This Week it got Personal
There are three churches a half mile down the road from me, so I figured I could stay in bed a few minutes longer before hitting the shower and getting to one of them on time, but after I’d hit the snooze button a couple of more times, my margin was erased. I hurried through my bathroom chores, threw on a shirt, and grabbed a cup of strong coffee as I ran out the door.
I had already missed the start time of a couple of the church services, and I really didn’t want to be late, so I decided to go to the one who advertised their service starting at 10:35. Why would a church start five minutes past the half hour? It doesn’t make sense to me, but I was glad that I could pull into the parking lot at 10:34 and not miss anything. They didn’t actually get started until 10:42, but I digress.
My neighborhood church visit of the week is at an Evangelical Covenant Church, of which I am unfamiliar with. I found this description on their website:
The Evangelical Covenant Church is a rapidly growing multiethnic denomination in the United States and Canada with ministries on five continents of the world. Founded in 1885 by Swedish immigrants, the ECC values the Bible as the word of God, the gift of God’s grace and ever-deepening spiritual life that comes through a faith with Jesus Christ, the importance of extending God’s love and compassion to a hurting world, and the strength that comes from unity within diversity.
The Evangelical Covenant Church is:
- Evangelical, but not exclusive
- Biblical, but not doctrinaire
- Traditional, but not rigid
- Congregational, but not independent
I like Swedes, I like Swedish Fish, and I like this description of what the denomination stands for.
The church meets in a school chapel and has pews and stained glass as part of their built-in culture. They have to use their portable sound system though, so the worship band sounds like they’ve set up in a movie theater without taking advantage of the room’s surround sound speakers.
I realize I’m in critique mode, which isn’t where I want to be. I’m here to get to know my neighbors, to see how they worship, to see if there is common ground to connect with them. The first worship song ends and there is an uncomfortable pause. The worship leader tells us he didn’t plan the transition between songs very well and he has to retune his guitar. His honesty makes the moment real. The drummer spoke into his mic to lighten the moment, “Ok, so three guys walk into a church…” We all laugh. The band starts the next song. I begin to relax.
They play the hymn, “Be Thou My Vision” and the second verse penetrates my defenses.
Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.
I’m here for me this morning- not the project, not for my neighbors, but for me. My heart feels drawn to the flame and I know I’m vulnerable.
I look three rows in front of me and recognize the style of purse one woman is holding. It looks Asian and familiar to some of the regions where I’ve traveled as a missionary. I look up and recognize the back of this woman’s head. It startles me. I thought this woman was on the other side of the world and instead she is in a mid-sized church just half a mile from my home. I move forward to greet her at the appropriate time of the service. She tells me this is her church home when she is in the States, which is just twice a year. The timing is not lost on me. We have lots we need to say to each other but I know it needs to wait until the service is over.
The message is the kind I appreciate. The pastor uses the scripture, but does his best to present it in context. Instead of experiencing a religious leader trying to get me to understand God the way that he does, and using Biblical passages to support his views, I felt like this pastor was helping connect me with God and embrace the fullness of life that is available walking in relationship with Him and each other. Here is what spoke to me.
Jesus said (in Matthew 5:21) “you have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven.” The pastor suggests (as does the footnote in my Bible) that Jesus was referring to Leviticus 19:18,
Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the LORD.
Unfortunately the emphasis that the Israelites put on that commandment was “among your people” which meant it was a good idea to show forgiveness towards someone else in your own family, culture, or religion, but those outside those boundaries it was okay to hate. Jesus corrects the misinterpretation, suggesting that, no, the point of that command was not seeking revenge or bearing a grudge against anyone.
Which includes the missionary sitting three rows in front of me. I had been holding a grudge against her and thinking I was justified in doing it because I had defined her as being outside my “people.” I’m wondering if she’s listening to the same message that I am. I’m wondering if this Sunday is for her too.
When it comes time for communion at the end of the message, instead of moving forward towards the pastor, she made her way back to my pew. She touched my shoulder and said, “I’ll show you how we celebrate communion here,” and we went forward together. We partook of the brokenness of Christ; we drank in His life.
We took the time after the service to verbalize the forgiveness that had taken place in each of us. Years of misunderstanding just didn’t weigh anything any longer. It felt great to shrug it off and let it go.
This was one of four connections I had in this church on Sunday—two were with new friends; one was from someone who approached me and explained that I’d made a big difference in his life with a message I’d preached years before—similar to my own experience this morning.
As I drove home I considered what would have happened if I’d missed the service at the ECC church this morning. I felt that old guilt creeping back that takes the beauty of a spiritual life and condenses it to cold commandments and rules. And here is what I felt whispered in my spirit as I turned back into my driveway. I don’t think I could have missed God this morning in my neighborhood. It might have been a different hymn, church service, denomination, or even running into a different religious leader that I had disunity with—the reality is, God dwells in this neighborhood with His kids, and He is teaching us—He is teaching me—what it means to be His family.
