At church yesterday I sat next to Warren. Warren is 50 years old and had never been to our church. In fact, Warren had never been to church.

I learned that Warren is a recovering drug addict and alcoholic and now has sclerosis of the liver. He was sitting next to his mother Maggie who had prayed for him for many, many years. Maggie held Warren’s hand like I imagined she did when he was a little boy.

Sitting next to Warren gave me a fresh perspective of a place so very familiar to me – my own church – for twenty years. I am on the inside getting a glimpse of what it looks like from the outside.

I found myself rooting for my church.

I found myself hoping that that service would be at the top of its game – that the pastor’s message was the best he had ever shared, that the music would be familiar, melodic, and touch the heart as only music can, that the prayers would be concise, personal and meaningful to Warren and give him a glimpse of God’s forgiveness and love.

When it was time for the offering I hoped that Warren didn’t think this was just somebody else after his money. I wanted Warren to sense that all those sitting around him in nicer clothes were sinners just like him, and that God saw something more important than the price tag on the label.

I found myself wondering if Warren would ever come back.

In this Christmas season there will be a Warren who is listening to your station for the first time.

If you were sitting next to Warren while listening to your station what would you root for?

How would you feel if Warren heard the 499th best song instead of a song everyone loves and sings along with?

How would you feel if Warren felt talked down to, corrected, and made to feel that he wasn’t good enough? What if he felt instructed rather than inspired?

What if Warren felt like an outsider? And felt like your station was designed for insiders?

Well, today is a new day, particularly in the Christmas season. And Warren is listening.