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It was one of the most memorable worship
experiences of my whole life. It was the first Sunday after
Casey was born. We were brand new parents, overwhelmed with
emotion, an exhilarating mixture of joy and fear, gratitude
and uncertainty. We are a church-going family. It’s just who
we are. Long before I finally answered the call into
ministry, Bridget and I made our way every Sunday morning to
a place where we could sing the songs and pray the prayers
that would tend to the aches and pains of the bodies and
souls of the friendly faithful. It is just who we are.
So on this first Sunday of this major
milestone in our young lives, we wanted to go to church. We
planned to attend the Presbyterian church across the street,
figuring that a bit of anonymity might do us well those
opening days of parenthood. And so we meekly entered as
strangers into the sanctuary of our neighbors. The next
sixty minutes would become some of the most meaningful and
memorable moments of worship I have ever had in my life. But
here is the deal. I don’t remember anything about the
sermon. It might have been the most powerful sermon ever
preached. It might have contained the very word God had
wanted me to hear for years, a word that might have changed
the direction of my life or given me the peace I seek to
know in my heart of hearts. But I remember not a word of it.
Not a single word. (Truth be told, we were both far too
preoccupied with every sound and squirm that our new
nine-pound bundle of joy was making to pay attention to much
else.) In fact, neither of us remembers a single song we
sang or a prayer that was prayed that day. And yet I tell
you that that worship experience is one I will never, ever
forget.
So what was so memorable about that
Sunday in that sanctuary? Being there. Just being there. At
this major milestone moment in our young family’s life, we
just needed to be there. We needed to be among others who
lifted their voices in praise and bowed their heads in
prayer. Just being there, we felt at home in a place we had
never been before. We felt part of the family among perfect
strangers. It is hard to explain, but we knew it was where
we needed to be. We just needed to be there. So in some
strange way, one of the most memorable worship experiences
of my life is one that I cannot remember anything about. I
guess we just had to be there.
It was Sunday, the seventeenth of
September, 2001. The little downtown church we attended was
packed. On most Sundays there were usually around 100
people, but on this Sunday there had to be close to 500.
People came from all over to be there. They came because
just six days earlier was the day now etched in our
conscience. It was the first Sunday after that fateful
early-autumn day when a nation stood in absolute shock and
awe as the Twin Towers fell from the sky. We all just needed
to be there that Sunday. Again, I don’t remember a word that
was said or any of the songs that were sung. But I will
never forget being there, being gathered together with
hundreds of others trying to make sense out of tragedy,
looking to heaven for comfort and peace. There was no doubt
about it, it was where we were supposed to be. Churches
across the country were packed that morning. I guess we just
had to be there.
It is now a story that is a bit legendary
around here. It was just over two years ago when once again
a nation stared in disbelief, this time as the city of New
Orleans sat submerged under water. Once again we flocked
here to the corner of Maple and Pleasant, and the
neighborhood flocked here with us. But this time we didn’t
come to the sanctuary. This time it was to the Fellowship
Hall, for it was there that for one week our church was
transformed into a Hurricane Katrina relief center. And
let’s face it. As we watched in disbelief as a city of
people were left stranded, we all needed a place where we
could come and do something. And come we did. We came with
blankets and water. We came with soap and washcloths. We
came with cash and checks. We came with hearts and hands. On
more than one occasion, a person from the neighborhood,
someone who was not connected with our congregation, would
say, “Thank you for being here. We didn’t know what to do,
but we knew you would.” For that one week, our congregation
became the epicenter of hope for an entire community. Often
during those days, I had this feeling that God had placed
our church here for a moment just like this. For that one
week, I guess we just had to be there.
One day Jesus took Peter, James and John
with him to the top of a mountain. Weren’t there twelve
disciples? Why then did Jesus only take three of them? The
scriptures don’t tell us. Maybe they were the only three who
showed up that day. But it is a good thing they showed up,
because on the top of that mountain they had church. They
had worship unlike any other worship they had ever had. On
the top of that mountain, Jesus was transfigured. He was
changed. His face shone like the sun and his clothes became
a dazzling white. On the mountaintop, these disciples
glimpsed something within Jesus they had never seen before.
Within this traveling teacher from Nazareth, they glimpsed
the very nature of God. And as if that wasn’t enough,
suddenly at Jesus’ side appeared Moses and Elijah. Friends,
this is big! There are no bigger figures than those of
Moses, the great deliverer, and Elijah, the powerful
prophet. And there they were—long since dead—in the flesh.
Imagine being present to listen to Jesus, Moses and Elijah
talk about religion. It doesn’t get any bigger than that.
(As a baseball fan, the closest thing I can compare it to is
being present for a conversation between Babe Ruth, Ted
Williams and Jackie Robinson on the finer points of hitting.
It would be unbelievable and unforgettable.)
Imagine if Peter, James or John had
decided to sleep in that morning. Or what if they just
needed a week off? I mean, they had been there every week
before. What harm could there be in just missing this one?
