How Confident Are You?

I watched something unfold at my church on Sunday morning that I'm still trying to process. It was nothing overly dramatic, nothing too far out there, nothing that unusual... but it was something. Something that contains a story. A lesson. A not-to-be-missed moment.

I just can't quite put my finger on it.

So I am here to retrace my steps.

The daughter and I went to church together because one kid went to an amusement park, one kid went to his own church, and the husband was working. If I may say, we both looked pretty snazzy in our new spring dresses (though she might have been more snazzier than me) as we sat down together in our almost-usual spot.

(and I probably need to focus here if I intend to get anywhere with this).

In the midst of singing Because He Lives, I had a moment totally unrelated to what I am hoping to get at, yet it deserves sharing nonetheless. One reason I adore the church we attend is the hymns that are sung. I've got nothing against the newer praise and worship songs/choruses/one-liners-that-are-sung-twenty-times, but I love traditional, There's Power In The Blood music. These songs take me back to church days with my grandma. I can still see those red hymnals in front of us and her purse beside me that she would let me look through to find paper and pens. My brother and I played many a round of the dot-line/make-a-box-game-to-put-your-initial-in...

(and I apologize profusely for not having a better description than that)

...and I can even recall a few bruises I received from that same brother due to his twisted appreciation of a knuckle-buster he called "being frogged." Grandma would let us get away with so much before she would get onto us to sit still and listen. Time went by and I would eventually sit in that same pew by her with my own little family and my own little kids digging through her purse. If we weren't beside her, we were behind her or in front of her. You get the picture. Always near wherever she was sitting. It's because of this that I know (knew) her singing voice well. A soprano that could hit (or at least sincerely try) those high notes when they would come around. There are certain songs that I can still hear her singing even today:

Victory In Jesus. We Shall See The King. Star of Bethlehem.

Because He Lives.

So when I heard the beginning notes of that hymn on Sunday, the strings of my heart felt that gentle tug. Oh, Grandma. I could hear her singing right along with me even if her voice was only heard in my mind. I began to think of how thankful I am that one day I will hear her voice again. For real. There is so much joy in knowing salvation.

Anyway.

In the midst of the sermon, after the singing was finished, I watched an elderly man make his way back to his seat. He stopped in the middle of the aisle, though, and looked around. It was obvious to anyone watching that he was confused. He took a few steps back only to retrace his steps again and threw up his hands in what basically amounted to a moment of surrender. He was lost. An usher stepped in and led him to the next aisle where he was met by another usher (and yes, this is a fairly big church). From my vantage point, I could see an empty spot where a Bible lay on a pew. Sure enough, that was his spot. When that sweet saint of a man located the place where he had been sitting, he raised his Bible in the air along with a victory shot. The pastor repeated what the man said so we all could hear:

"It's the only thing that has never abandoned me."

I'm telling you, that moment did something for me. When I think about a man of his age with all the experiences and stories he surely has stored within, the confidence with which he spoke regarding the Book that he held up... well, you see, that's what I can't quite put my finger on. It was more than just a passing distraction. It's another one of those moments in which there really are no words to describe what my spirit longs to express.

Except I hope I never forget that image or that man.

Or my grandma's singing voice.

What Church Is Not:

Rituals. Soundtracks. Outlines.


What Church Is:

A grown man taking his son in his arms, holding him, loving him, even after all that's been said. That same man bringing his other son into his embrace while the mother pulls the daughter up to complete the now crying, hugging, mushy group of a family. Holding his family tight and praying a prayer that I'm sure made  Jesus stand up and shout Glory!, I thought to myself,

This is church. Our living room. Silent except for sniffing. No audience. No outlines. No praise and worship band. An imperfect family seeking the wisdom of The Perfect One. A man who learned nothing from his earthly father leaning heavily on his Heavenly Father.

I gotta say, it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever experienced.



And with that, I've got to get ready for church. The building, that is.

Getting Lucky

Have I done something right when I wake up to an empty house on a Sunday? Or am I just plain lucky? The husband left in the pre-dawn hours to go to work, but I should have been peeking in on three kids sleeping in three beds. Not so. Apparently I slept a little late this morning because all I awoke to was three empty beds and not a note in sight. Good thing I know where they're at.

They're all at church. On their own accord. While their mother sits here shamelessly in her pajamas sipping coffee. So like I said... have I done something right, or am I just lucky?

Either way I will take it.
And get ready myself.

I don't want to push that luck.

I Don't Go To Church Anymore (Well, technically I do... I just swiped the title because I liked it).

