Big Room.