Or what if one of their kids had soccer practice right at
the same time Jesus wanted to go up the mountain to have
church? They would have missed it, that’s what. They would
have missed the one worship they weren’t supposed to miss.
The only thing they did right that day was show up. And
sometimes, maybe even most of the time, that’s the most
important thing we can do. There is truth in Woody Allen’s
old adage, “Ninety percent of life is just showing up.” I
guess Peter, James and John just had to be there.
I also imagine what it must have been
like for these three to try to explain to others what they
experienced at worship on the mountaintop. “Hey, Andrew. You
are not going to believe what happened at church this
morning. Jesus, man, he like, totally changed. It was so
awesome! We were all laughing, then crying, then like
totally laughing again. It was awesome.” “What? What do you
mean, you don’t understand? It was like he was really
there…and then he wasn’t…and then he was there again!” “No,
I haven’t spending too much time under a sunlamp, dude. It
really happened. I guess you just had to be there.”
“Guess so!”
Presence. Just being there. Just showing
up. There is something to be said for that—making worship a
regular part of our life routine, making room in the
busyness of our lives to look and listen for God in ways we
simply cannot seem to do the other six days of the week.
When we are present, God can speak to us, comfort us, calm
us, claim us, disturb us, correct us and inspire us.
Sometimes it isn’t until we show up that we figure out why
we needed to be here. Maybe it was the words of a song or
the rhythm of the prayer. Maybe it was a single sentence of
the sermon or the image from the scripture. Or maybe it was
the moment of silence—just a few moments of silence, a
precious commodity in our hectic and fast-paced world.
Whatever it might be, at some point during the hour, God in
Christ will be revealed to us in ways we never could have
imagined. That is the moment we realize why we were here
that day—we heard what we needed to hear or saw what we
needed to see. It is then we can say to ourselves, “Oh, I
guess I had to be here.”
Other times we realize that the reason we
had to come this week wasn’t for us at all, but that we
needed to be here for someone else. Maybe it is during the
prayer concerns that you learn someone you care about is
sick or experiencing loss. Or maybe you are sitting next to
someone and for some reason they are having a tough time,
and you simply reach out your hand to hold theirs for a
minute. Maybe there will be a call for a mission project, an
opportunity to go out into the world to share God’s hope and
peace with others. Maybe you are the one who will shake the
hand of somebody who has walked through our door for the
first time, and your smile and kind words tell them this is
safe place. You see, it isn’t just for ourselves that we
need to be here. God uses us to answer the prayers of
others, and if we aren’t here, then we might miss the chance
to be used to bring healing and hope to someone else. I
believe that if we are open to it, if we keep our eyes open
and our ears attuned, then each week God will give us the
very thing we need for the week to come, and then we will
know why we needed to be here.
There is one reason why I think being
present regularly when the Body of Christ gathers for
worship is so important: because when we need it most, we
will know where to go and we’ll know how to get there. I was
talking with Diane Peck the other day, and we were joking
with each other about all the years our parents made sure we
were in church on Sunday. In our joking, Diane said
something profound. She said, “I think the only thing I
learned in all of those years of going to Sunday School was
how to come to church.” But maybe that’s all we really
needed to learn: where to go and how to get there so when we
need it most, God can speak to us.
A parishioner shared with me a similar
story. A story about how when she needed it most, all the
years of being here, of being present, made all the
difference. I’ll let her tell her story:
My journey begins like most at a point of
crisis. At the end of June, I lost my job. Mine is not a
second paycheck; it is the only paycheck, and my family goes
into panic when I am not employed. Even worse, nasty
allegations were being hurled at me by my former employer.
My marriage of 28 years had reached an ugly conclusion, and
two of my three children were not speaking to me. A church
friend stood by my side…her friendship is about as close to
Christ-like love as you come. But with that exception, I
felt very alone…facing evil that I never knew existed in the
world. At one point, two detective agencies were following
me…engaged by people who wanted to hurt me, destroy me. And
that was just on the outside. On the inside I was battling
the demons that got me into this mess. You don’t just wake
up in this kind of situation. You get there by making a lot
of bad choices…and I had made a slew of them. But I am
strong person and I’m a solution maker. It’s what I do; I’m
good at it.
My spiritual journey begins as I am
pitching my solution to God…pitching, bargaining and
negotiating. If you remember the stories from the Old
Testament where people are pitching and negotiating with
God, it never works out very well. I don’t recommend it, and
yet here I was. My solution was for God to take my life. Not
as in “take my life and let it be…”, as in “take my life,
I’m done.” The solution was, there is no solution on this
earth and it’s time for us to call it a day. And here’s the
bargaining part….if we act now, there are people who can
still be hurt who will be spared. And the most compelling
argument of all: God....I call myself a Christian and there
is a lot of mudslinging going on. Some of it will come this
way…your way. You can count on it, unless we stop this here
and now.
