a place of healing

My husband and I are so burdened for the word of God.  We are desperate to learn from it, desperate to have it opened up to us, that we may grow in our faith.  We want to dive into it and pay attention to every detail, dig into the context, and discover why & how the Scriptures are written.  We want to be taught the principles of Hermeneutics and the doctrines of our depravity and God's holiness.  We don't want to read it merely for the discipline of doing so, nor do we want to adopt the attitude that it makes us better people by doing so.  We want more.

The last Sunday that we lived in the big City, the Husby and I decided to go to a church we had never attended before.  I honestly have no idea how we came to the church we did, save the guidance of the Holy Spirit.  We had always noticed how the words that were put up on the sign along the street weren't the usual "God loves you" or "Everyone Welcome" (not bad things to say in and of themselves), but things that were sure to cause those driving by to avert their eyes and try not to process the truth that was being proclaimed.  We knew before stepping into the building that the leadership there knew they had authority to speak the truth with boldness to anyone and everyone.

As we walked into the sanctuary, the pastor was greeting his congregation like a shepherd caring for his sheep.  It was clear that his compassionate words  for them were not born out of an obligation to say the right things, but out of a deep love for God and a burden for those under his care as a pastor.  He was watching all who entered the doors of that holy place as if taking the pulse of his varied community.  He looked into the eyes of his parishioners and silently assessed the burdens these weary Christians had brought with them to the house of God that morning.

I felt his eyes on us as we nervously made our way across the creaky wooden floor to a care-car worn pew near the back.  Oh God, I don't want to be noticed.  Not this Sunday.  Not when we're moving out of the City tomorrow.  I knew that we'd be hard pressed to get out of the building unnoticed after the service was over.

I don't remember much detail about the service that day, except that I was quite skeptical that the lengthy order of service in the bulletin would be completed in the "normal" (read: North American) Sunday service timeframe.

Needless to say, when the pastor had assumed his place at the pulpit for the "meat" of the service, quite a bit of time had elapsed - although, for some strange reason, it didn't really seem to matter to anyone.  He opened his mouth to proclaim the word of God.

And we were hit by a tidal wave.

At least, that's what it felt like to witness the outpouring of truth that was coming from the simple, wooden pulpit.  The word of God was alive and active.  Both my husband and I were convicted and changed because of the authority with which the pastor spoke.  We were filled to overflowing.

I looked down at the bulletin in my hand to find that he was just giving the Scripture reading for the morning.  The sermon was still to come.  I thought that there must have been a misprint. Maybe he had rolled up the Scripture and sermon all into one...? But, as the order of service unfolded, it became more and more clear that he still had a message from the Lord for his congregation on the Lord's Day.

Rarely have I heard the word of God spoken with so much authority, at least in person.  Then again, maybe the hearts of the other people were far from the service that morning, and Joey and I were the exception.  Who knows.  What is amazing, though, is that we had blindly walked in to a foreign place without knowing that it was exactly where God had wanted us to be on that specific morning.

When the end of the service came, I no longer felt the need to dart out the back door as soon as the pianist picked up her hymnbook.  Joey and I sat dumbfounded by the awesome power of God's word.  I watched to see if anyone else was in the same state as I was.  Everyone seemed to be picking themselves up off the benches quite easily, whereas I felt like I was scrambling to scoop up the puddle of myself off the floor.  In the midst of all of this, more than one person came to talk to us and find out who we were.  It was not a fake "Visitors! Visitors! We know what to do with visitors!" conversation, but one that was genuinely interested in how we had come into the house of God that morning.  Throughout the whole conversation I was simultaneously thinking about how I never wanted to leave that building.  I'm pretty sure Joey felt it, too.

The time finally came when we were able to head towards the back entrance.  There was the pastor, shaking hands and conversing with his sheep.  I felt a little shy about having to say "hi" to him - I knew that we would never get the chance to be a part of his congregation permanently.  Nevertheless, he grabbed our hands warmly and claimed to remember seeing Joey on one or two other occasions.  This was true, and Joey was a little bit shocked that he could even remember something like that.  He asked who we were, what we did, where we were from.  Eventually, we had to break the news to him that we were moving out of the City the next day.  His countenance fell, and he (quite sincerely) said, "Oh!  You break my heart."  I don't think I would have believed any other complete stranger if he said this, but I believed him.  He then asked if he could pray for us.  So, right there in the entrance way, he put his arms around us and petitioned the Lord for us.

I will never, EVER forget that experience.  I had entered that building almost giving up on church entirely.  I hated that we were randomly sitting in some unknown congregation's worship service.  I hated being "obvious".  When I left, however, I had gained perspective.  I had been refreshed and reminded of the importance of the body of Christ.  I had been honestly loved by a fellow body of believers.  I had heard the word of God spoken with boldness and authority.  I was convicted of my sinfulness and left praising God for His holiness.

I thank God for that day.  And I crave more and more of His word as we meet with believers each and every Lord's day.