I Love This Church

What does it mean to love your church? I have answered this question many times in many seasons always confident that I finally understood the depth of this biblical gathering of saints. But with every new turn, the dimension of the church changes.

When I was sixteen, loving my church meant enjoying the benefits of a thriving youth group and serving in the 200 member Easter Production each year. The church meant large group experience.

In Bible college when I was highly discouraged and insecure, loving the church meant finding a place in a 25 member choir where a few actually knew my name and invited me over for coffee. In that church, loving church meant enjoying a half hour at the altar on Sunday nights when sometimes older godly men with strong cologne prayed for you and occasionally helped you get “slain in the spirit.”

Upon graduation from Bible College, church came to mean not only gathering of saints, but income for a poor young minister and his wife. With such a blend of heart and occupation, the church grew in complexity. Not only was the church where God speaks to his people, but I witnessed my husband (the Sunday night preacher) practicing his message in his PJ’s the night before. In the young preacher’s brow, there was an earnestness to carry the torch his grandfather had light before him. On Sunday mornings I would listen for the special moments he had worked on over and over again.

I loved going to church to see individual faces, receive special hugs, and enjoy baked pumpkin bread. It became many quiet moments of wiping off counters or picking up teenagers for service. It became Saturday night Bus Ministry phone calls and Sunday morning donuts. It became my heart beat even when I felt weary and discouraged. Church became a young girl’s prayer request for her broken family to be restored. It became an orphan boy's dream to sing for God.

Many nights Church also became an unwanted burden that I wished to escape because I couldn’t quite seem to be "enough". It appeared to be an endless sea of need that I could not meet with my little bit of talents from the Lord.

To love church meant singing behind a little black stand with a corded microphone and a series of repeated hymns and choruses. That is until one day I started to dream, pray, and seek to be more. I dreamed for that word “Revival.” I whispered those two words “Divine Healing.” In Bible College, I arrived with fire in my eyes and excitement in my heart for the move of God. “Let the River flow.” By the end, I felt disillusioned that such words even belonged in our common faith anymore.

It is like God to suddenly appear when you least expect him and fill you with a hope you didn’t know could still exist. This is how he fell upon me. Through a two-month series of messages, our Pastor preached on reaching our neighbors for Christ something began to stir. I had been so afraid to open my door to my neighbors. Feeling like I lived too differently and wouldn’t be able to relate this challenged seemed impossible. But the Pastor continued to harp and preach on until I could barely handle it anymore. “Lord,” I cried out. “I am terrified to reach out what will they think of me?” But the burning fire of conviction wouldn’t lift.

A young family lived next door. For weeks I thought about asking them over, but came up with a handful of reasons why it just wouldn’t work. Finally after a Sunday night message I couldn’t take it anymore, at the altar I surrendered. “Ok Lord, I give up. Fine! I will have them over.”

The next day I gathered the courage to cross my front yard to knock on my neighbor’s door. With a pounding heart and a choked up voice, I asked her if her family would like to come over that evening. To my surprise she cheerfully agreed. With a light heart I hurried away to fix some sort of meal. A few hours later they came over with their two small children. At the time Isaiah was a baby so the seven of us crammed around a little kitchen table in our little starter home. After spending several hours of pleasant conversation they went home, and Brad and I experienced the joy of reaching out of our safe little church world.

This was the beginning of taking steps out of the church to spread the light of the gospel of peace into my neighborhood. Each time the Lord would speak to me, I felt uncomfortable. Trembling I wondered if I had heard him right. Lord are you sure you want me to pray for my neighbor who is going through cancer? What if I pray the wrong thing? Lord, are you sure you want me to visit the woman who just lost her 14 year-old son to suicide? What in the world could I say to comfort her. But the Fire of God would move me, propel me forward to show up anyway.  

What does loving the church look like today? I was thinking about that as I drove to church this morning. The fresh fall leaves brilliant against the gray sky on the drive down the church lane. To me it is hope. Every time I pick out a song or sing for a service it is the hope that I love most. I see so many faces, I think of so many stories of people I know who have gained hope by rubbing shoulders in the community called church. I think of stories of miraculous healing. I think of marriages healed. I think of little children growing in beauty and wisdom. I think of the love of God being displayed in beautiful expressions of art everywhere. But most of all, when I quiet myself I see the face of Jesus the one I love.

If it wasn’t for his people I don’t think I would be able to see Him as clearly. Have his people hurt me, let me down, betrayed me? Yes at times they have, but they have also prayed for me, fed me, and nutured me back to health. I love this holy thing called the Church of Jesus Christ. With all the burning of my heart I love this Church.