While I’m not looking for sympathy or pity, I had a terrible week at school. It was one of those weeks where I felt like everything I said was controversial and offensive, so by Friday I decided to hole up in my office and do some paperwork. It’s amazing how much paper work there is to do when you are actually looking for it instead of avoiding it. I mention that only because today I had the kind of day where God shoved me out of the shadows and into Shalom.
Before I begin telling this story, I need to be honest and tell you that whatever I write here, whether brilliant or a complete disaster, will not do justice to the events of today. Sorry if that is overly dramatic; but it is the truth.
Today at our Gathering Place, a worship community that consists of the most motley and beloved set of characters that have blessed my life, twelve people publicly decided that following Jesus was a journey they wanted to be on for the rest of their life. No one promised them it would be easy (it will probably get harder), no one promised them that their problems would go away (they will probably get bigger), but what everyone did promise is that we would love them, support them, pray with them, cry with them, laugh with them, and challenge them. Nothing about the service was simple. It was gut wrenching at times. I cried from the beginning of the service to the end. Okay, I don’t mean “teared up”.
I mean I cried.
I tried to hide, my runny nose gave me away, until I realized my runny nose was in familiar company with many other sniffing-I-am-not-really-crying men.
Every person and family that stood up and professed Christ had an incredible story that just…made me realize that the Spirit was alive and moving in that place—and believe me, that doesn’t always happened in too many Calvinistic-Reformed places. The Holy Spirit was there in a way that I have not experienced enough in my life. I do much better with God the Father, but God the Spirit, this is new to me.
My nephew Joel stood in front and told a beautiful story; a story where he confessed he had no dramatic moment in his life where God was suddenly there; in fact, all he knew was God and he decided to respond. In fact, Joel has been responding all his life. It occurred to me at that moment that we do a good job of celebrating spectacular prodigal son stories (and please don’t misunderstand me here, those stories need to be celebrated), but just as beautiful are stories of young men and women who have known a very real God all of their life and are intimate with Him.
All of the people involved in this beautiful service had their own unique story; and through those stories I heard people talk about how their encouragement to respond to God came through being part of a community that accepted their broken stories. I wept as Dawn honored the legacy of her departed grandmother for passing on a mustard seed of faith that planted itself and continues to grow; I laughed out loud as Dawn’s partner, Dave, shared his own epiphany of the past week as he was reading the story of the lost sheep to their five month old daughter, a little baby who was also sprinkled with holy water. My lip trembled as Steven shared how his faith was sustained through personal tragedy and sorrow—Great is thy Faithfulness, Lord unto Thee; and my heart leaped with joy as beautiful little Paige was baptized in a scene that can only be described as a taste of heaven.
In the Spirit of Advent, God gave me a gift today that no box could contain or wrapping paper could hide. God allowed some scales to fall from my eyes and realize that knowing the story that people find themselves in is vital. I need to listen for stories. I need to look for stories. I need to be interested in good storytelling. I need to share my own story.
Thank God for broken, messy, hurting, redemptive stories that grow and heal in You with the help of a small community of messy disciples.
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