Last Tuesday

morning, the Archbishop for the Archdiocese of the Armed Forces for our

denomination called and said that he would be passing through our area

later that day and wanted to know if I would be interested in our having

lunch together. Not being one to turn down lunch with an archbishop, particularly

one who is my very good friend, arrangements were made to meet at a local

steak house in nearby Newnan.

I had pulled

into the parking lot just seconds ahead of him. He rolled the window of

his vehicle down and said, "I've changed my mind. I'd like to have

some wings."

"Not a

problem," said I. "Where would you like to go?"

"Hooters,"

said the archbishop.

"Hooters?

Are you sure?" said the lowly parish priest.

So, off we

went to Hooters.

Now, I must

confess that it had been a number of years since I'd been to Hooters.

When I was in seminary in Florida, I went all the time, since it was near

to the place I stayed. The waitresses were pretty, tanned, wore T-shirts

and shorts, and were very friendly. But, hey, it was Florida. Everybody,

at least the young women, fit that general description.

It wasn't until

I suggested to a Pentecostal minister friend that we eat there one night

that it dawned on me that there was anything wrong with Hooters. He absolutely

refused to go in the door saying that his wife would kill him if he did.

I reported

the whole incident to my wife, who threatened to kill me if I went back

to Hooters. Being the man of the house and the priest of my family, as

well as being a former Marine, I did what any red-blooded American man

would do. I complied.

A few years

ago, Hooters attempted to put a restaurant in nearby Fayetteville and

a good many local pastors got up in arms. I thought the whole affair was

blown out of proportion and wrote an article asking, "If Jesus came

to Fayetteville, would he go to Hooters, eat oysters, and drink a beer?"

I concluded

that Jesus would likely go to Hooters, might eat oysters, and would probably

have a beer, especially if they didn't serve wine.

The article

got me into a lot of trouble with quite a few pastors, some of whom challenged

my morality, my motives, and my good sense. I did, however, get a V.I.P.

invitation to attend the grand opening of the Fayetteville Hooters but

I was out of town and didn't get to go. Besides, my wife didn't give permission.

So, on Tuesday,

knowing that my wife would never want me to disobey an archbishop, there

we were, the archbishop and I, in clerical collars, sitting at a table

in Hooters eating wings and eating a barbecue sandwich. And drinking unsweetened

tea, I might add. I don't know for certain, but my guess is that we looked

a bit out of place, two priests in Hooters.

And, sure enough,

the waitresses were pretty, tanned, wore T-shirts and shorts, and were

very friendly. Over the course of the meal, two of the young ladies, delightful

people who shall remain nameless in case they might be ashamed to be seen

in the company of priests, struck up a conversation with us in the course

of their waitressing duties.

Before the

meal was over, we had talked about church, about Episcopalians, Catholics,

Baptists, and Methodists (one of the girls was Catholic, the other Methodist),

about water baptism, about church music, and about knowing Jesus. One,

who hadn't found a church home since moving here from another state, asked

about our church and gave me her name and address so that I could send

her some information, which I did on the following day. I hope she comes

and brings all her friends.

I'm pretty

sure that I will catch some more grief from people, especially from those

who believe that Christians, especially ministers, and most especially

priests, have no business going into a place like Hooters. Of course you

have to understand the archbishop, too. He rides a motorcycle and regularly

goes to biker bars to make the presence of Christ known among people whom

the Church, as a whole, has scorned. In fact, he recently held a "blessing

of the bikes" day at his cathedral in Spartanburg, S.C., in which

over 60 bikers attended and had their motorcycles blessed.

I blessed a

Harley-Davidson myself a few months ago. Not too long afterward, the bike

blew a tire at 80 miles per hour. No one was hurt. I'd call that a blessed

bike.

I know that

most respectable pastors and congregants would shun a place like Hooters

or a bar where bikers hang out. Most Sunday School teachers and deacons

would never be caught dead in such places.

But Jesus would

go there, of that I am certain. He made a practice of going where respectable

religious people would never go and of embracing those whom the religious

folk would never embrace.

So, I think,

once in a while, I'll go hang out where Jesus would go, since, after all,

I am his representative. And I think I'll finally have my wife's permission.

[Father David

Epps is Rector of Christ the King Charismatic Episcopal Church in the

Coweta/Fayette County area of south metro Atlanta. He may be contacted

at 770-252-2428, at [email protected] or at www.ctkcec.org.]