It is the age-old debate, so commonplace that you could walk into any church in America and be sure that they’ve had an argument about it: what color should the carpets be?

After a recent experience, I believe that I may have finally figured out the one-size-fits-all answer to this question, which has been tearing apart churches and turning its members upon each other like a pack of wild hyenas for the past fifty years.

The correct color?

It’s very simple.

Whatever it is, make sure it’s stained.

I was reflecting upon this recently when the Vine, a new church which I co-pastor along with my wife, held their monthly worship gathering in the lounge of the traditional church that we also pastor: Good Shepherd United Methodist Church.

Among the twenty or so people who gathered that night, there was Susan and her three year old: a very active, autistic child named Mark.

Mark had not been having a good night, and so, perhaps overstimulated by the large number of chatting people, the good food, and all the general hustle and bustle, he began exploring the lounge, accompanied by his trusty friend Goofy, a small plastic action figure who he held proudly like a standard in his right hand.

We managed Mark for most of the evening, successfully passing him from adult to adult, like an ambulatory hyperactive hot potato, until the time for Communion came. The elements were set out on a coffee table, which proved to be an unfortunate decision, as it was at a perfectly inviting height for a curious three year old.

As I was lifting up the bread, I looked down to see, much to my shock, Mark attempting to either baptize Goofy (or give him swimming lessons) in the chalice. I reached down to pick him up, and upset the cup, grape juice pouring over the edge of the coffee table, making a nice purple puddle on the white carpet below.

There was a pause.

Susan rushed to the kitchen, pale with embarrassment, to grab some hot water and soap. I smiled and joked, “Well, if you have anything important to tell me, please do so tonight, because tomorrow all those church ladies are going to kill me”. We then celebrated Communion as Susan, despite our protestations that it really was just fine, scrubbed furiously on the rug below me.

I have rarely met a church that did not say that it wanted to minister with those who are in need. After all, it’s hard to read the Gospels for more than five minutes without understanding that Jesus thought that serving the least of these was a good thing, at least in concept.

I have also heard a lot of churches remark about how, while they want to serve the poor, they also want their walls to remain unmarked, their worship services to be orderly and reverential, and their carpets to be unstained and clean.

Unfortunately, this is as good as saying, “we don’t want to minister with the poor at all.”

As soon as we set up strict boundaries to protect our space (especially our physical space): no loud noises, no coffee in the sanctuary, no marks on the floor, no stains on the carpet, then we might as well just post up a sign saying, “Welcome! (So long as you leave who you are at the door).”

If we are truly to be in “ministry with”, then we don’t get to choose what parts of their lives people bring with them – or what parts of our lives we bring with us. “Ministry with” means that we walk together through each other’s messes. If you are middle class, your sensibilities will be offended: children will act out. Carpets will get stained and walls will get marked. People will use language that might turn the air blue. And in turn, those who you serve with will inevitably be offended by your messes: a need to control, a sense of superiority, a need to work out your middle-class guilt on “poor people”, rather than seeing them simply as people.

It is only in a setting where lives, relationships, walls, and carpets get mixed up, messed up, and stained together, where we all find out that we all are a mess (some of us are just more public about it than others); that true “ministry with” can happen. And it is in those moments – when we open ourselves to teach (and to being taught) what grace and love mean, that true, life-changing community is formed.

So, in short, if you want to minister “with” those on the margins, embrace the stained carpet. It’s the best color anyway.

Editor’s Note: The author did not use the actual  names of church members, and obtained permission from the mother to publish this blog and photo.