24/05/2026
By Pst. Fines Mazuba Hamatanga
When Church Warmth Is Only a Program
A Visitor’s Reflection on Hospitality, Ushers, and the Way We Treat Strangers
How was church today?
Today I visited a church I will not mention for security and sensitivity reasons. Let us just say, the angels know the location.
I went quietly, without introducing myself as a pastor. I wanted to experience church like an ordinary visitor. I wanted to sit, observe, be preached to, listen, and feel the atmosphere the way a stranger would feel it.
And awe mwandi, I experienced it properly.
When I arrived, no one greeted me. No one asked if I was a visitor. No one seemed to notice that there was a strange face among them. Even the ushers, who should be the first face of warmth in the house of God, were busy chatting. Others on their phones .
I had to tell them, “I am a visitor,” before they could usher me, without asking me my name or talk to me, couldn’t even ask me where I was coming from.
That alone taught me something.
Truth be told, I expected someone to notice me as a stranger. I expected that one person would look at me and say, “This face is new among us.” But nothing happened. Maybe I was expecting too much of what I teach my church.
Then I began to think deeper. Maybe the problem is not only that visitors are not noticed. Maybe the members themselves do not know one another well enough to notice who is new. Because where members truly know each other, a visitor naturally stands out. But where everyone is a stranger to everyone, even a visitor can quietly become part of the furniture.
Then came the visitor announcement.
It was time to receive visitors, but I decided not to stand. Not because I was not a visitor, but because I wanted to continue my research. I wanted to see how the whole drama would unfold.
My fellow visitors stood.
Suddenly, the church became warm.
Smiles came out. Hands were stretched. A song was sung. People looked friendly. For a moment I said, “Ah, so warmth is available. It is just activated by announcement!”
That is when it hit me: sometimes church warmth is only a program.
It is in the program to smile, but not in the lifestyle. It is in the order of service to welcome visitors, but not in the culture of the church. The warmth appears when the program item begins, and shortly after the program item ends, the warmth also fades away.
After church, I waited for that sweet announcement: “Visitors, please remain behind for lunch.”
Awe mwe, it did not come.
So I lingered around a bit. I slowed down my movements. I gave the atmosphere another chance. I moved slowly like someone checking network signal.
Still nothing.
Ni choyuma.
That is how I slowly glided away like the Holy Spirit had whispered, “My son, go home.”
But I told myself, “No, I am a senior member in the church. I cannot takata just like that. I will come back again and observe more. I need to see how we really treat visitors.”
The funny thing is, if they had known I was a pastor, maybe the treatment would have changed. Maybe I would have received a holy smile, an executive handshake, and possibly mineral water with the label removed for protocol.
But that is exactly why I sometimes choose not to reveal my identity in a new place. I want to know how we treat ordinary people. I want to know how we receive someone who has no title, no position, no introduction, and no platform.
Because sometimes we pretend when we know someone’s status.
But positions and titles are not the worth of a person.
A human being does not become valuable because they are a pastor, elder, officer, professional, dignitary, or guest speaker. Every person who walks into the house of God carries the image of God. Every stranger has a soul. Every visitor matters.
The beauty is that I know my own church. I grew up there. I know the systems, the people, the programs, and the culture. And perhaps, if I am honest, maybe this is exactly what we also do to other visitors when they come among us.
That is the painful value of being a visitor. You only truly understand the value of hospitality when you become the visitor yourself.
And when you are in a place where you cannot even hear or understand the language being spoken, the loneliness becomes deeper. You are seated among people, but you feel outside. You are in church, but somehow you feel like you are watching church from a distance.
This is what I always tell my church: the church is also a service provider.
Not in a commercial sense, but in the way we receive, care, guide, and serve people. Every serious service provider understands the power of reception. You do not put a tired, angry, emotionally unavailable person at the front desk to receive other tired, wounded, and heavy-laden people.
That is why I tell my church: choose beautiful people to stand as ushers.
And by beauty, I do not mean complexion, height, hairstyle, suit quality, or how someone walks when the choir is singing. I mean warmth. I mean a smile. I mean emotional availability. I mean people who can intentionally make others feel seen.
Ushers play a very serious role in the branding of the church. Sometimes the name people give your church is not based on the sermon, the choir, or the building. It is based on how they were received at the door.
Please, do not choose ushers who are heavy-laden to receive people who may also be heavy-laden. And if you are an usher and that week you are heavy-laden, please ask to be excused. It is better to rest than to transfer your burden to visitors at the door.
Today taught me a lot.
If someone is not grounded, that cold experience can become their last Sabbath in church. Someone may come carrying pain, discouragement, loneliness, questions, or a quiet desire to reconnect with God. But if they are ignored, left alone, and made to feel invisible, they may conclude that even God’s people are not interested in them.
That is dangerous.
We can preach powerful sermons, sing beautiful songs, run organized programs, and still lose souls at the door.
Let us not only play tradition. Let us not only follow programs. Let us not only wait for the item called “welcoming visitors.” Let us be genuinely warm. Let us be intentionally hospitable.
The first sermon is not always preached from the pulpit. Sometimes it is preached before the preacher stands up.
It is preached by the smile at the entrance.
It is preached by the handshake.
It is preached by the seat offered.
It is preached by the member who says, “Welcome, we are glad you came.”
It is preached by the usher who understands that they are not just arranging people; they are receiving souls.
Hospitality is not decoration. It is ministry.
May our churches become warmer.
May our ushers become more intentional.
May our members know each other well enough to notice a stranger.
May our hospitality move from announcement to culture.
May our warmth become a lifestyle, not just a program.
Because Christ did not die for positions.
He died for people. Let’s be mission oriented!
