They Come to Give

The communion table---where grief meets grace

The weight of it was palpable.  Years of wisdom, grace, service and love enveloped by aging hands and capped by grey hair, invited the Holy Spirit of God to drop in and drop in he did.

We sat together in the sanctuary, listening to the new young pastor share that hospitality and kindness are the things that bring life into others.  Murmurs of um hmmm and yup dotted the sweet sermon, making it tasty and enticing the newcomers to enjoin.

It was all I could do not to burst into tears.  The music was not fancy. A concert pianist and violist played age old hymns between confession and receiving grace and Bible teaching and ultimately gratefulness for all that had been done by a God so deep in love with people that he refused to give up on even the worst of sinners.  Many of the words and prayers were prepared ahead as is common in the Presbyterian church.  Prepared ahead or not, they were as pure and lovely as those grey heads and as heavy with holiness as those worn hands and committed minds.

These are not people who go to church to get something.  They come to give.  A community vegetable table sat in the back next to the cookies and coffee.  People took what they needed and left what they had.  The customary handshakes were laced with love and most pulled to affectionate hugs.  No one left that day without a personal prayer given and received.  Needs were noted and plans made to accommodate.  Women laughed at pics of grandbabies and men talked about the cattle that would keep them from retirement this side of heaven.

And I stood there trying not to cry.

I see so many hurtful things in churches.  Arrogant pastors and gossiping musicians. People who come to see what, “they are to get out of it,” leave saying “the service did nothing for me.”  Greed and grossness packaged in electric guitars and promises that the Holy Spirit really did tell the pastor that the church needs to give more.  Fancy words and unspoken expectations—the kind that will have you booted out if you are unaware and unwittingly fail to follow the rules.  Grace proclaimed and judgement lived.  Unforgiveness wrapped in a communion bow.  God forgives you, but you better understand what is expected here and accomplish it.  Repentance is missing and therefore grace is gone.  Gratitude? They don’t even suggest it.   The music is usually emotional.  Sometimes it is even spiritual.  Mostly it’s just a show, not unlike the bands I see in those adorable wine bars of Northern California.  The lead singer measures his success on the number of people he could get to cry.  People leave those churches feeling like they should do more, or be more, or give more, or something else more.  I cry for different reasons when I go to one of those.

But I digress…

There I stood with about 75 people long of faith and short on expectation.  They love each other, even the icky parts.  There were no fake smiles among them.  Rather, there was the tender knowing in the eyes of people who had worked through their own failures on one another’s porches.  They had held hands and enabled the recovering of dignity when betrayed and belittled by another.  These people were well aware of one another’s secrets but would take every single one of them to the grave.  Love is the light under the weight of that holy commitment to the good of the other.

For a woman who spends time every day helping people recover from the other type of church, it was cool water in the desert.  It was safe.  It was tenderness and faithfulness and the following of Jesus command to Love God and love each other.  It is also profoundly rare.  I feel blessed to have met them. I feel even more blessed to be met with smiles and names and questions about me.  There must have been 10 people who insisted on knowing me—not just seeing me and saying hello, but asking about me and my world, and remembering my answers.  It felt suspiciously like years gone by when churches were more about giving love and service than receiving some ethereal experience.  Oh, they get those too, but they are the result, not the motivation.

I am going back to that grey headed congregation.  I will learn from them and serve them and take my limes and pecans for their giveaway table.  I may even become one of them.  I expect they might invite me to such.  I will say this, their hospitality and kindness sure do make me want to do so.