Friends,

On Sunday I was surprised that several dedicated St. Lukers did not know I always try to keep a jar of pickles from the farmers market in the pockets hidden in my vestments. This has been a thing for a while, so I thought I’d get us on the same page.

Whenever I greet a newcomer, I pull out the jar of pickles, give it to them and thank them for joining us. They almost always say something like, “What’s this?” I always respond sincerely with, “your welcome pickles, of course. We are glad you are here!” After a moment of silence and uncomfortable eye contact I add, “The pickles are homemade and the best I’ve had. Come back next week and let me know what you think!” You’d be surprised how effective this strategy is. Over the summer when a family returned to church after checking us out the previous week the father told me it was because the pickles were that good. He was deadpan and his delivery was perfect.

This strategy exists because a couple of years ago Etsy suggested I buy a giant brick of hyperinflated Venezuelan currency for very little real money, and of course how could I say no? For the next couple of years, I stuffed my cassock pockets with thick stacks of these bills, and I would “pay” the acolytes with them. They loved it. Apparently other people liked buying up this worthless currency too and, at least on Etsy, the hyperinflated currency has surged in price, so I’ve stop circulating them so aggressively.

I tried a few other things like, like keeping canned lattes to hand out. Those were popular, but Costco stopped carrying them and no longer became cost effective, so then I did cold brew coffee, which no one liked. Then I forgot I ordered a case of pickles for the annual BBQ from Oliver, the farmer who runs the farmer’s market. Of course, I had to honor my agreement and bought up his pickles, so I started handing those out to tremendous effect.

I went into this with no real goal or strategy, but I think I might be onto something. It’s silly, which is part of why it works, but I don’t think it’s the main reason. This is what I notice: when anyone comes to Church for the first time, they are looking for signs of whether they will be welcome. We live in an exceptionally divisive time, and regardless of political affiliation or intention, everyone participates in virtue signaling. This can be done intentionally or unintentionally, overtly or discretely, but it’s pretty much everywhere, especially in Churches.

When Kate is playing her prelude, an usher may pull me aside and say something like, “that’s Bobby Joe sitting on the right and they are here for the first time with their cousin Polly.” and I go and introduce myself, and we find ourselves in a beautiful moment where they don’t know what tribe I belong to and I don’t know what tribe they belong to. They are probably subconsciously looking for clues as to what sort of place this is and if they will belong, and they just need to wait for that sign. So, I walk up, we exchange niceties, and I hand them their pickles. I suspect that in that moment they were expecting me to fill the void in our virtue signally. Maybe a welcome card outlining our values or something like that. Of course, much would be read into the messaging, our tribe would be inferred, and then they would convince themselves whether they belong.

Instead, they get an unlabeled mason jar of pickles, with a verbal message that they are welcome. Rather than hinting at what sort of place we are, we offer something unexpected with the hope that people will stick around with the assurance that they belong.

Blessings,

Nick