Around seven years ago or so, I taught one semester of a high school speech class. I didn't ask for it and I certainly was not looking forward to it. If nothing else, though, I am a team player and if the school needed a teacher for a class and asked me to do it, well... then it was just going to happen. This isn't one of those times when you dread doing something and later end up loving it, I can guarantee you that. It was a tough class to teach and I had more rough times in there than good. I made it through-- scratch that --WE made it through (the kids didn't want to be in there anymore than I did) and I can honestly say I walked away with a few good memories. I saw young people who hated standing before a crowd memorize and practice and deliver memorable speeches, both original and historical. And I learned a few things myself in the art of speaking that can easily be applied to writing. My favorite? The attention grabber.

We see them all the time in form of headlines enticed to keep the viewer (or reader) hanging around through one more commercial or pop-up advertisement. The titles of a book or the cover of a magazine will usually determine if the contents are going to peak our interest or not. I know for my own blog, an entry I had written with the title Hot Booties had more hits in the first three minutes than anything I had ever produced (and the booties referred to slippers, by the way, not the female posterior). Anyway, I love a good title that catches my eye so when I was scrolling through facebook the other day to see what others were posting, I was more than delighted to see the following title for a fellow blogger's latest entry:

I don't go to church any more.

I think she has hit on a good subject... certainly makes for good discussion anyway. That title reminded me of a t-shirt I saw someone wearing in the mall. On the front, the words said DON'T GO TO CHURCH which of course made me practically break my neck to see what kind of person would wear such a thing. I was put in my place, though, when I read the back: BE THE CHURCH. Yes, there really is such a difference. So, with me being me, I had to chime in and put my own thoughts down on paper (or on a thumb drive, in this case). Why do we go (or not go) to church? We all have our reasons and we all have valid points. If you're still here and haven't already closed me out due to complete disinterest, here was my response:

Why I Go To Church

I go to church simply because I want to, not because I have to. For me, there really is a big difference. I use to be a part of the have-to crowd… that somehow God was keeping score on me and the blessings in my life would depend on my attendance record for the month and whether or not I read my Sunday school lesson for the week. I quickly (or not so quickly) learned, however, that I could do everything right and still not feel like I was quite up to par. Of course, that’s how some people want it. Some congregations can be more brutal and more competitive than the stereotypical lunch table in a junior high cafeteria.

            Even so, I treasure the whole Sunday experience thing. Granted, we are in a church now that I can relate to: the songs are my grandma’s songs (Victory in Jesus, Unclouded Day), the congregation  is mixed (from what they wear to where they are from), and the pastor is someone who has not been spoon-fed the Bible his entire life (not that I’m knocking the man who has known and lived his calling since the age of three, but it’s refreshing to hear someone in their 60s say from the pulpit I have been where you’ve been!). Is it about entertainment? Sometimes, yes. Does that make it more real? Most of the time, no. I am a firm believer that all that entertainment can very easily confuse the real message.

            I am reminded of a woman whom I know who dances for a living (and I don’t mean the ballet either). She very enthusiastically gushed to me one day the attributes of a new church she was attending, “I love it! It’s like being at a club!” Or I think about youth groups that entice young people to attend based on themes taken straight from Hollywood. I’ve seen more than one kid disillusioned based on the raw hamburger they were encouraged to eat (Fear Factor) or the strange rap song they were admonished for not singing along with (American Idol). Just because we put the name of Jesus in neon lights or squeeze His Name into the chorus of a song does not make it all about Jesus. Lives aren’t transformed because the three-point sermon was so brilliantly spoken or the nice people at the tape table accepted our money with a “Bless You, Sister.” Lives are changed when Jesus becomes more real than the fog machines and spotlights and color-coordinated praise teams.

            My living room holds none of those show-stopper entertainment gadgets and my closet is severely lacking in color-coordinating anything (that fits anyway); but my Bible sits to the left of me yearning to be read and my spirit knows that God is with me whether I kneel before him at a church altar in trendy black heels or lock myself in the bathroom with desperate petitions pouring from my heart and soiled slippers on my feet. I don’t need a church building to worship a God in Whom I firmly believe in and depend on and hope for. I want a church building to worship while I wait. My choice. His glory. It’s why I go to church.

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Any thoughts of your own? I could go on, but this is probably long enough as it is.
Besides, my coffee cup is empty. Wouldn't be surprised if yours is as well.
Thanks, Donna, for the inspiration and sorry I swiped your title.

I just love a good attention grabber. =)