First Presbyterian Church
I didn’t start attending church until about 5th grade. I don’t know exactly what triggered it, but my dad got married to a woman who went to the local Presbyterian church, so when I was there on weekends we started going.
I liked the idea of going to church. But I loathed the clip-on ties that I had to wear.
I liked that my dad took me to J.C. Penny and bought me a couple pairs of dress pants, a couple button up shirts, and nice dress shoes. There was something special about dressing up for church. Putting church clothes on reminded me of going to a wedding reception or a fancy person’s house for dinner. But the tie? I’ve always hated ties.
First came the Sunday school hour. Aptly named since it was an hour long. The adult teacher was one of our parents, at one point it was my dad. Everything about my Sunday school class felt old. The chairs, the tables, the chalk board, the little hooks we hung our jackets on in the winter, it all felt (and smelled) old. Yet Sunday school was harmless enough. Pleasant even. We took attendance, inquired about kids who weren’t there, there was a printed lesson given to everyone, we read the lesson out loud, no one ever had prayer requests (ever), someone prayed… and that was that.
Next came the coffee hour in Fellowship Hall. This was a rip off of a name because it wasn’t really an hour long, more like a coffee half-hour. But there were snacks and freedom which made it awesome. Donuts, coffee cakes, and orange juice for the kids. Donuts, coffee cakes, and coffee for the adults.
The coffee hour was dominated by mischief. The kids would tear through a pile of donut holes and gallons of orange juice. Then, with our parents making small talk in Fellowship Hall, we’d roam the old church like it was a treasure hunt. The old Presbyterian Church on the corner of Mishawaka Avenue and Church Street was full of nooks and crannies to explore. There was the real library (which was off limits) and an old library (which was off limits but no one seemed to notice if we went in there). And there was a parlor area with lots of little rooms with ancient feeling stuff to touch when we weren’t supposed to.
Then the bell rang telling everyone that church would start soon. Play time ended and people started to move towards the sanctuary for the service. Things quickly turned from sweaty jubilation, running around with your friends, to somber… a time to be serious and sit with your family. Time to put the tie on again… God was best worshipped in a clip-on tie. (Sidenote: The pastor didn’t wear a tie, she wore robe over her dress.)
I loathed the worship services more than my tie. It was 100 times worse than my tie. Services made my blood boil in a way I still can’t explain. These feelings also brought out shame. I was mad about sitting through the service but I felt intensely guilty for being mad about sitting through the service. My jaw clinched tight until it caused a headache. I’d sweat even if it was freezing in there. And I’d stare at the altar with hopes that my stare would light it on fire.
Silently, I’d sit there, an unwilling participant in a procession of boredom, each moment bringing about more and more rage with each verse.
Each week a weird thing happened. As the pastor blabbed on and on through the sermon I’d slowly calm down. Shame would win out over rage. The blood boiling within would calm. And usually by the end of the sermon I’d relax, almost glad I was there.
The Doxology won me over.
Unexplainably.
Incredibly.
Predictably.
It didn’t matter how grumpy or enraged I was at the beginning of the service. When we stood to sing that song all of that was gone. A wave of gladness washed over me, I’d get goosebumps, sometimes a tear would well up and I’d have to hide it.
Soon enough the acolytes would come down and put out the candles at the front of the sanctuary, we’d process out.. choir first, we’d shake the pastors hand, the tie would come off, and we’d go home.
Lovely
We have a cat named Lovely Gorgeous. She’s about 8 years old and belongs to Megan. Lovely is a hunter and social with all the other cats in the neighborhood. So sometimes she’s inside, usually during the day for a long nap, and sometimes she is outside.
She drives us nuts because she wants let inside or outside 100 times a day.
Let’s be clear– Lovely is the neighborhood serial killer. Lizards, mice, rats, and birds are her normal prey, she kills several each week. She’s even developed a knack for hunting hummingbirds. (Made slightly more cruel by the fact that we have a hummingbird feeder.)
Watching an adult female cat hunt is incredible. Sometimes she stumbles on prey somewhat by accident, just walking through tall grass something will move and she pounces by instinct. A hop, a shake of the head, and it’s over in seconds.
But other times she has spends a long time laying in wait. She sits under a citrus tree lounging in the shade, napping. While it might look like she is just staying cool or grabbing a cat nap, she is also staying in position. A lizard scurries from it’s hole and hops over a little wall to feast on bugs in our strawberry patch and she there watching the whole thing.
She is silent.
She gets into position.
She crouches low.
Her tail puffs up, swinging back and forth, twitching with excitement.
And the moment her target comes within range, without even a sound, she’s on top of it.
It’s over before the lizard saw it coming or had a chance to escape. Pinned to the wall she kills it in an instant, a few seconds later she stands up proudly. The hunt is over and she’s carrying it’s corpse off for dissection.
A Patient God
The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.
In some ways, God’s work in your life is like the common house cat.
He is patient in His pursuit of you.
He steps in to kill what He wants to kill, your rage or pride or desire for revenge or whatever He wants.
He overcomes you by His will and not yours.
He waits for His right time and not yours.
When He acts it is swift.
He knows when to pounce.
He works silently.
He overpowers you with His strength.
He has the power and skill to hold dominion but power and dominion to let you be.
Our God is a patient God, not wanting you to perish.
He saw things in me I didn’t see. He saw a life for me I couldn’t have. He has pursued, stalked, pounced, broken, held dominion, and hunted me my whole life.
His patience for me is better than my impatience with myself.
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