All through my growing up years, my family went to the same
small Baptist church. My parents still
do, and I expect still sit in the exact place they always have. It is the kind
of church where the Sunday school room that was spruced up over twenty years
ago is still referred to as the ‘new room’, but the couple who started coming
three weeks earlier feel like they’ve been there forever and are family. The service always starts quite late because
no one, pastor included, can ever seem to stop the conversation they are having.
You may have scrolling announcements on the big screen to
keep you informed about events at your church.
At ours, people just called them out from where they were seated. Now to be clear, announcements were basically anything
you wanted to say, from letting the church know you’re feeling nervous about an upcoming
appointment, to a pause to sing Happy Birthday to someone, if it seemed
appropriate. One week, a man in the
church spoke up to mention that he had a rock in his yard that he needed
to move and it was a bit big for him to take care of on his own. Every man in the church, and I mean every
single one from young to certifiably ancient, showed up in his back yard to
move that rock. They could have lifted
his home and walked it down the street.
That is just the kind of people that did community at our little church.
I have been thinking about that sweet community of believers
lately.
The thinking started when I listened to a lady at my work
speak about how nice it is these days to go to church and be anonymous.
A week or so ago we went to ‘camp day’ at the camp two of my
children will be working at this summer.
It is the day the grounds and activities are open for anyone at all to
come explore. It’s a fabulous idea. Camp reminds us about the best parts of
childhood and the value in making time for intentional conversations with kids.
We also need to be encouraged that sweet
and simple summers still happen when we go outside and turn off our phones.
Anyway, while I was there I saw a man who I haven’t seen in
forever. When I was a child he went to
that same small Baptist church and brought as much character to that place
as the water-stained ceiling tiles and the sanctuary windows, likely more. He was a burst of holy passion in a place
filled with the quietly reserved. I
loved him. One of my brothers could
mimic the way he called out “Halleluia” and “Amen, Amen” perfectly. He seemed old to me then, so I was ridiculously
thrilled to see that he lives still, unchanged from my memory. When I was seventeen, fresh out of high
school and ready to leave that small church and my home for university, he
placed a hand on each of my shoulders and looked me squarely in the eyes and
said, “It might get hard. We’ll be
praying for you every day.”
He reminded me of that each summer when I went home and I
even got a sweet letter once to encourage me and tell me he and his wife were
still praying. I was deeply impacted by
a life lived out of a pure and simple love for God and others. I wanted to say hello to him and thank you
at camp day. But, when I looked in his
eyes and squeezed his hand, the recognition was all gone. So I just smiled and wished him well. It may be we meet up in heaven next. There will be a longer line to say thank you
there, I imagine.
And that is why we can’t go to church and be anonymous. Things do get hard. We need each other. We need to see, and be seen. We need to be the people who are committed to
care, to encourage, to walk alongside when it is easy and especially when it is
not.
At the church we go to now, life got really tough this past week
for a sweet family. Unexpectedly, they
are now in their worst of days. On
Sunday, our church in response, did two things very well.
First, we worshiped.
Worship is the prayer that changes everything. It reminds that God is in control. He is real, and true, and good, and faithful, and
close.
Second, we prayed. And I
just know that many in the congregation have been doing that ever since. Like the sweet man from my childhood, they understand that when hard times press in, the heavy lifting
happens on our knees. I honestly believe
if we could glimpse even for a moment, how the armies of heaven move in
response to our prayers, we might never get up.
If you find yourself in Corner Brook, Newfoundland, spend a
Sunday morning in a little church with red doors in the center of town. You’ll be glad you did. More importantly, find yourself some people who
will put their hand on your shoulder, people you can never be anonymous
with.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” Jeremiah 29:11-13
