HE GLARED IN MY DIRECTION. CLEARLY my presence disturbed her. Turning her head away from me, she looked toward the preacher, concentrating on his message. For her, church was a place for quiet reverence, where the mind could be undisturbed and focused on God.

My husband continued his message. Suddenly the book my son and I had been enjoying dropped from my hands and fell with a smack onto the uncarpeted floor. I leaned over my other son to pick it up. The chair leg noisily scraped the bare floorboards. With a long audible sigh she turned again and glowered at us.

Todd, who was not yet of kindergarten age, noticed the woman's look of disgust and whispered, "Why did she look at us like that, Mommy?"

"Because she would like us to be quiet in Jesus' house," I whispered.

Those whispers earned us another withering look. Todd continued coloring while I quietly turned pages for his little brother. By the end of the service we had endured stares and sighs as each little noise we made reverberated through our little rented upper room. Singlehandedly keeping two children under 3 years of age quiet for 45 minutes each week was not an easy task. If Sister Sourpuss would empathize a little, give an understanding smile or perhaps a helping hand, anticipating the Sabbath would have given me feelings of warmth and joy, not dread.

The Real and the Ideal
Many of us are familiar with similar unfortunate scenarios—unaccepting glares and cold shoulders from congregants who may even be part of our own church family. If you have never experienced such behavior in your church, you are surely blessed with members who are filled with the true spirit of Christ.

Christ was someone who thought that everyone, even children, were priceless and acted accordingly. He wasn't afraid to step away from the patterns of accepted behavior to do things His way—the right way, the compassionate way. By loving humankind—children and adults alike—He made them feel accepted and special. By acknowledging each one individually, He built their self-confidence and resilience in the face of whatever vicissitudes of life they were forced to endure.

But What About Us?
We happily embrace a new family into our congregation or welcome the mother with a cute little girl and a boy who is so handsome in his suit. Yes, we accept them.

But do we extend tokens of Christ's love to those who are less than "cute," those who, in their own ways and in their own needs, somehow make us uncomfortable? Perhaps that someone is wearing earrings or a skirt too short for "real" Christians to wear. Perhaps their baggy clothes fail to meet our standards for proper attire. Perhaps we stare, neglecting to offer a friendly smile, handclasp, or warm greeting because our pewmate is obviously different from us. How do we treat people who are not like us?

What about the sister who was divorced a few months ago? We all know there is "no smoke without fire," so perhaps it would be inappropriate to spend time with her, we reason. It could not have been all her husband's fault. Avoiding her for the time being may be best.

What about the sister who had a stroke a while ago? Her speech is so terribly slow. We know she can't help it. We are glad she is well enough to be back with us, but really—it takes such a long time to have a conversation with her. Perhaps there's little point in starting one in the first place. She is a sweet lady and understands we are very busy. In fact, she says so. And her husband does have such a lot of patience.

Sister Lona Lee is another one. Her husband took his own life just a couple months ago. It was out of the blue—or so it seemed. Perhaps we should look away so that we won't embarrass her. Whatever we say would come out all wrong, because we really don't know exactly what to say. It was all so sudden—he was such a nice person. We don't have a clue about what to say to a member whose spouse commits suicide. Surely the pastor will know exactly what to do and say. He'll take care of it. It's better not to meddle if we don't know exactly what to do.

Building a Better Church
Today my children are grown up, but the memory of that Sabbath from their childhoodstill lingers. Am I any different from Sister Sourpuss? Maybe I could do something each Sabbath to make this day a joy for all who come to my church.

I could offer to sit near the struggling young mother with two wiggly children and help her. I could bring a few pencils and crayons and some pictures for them to color. Cloth picture books and felts would come in handy. Perhaps I could even make it my business to develop a mothers' room to make worship a time of relaxed spiritual nurture for the adults and a delight for the children. The least I can do is to smile at them and tell them how glad I am they came to church, especially because I know it isn't easy to handle young children in church.

I could welcome young people who look like they are having a "bad hair" day and wearing clothes more suitable for a visit to the mall than to church. I could let them know where the young adult Sabbath School class is held, or invite them to join my class. I would be sincere, remembering their names and then letting them know that their presence has been a blessing. Inviting them to stay for lunch might be just the ticket. Obtaining their names and e-mail addresses could help them to be included in activities at a later time.

Making eye contact with those with disabilities is essential to avoid appearing patronizing as well as to avoid missing part of the conversation. If a person is hard of hearing, shouting as if he or she is stupid is hurtful and insulting. Ignoring those who are hard of hearing destroys their inner worth. Carefully formed words, naturally spoken, assist the hard of hearing in their understanding of the conversation as a whole. I will recognize and encourage their caregivers, thanking them for the endless hours they give to carrying out their responsibilities.

For those who have suffered loss, a listening ear may be all that's needed–something to let them know they are being prayed for. Even a midweek phone call could ease some of their sorrows. Playing the avoidance game and doing only the things we are comfortable doing does not help us to grow and leaves the person in need despondent and lonely. For others, time may be the most important asset to share—time to listen to their problems and concerns, to encourage them, or just to pray with them. We can avail ourselves of information about how to understand the needs of those from whom we differ. Then we can do our best to put our knowledge into action.

What Would Jesus Do?
On earth Jesus included people of all races and all levels of intelligence and income. He was inclusive. No one was excluded from His love—not the rich young ruler, nor the widow, nor the sick, nor the children, nor the crowd of more than 5,000, nor the adulterous woman, nor the Pharisee, nor the leper. No one was avoided. Christ was moved with compassion toward all, without exception. Our mission is to follow Christ's example and serve others just as they are.

We, as Christ's modern disciples, should leave our comfort zone, search for the lonely and hurting, and show them genuine friendship: those with disabilities, the struggling divorcée who may be close to despair, the single parent.

Jesus befriended everyone with a need—and we should do likewise—making the church a place of restoration. A respite from the buffeting of the week. A place where love and acceptance can be felt. Where the scars of life are soothed. Where sorrows and regrets are put into perspective.

The church is a place for those with needs, and by sharing with others what we have to give, we will be filled, enabling us to give again and again.

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Tabitha Abel-Cooper is a mother of three teens at varying stages of independence, the wife of a former pastor, and a full-time pediatric nurse.