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Dear Shiloh Family,

It was the first time we had been to the quaint little restaurant. The privately-owned establishment was tucked away in the corner of a strip-mall just outside of a small town, in other words…a hole-in-the-wall. The highly anticipated visit was prompted by reliable recommendations. We were hesitantly excited.

As Anita and I entered the parking lot, it seemed a bit odd that there was only one other vehicle, and apprehension immediately clouded our perceptions. In fact, the lack of visible lights, and signage, made it difficult to determine if anyone was in the building. However, we plodded on in. It’s amazing what one will do for a good meal.

Entering the building was akin to walking into a scene from The Godfather. The temperature didn’t change much from the frigid outdoors, only one small corner of the seating area was lit, there was no background music, and restaurant staff was nowhere to be seen. My common sense screamed…leave, run! I seem to remember my wife’s subtle comment, “Let’s get out of here.” My desire to satisfy my palate and stuff my gut spoke louder than internal intuition. 

Finally, out of the misty darkness, the waitress, dressed in jeans and a ragged sweatshirt appeared and presented our menus. Although it was loaded with wonderful choices, I chose the safe route and ordered a simple sausage and cheese omelet, biscuit, and gravy. Anita was more adventurous and went with chicken fingers, mashed potatoes, and green beans. 

I choose not to bore you with excessive culinary details, but ulterior motives compel me to mention a few. My omelet arrived garnished with peppers, onions, and other unidentifiable objects. I tactfully commented that my order was for an item a bit less decorated. The kind lady advised me that I could just scrape off what I didn’t want. I was stunned speechless. My sweetheart’s chicken fingers resembled chicken jerky. Her eyes widened as she tapped her brown hockey-puck-like biscuit on the plate. I offered to get my electric filet knife from the truck. Fortunately, my runny gravy softened the bread a bit. In the words of Pastor David, “Pastor Derrell don’t cull nothin.” I almost made an exception. Mrs. Anita donated most of hers back to the chef.
 
I know this is humorous, and I may have taken a few liberties of hyperbole, but you get the point. The food was somewhat edible, but we will not go back, nor will we refer any of our friends or family. 

Psalm 122:1: I was glad when they said to me, "Let us go into the house of the Lord." NKJV

I wonder if people come to our church searching for a great spiritual meal and overall fulfilling spiritual experience, and if they were glad they came. Are they warmly greeted in the parking lot, vestibules, and hallways? Does someone escort them to their seat with welcoming hospitality as spiritual tunes settle them. More importantly, does our music and preaching feed them with the Word of God? Will folks exit with intention to return and invite others to come as well? What will be their story about Shiloh? Most of all, what will be their story about the Savior? 

To what extremes are we willing to go for souls? Little things matter. Do we diligently plan, and arrive early to assure those plans are completed. Do we wholeheartedly believe that our divine purpose is to serve God through serving others? Remember, our efforts or lack thereof may eternally change someone’s life.

Luke 14:21-23: 21 So that servant came and reported these things to his master. Then the master of the house, being angry, said to his servant, 'Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in here the poor and the maimed and the lame and the blind.' 22 And the servant said, 'Master, it is done as you commanded, and still there is room.' 23 Then the master said to the servant, 'Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled. NKJV

PREACH/TEACH/REACH

God bless you all,
Pastor Derrell