Church

(The bulk of this was written after our worship service Sunday evening)

As minister at a small church, my times of worship too often consist of running around.  I am solving problems, coordinating people, helping visitors, taking kids to the bathroom.  I often go an entire service without actually making it to my seat.  So when I get to slide in a row next to my wife and kids, it is a wonderful, if fleeting, moment.

Sunday I had such a moment.  Only I got way more than I expected.

As I found my wife in the crowd (in such moments it helps to be married to a tall redhead) and moved onto her row, here is what I noticed.

On the row in front of us were four people.  A young married couple, holding hands.  Looked like two people in love.  And they are.  But I also know that he has truly struggled with addiction.  And she recently got out of prison.

Next to them, a man I have known for years.  He is the definition of the working poor.  Sometimes dirty, always smelling of cigarettes.  He sits on the same row where he used to sit with his wife.  She died a year ago this week.  Seeing him reminds me that I need to announce that tomorrow night we are having a dinner and fundraiser to try to buy a headstone for her grave.

Beside him, an older gentlemen.  The oldest man in our church.  He can no longer see well enough to even read the bible.  But that’s okay.  He has accomplished the task of memorizing most, if not all of it.  He bounces and claps as we sing, he doesn’t have much rhythm.  But he moves anyway, as if his loss of eyesight has made him believe that no one can see him.  Oh, that’s not the truth.  He doesn’t care because He loves Jesus so much.

And underneath their chairs is my three-year old son.  He is playing with the little bitty cars he is earning for going in the potty.

This odd juxtaposition is not odd.  I see something close to it every week.  I am used to it.  But I don’t think I should be.  There are so many places on earth where this mix would not happen.  Sadly, one of those places can sometimes be church.  As I look, I should be in awe.  For what I am seeing is what church actually is.

You see, church is not the songs we sing and the prayers we pray.  Although it is that.  And church isn’t just the people who are there.  It is that too.  But it is more.  Church is the place where the mystery of God’s work in the world is glimpsed for a moment.  Where a song of praise and a recovering addict and communion and a half-blind man and a sermon and a little boy with his play cars all somehow seem perfectly harmonious.

We too often want so much from church.  Great music that moves us.  A sermon that is funny and heart-wrenching.  People that genuinely seem interested in us.  Classes for our kids that are exciting.  It may be a lot to ask, but that is what we are looking for.

But I think maybe, just maybe, we don’t want enough from church.  Music and sermons and children’s classes don’t seem to matter when we glimpse God at work. Because in the moment we notice God’s hand we see beyond what we want, into what we truly need.  The gospel.  Made real.  Made alive.  Among us.

I am not sure this can be replicated.  That a mission statement or staff meeting can make it happen.  It is only the work of God.  The love of Christ.  The guiding of the Spirit.  But Sunday, at least for a few minutes, I got to be along for the ride.  And I knew it.

So all I could do was look.  And sing.  I looked at an addict, an ex-con, a widower, a blind man, and a little boy.  And I sang.

I look at my son and at them.  And I sing.  Bless the Lord, O my soul, O my soul.  And I look at him and at them.  And I sing.  Worship his holy name.  And the couple in front of me raises their hands as one.  Sing like never before, O my soul.  And the old man is half-turned around, clapping off-beat and smiling at me.  I will worship your holy name.

 

In Praise of Stretch Marks

My wife is pregnant.  This is child number seven.  As you can imagine, giving birth to six children doesn’t come without cost.  I think my wife’s bladder has been permanently squished to the size of a walnut.  While her first pregnancies seemed to have little in the way of “morning sickness” the last two have been encounters with some pretty severe nausea that lasted and lasted.  And as she ages, she admits that the pregnancies are more physically taxing.  It is difficult to have another person grab the nutrients and calories you put in your mouth, push your internal organs around, and stretch your abdomen to epic proportions.

All women who give birth go through some or all of this.  It can leave their skin stretched or drooping.  Give them permanent back issues.  Their feet can swell to the point that ingrown toenails become an issue.  Carrying a baby to term is hard on the body.

What troubles me is how our society views all of this.  Stretch marks are considered “gross”.  Many women fret over every ounce gained during pregnancy and are then consumed with getting rid of “baby weight” as quickly as possible.  Younger women who have never carried a baby are the image of beauty, while we make fun of celebrities who show some cellulite after giving birth.  Sagging is okay for an urban youth’s pants, but not for a woman’s body.

But I say nothing is more beautiful than a woman who is willing to put her body on the line to bring new life into our world.  Rather than finding these marks distasteful, they are a sign of knowledge and experience.  We say that men with grey hair look distinguished or wise.  Yet they did nothing to earn that hair.  It just happened over time.  A woman whose belly button has been turned inside out has earned something.  She is a mother.

My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world.  I tell her so all the time.  I look at pictures from when we were dating or first married and she was beautiful then.  But now, I watch her slowly get out of a chair (her back is permanently messed up), and what I see is a woman so attractive, so full of life (literally) that her younger beauty is no match.

So fellas, remind your wife that you wouldn’t trade her for anything.  A younger model holds no charms for you because it can’t compare.  You have a knowledgeable, experienced, beautiful woman who has brought the gift of life to your home.

And ladies, go easy on yourselves.  Don’t focus on the stretch marks or that little extra weight.  Look at what you have done.  And know that you are beautiful.