Visiting an Embassy by Jesse Johnson

Last week, in order to apply for a visa, I had to visit the embassy of a nation that I’m visiting on a future missions trip. Fortunately I live in Washington, D.C., so this trip consisted of a thirty-minute drive from my house, followed by an extended search for parking. This was my first visit to a foreign nation’s embassy, so I didn’t really know what to expect.

I was surprised at how many embassies were close together. Scores and scores of them were built next to each other, side-by-side. Each was different, with their own kind of fencing, their own security, and of course their own flag. They shared parking, and they shared a zip code, but that was about all they had in common.

My destination was a particular embassy representing a country that I’d been to several times before (but never to their embassy). I buzzed at the gate, stated my business, and was then let into a security screening room. After I successfully convinced them I had a legitimate need to be there, they let me into their courtyard, and finally into the building itself.

When I opened the door, I as struck by how…how foreign the place was. The first thing I noticed was the smell. It smelled exactly like the country smelled. I don’t know if it is the food, the paint, or an air freshener, but breathing the air took me right back to the months I had spent there nearly 20 years ago. The smell brought with it memories of the house I stayed in there, the churches I’d preached in, and the people I knew there.

The second thing that grabbed my attention was the décor. The paint, the flooring, the kind of chairs, even the fliers on the wall—they were all directly from this nation. The colors—so common in that country, are certainly so foreign here. The only place in the world I’d ever seen chairs like that is in their airport. The wall had fliers on it advertising cellphone companies that don’t even exist in the US.

Third—the language. While the clerks spoke to me in English, they were speaking to each other in their own language, which (although I hadn’t heard it spoken in years) made me remember phrases in it that I had long forgotten. The background music would never be heard on an American radio station.

The entire place was other-worldly. When I was done, the gate buzzed and swung closed behind me, I stepped back into my own world. My car was down the street, the smell was gone, and I was back in the United States. That embassy represented a place so far away, but also right next to me, just on the other side of the wall.

This experience gave me a new appreciation for a goal of the church. Christians are of course ambassadors (Eph 6:20; 2 Cor 5:20). But in a deeper sense, the church is our embassy. When Sunday comes and the church gathers, it is a collection of ambassadors coming home. We are not in heaven yet, but as much as we are able we strive to have church represent heaven on earth.

Christians talk differently than the world, sing differently, dress differently, and just are different. Non-believers come in, and they don’t fit in. I’ve heard people give that as a critique of the church (as in, “churches should sing fewer songs that non-believers don’t understand” kind of critique). But the truth is, we are other worldly. As much as we are able, each and every church should be a sort of embassy for the true and eternal worship service in heaven.

People should come to church and be struck by how different it is. They should walk through the doors and be taken back, taken away, and taken up. They should hear a familiar language, see familiar faces, and sing about a familiar savior, all the while knowing that in a few hours they will head back out the door, to their car, and back into the world.

Of course churches fall short of representing heaven. We fail, and allow the world to sneak in through all kinds of subtle ways. But it helps to be reminded that we are ambassadors, and our church is where we come to be reminded of what are true country is going to be like.