I believe in God and in Jesus Christ his
Son. I believe when I leave this earth, I will join them. On
this night in late June, I was much more afraid to live than
to die. I prayed this prayer for about four days, and
finally came to the painful conclusion that God wasn’t going
for it. And the last thread of control that I had been
clinging to faded from my sight and I just shut down. I
climbed into bed and pulled up the covers.
And something miraculous started to take
over. There are things inside of me… things engrained in my
brain, in my heart…that I cannot shut down even when I want
to. Yes, I think the Holy Spirit was moving inside me, but I
think something else was going on as well. I think 54 years
of training was coming into play.
I have a twelve-year Sunday School pin. I
did not miss for twelve years. Baptists are very serious
about this kind of stuff. “Didn’t you ever get sick?” you
ask. Yes…I guess I went to Sunday School sick. I don’t
remember that part. I do remember studying under some of the
finest Christians on the face of the earth. As an adult, I
came to this church and studied with Mildred Thomas…wife of
Dr. Thomas, one of our ministers here. Mildred Thomas was a
wonderful Christian and teacher. I studied with her. She
trained me to teach Bible study, and left her class in my
hands when she retired for the last time, a class that still
meets today.
These are the things engrained in me,
written on my soul. The kind of things you can’t turn off
even when you want to. And from my bed on this day at the
end of June, I reached to my night stand and took the Bible.
If you don’t know how to do this, do it tonight. We do it
every Sunday in second grade Sunday School. Get your Bible
and go to the middle. If you have a big concordance and
dictionary at the end, you have to go a smidgen to the left.
But if it is just the Bible, go to the middle. Where are
you? The Psalms. All God’s children need the Psalms. I know
this: even blindfolded by despair, I can find the Psalms.
And I did.
When I wasn’t reading the Bible, I beat
feet to church. I was at the 10:00 service, I was at the
5:00 service, I was here on Wednesday night, I was serving
ice cream at the social. If the doors were open, I was here.
I know folks were looking at me and asking each other, “Who
is this woman and what is she trying to prove?” I’m glad you
didn’t ask me. I would have had no answer. I had no idea. I
was desperately searching for a roadmap. But at least I knew
where to go to find it.
You see, I had hit the wall just eighteen
months before…similar crisis. I had made a few adjustments
and gotten right back on the road. Unfortunately, the same
road. I let the pressures of money and the expectations of
family and friends drive me right back into the pit…an even
deeper, darker pit. Within thirty days I was once again
bringing in the big bucks, in sixty days I had the big
title. And in eighteen months, I had hit the wall. Last
summer I was frantically seeking a change in direction…God’s
direction.
The beauty of this story is that when I
asked God to take my life that night, He did. He just gave
me a new one. Call it rebirth, call it renewal, call it
whatever you like.
And one day when you are seeking, asking,
knocking, and searching for the roadmaps, you look up and
you realize you are on the road. A new road…a better road.
One of the great joys of my life is
teaching second grade Sunday School. I have been doing it
for about 25 years. About 15 years ago, I began challenging
the second graders to learn the 23rd Psalm. All
the children in the class learn at least a part of it. Those
who learn it all the way are those who come to Sunday School
and work on it at home. Most of the time, parents are very
supportive. But sometimes I get some push back. Our children
are overloaded. Even in second grade, these children get
homework. And they have sports, and music lessons…
Here is something to think about. The
valley of the shadow of death comes to us in hundreds of
ways…illness, depression, loneliness and, in today’s world,
terrorism and even death. Your children will face the valley
of darkness, and when they do, odds are you will not be with
them. What tools do you want in their tool box? What do you
want them to be equipped with…a mathematical equation, a
scientific theory, or the 23rd Psalm? You may not
be there, but God will be. The question is, will they know
it? Will they know how to connect with Him?
I am fresh from the valley. It was and
sometimes still is painful. And each step I take, I am
grateful to my parents for the choices they made. I am
grateful to this church for all it offers, for the support
it gives. I am grateful to the God who is my shepherd, whose
rod and staff comfort me. I love the rod and the staff. Our
God is powerful; don’t ever underestimate Him. There is
nothing He can’t fix—or flip the double negative: He can fix
anything. I am proving that right now.
Final note: The first time I came to
Sunday Night Alive, that same church friend pulled into my
driveway at five minutes to five.
“I’m not
dressed, I don’t want to go.”
“It
doesn’t matter; get in the car.”
“It’s
five minutes to five. We’re going to be late; I don’t want
to go.”
“It
doesn’t matter; get in the car.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to worship
with these people, but this is a casual service. I will let
down my guard, and let’s face it, I am a 54-year-old woman
in crisis. Tears are not optional. It’s not a matter of if.
It is a matter of when, how much, and how distracting it
will be to all around me.”
“It
doesn’t matter; get in the car.”
In this season of giving let me ask, “How
much is it worth to you to make sure that this place is here
when we, or someone we love, or even someone we don’t know,
might need it most?”
The next time somebody asks you about
your church, do me a favor. Don’t answer their question. Say
instead, “I guess you’ll just have to be there.” And then
invite them to come!
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