Reflections
JUST ANOTHER CHURCH WEEKEND
By Pete Hammond
In the summer of 1996, Shirley and I had a very special weekend of involvement in our faith community. As I reflected upon it, I realized it was symptomatic of what it means to have faith in our very troubled world. I describe it as:
Just Another Church Weekend
"It was another hot, breeze-less summer weekend in the Midwest. The temperature was somewhere in the nineties, and I just wanted to chill-out in front of a fan and watch some mindless TV sports. But Shirley had committed us to attend three events. So, off we went to the first one Saturday afternoon, with me harboring irritation at this intrusion.
About forty of us gathered in our Presbyterian Church’s chapel. The air conditioning was on, but even then they had to have two fans whirring away. As we found our seats, my attention sharpened. Of the forty of us, ten were African Americans from our southside Pentecostal sister church. The remaining thirty from our church were mostly country-club Anglos. Our associate pastor and the black Pentecostal pastor were going to lead us in a "blessing" service. It had been requested by a couple from our congregation who had come to faith when their three girls were entering their teen years. Thinking they had short-changed their daughters in the chaos of their pre-conversion family life, the service was designed to confirm their love for the girls who were struggling in their young adulthood. One was into drugs, another had learning disabilities and the third had a live-in lover. Our pastor led us in a survey of various "blessings" in the Bible. A young white woman sang two songs "black style" accapella. Then the black pastor led in a prayer time with the girls kneeling in front of us. Tears began to flow freely as love was admininstered through several spontaneous prayers. It all peaked when the parents laid their hands on each daughter and the dad prayed with deep passion.
As Shirley and I left, I was pushing back tears of thanksgiving. After a quick meal in a local restaurant we made our way to our second commitment which was held at a home out in the country.
Here we were gathering to have a reunion with a couple I used to work with. He was fired from his coaching role at the university shortly after they married in their mid-thirties. Soon she was diagnosed with cancer, leading to two mastectomies. They had two daughters while he taught in a nearby Midwestern urban high school. The reunion was part of their short visit back in the states after several years serving as missionaries in Siberia. There, they live in a large Russian city which is still struggling with its Communist past. Their daughters attend the local government school where everything is taught in the local language. The parents offer friendship, hospitality and English lessons to whomever they connect with in their tiny four-room apartment. Many group meetings focus around Bible studies. They also gather missionaries together from very different Christian traditions, who tend to either compete or condemn one another’s faith. Their hope is to to break down the barriers and confusion between various missionaries and the local Orthodox leaders as the city watches with curiosity. Our friends spoke freely of their good and bad days in this very distant and troubled nation.
As the evening wound down I was ashamed of my self-centered irritation at having to go. I was full of admiration and a little tearful as I heard of the sacrificial cross-cultural service this couple was offering in a challenging and troubled far-off country which many still view as the enemy to America and Christianity. It took a while to fall asleep that night.
Our third commitment was after church on Sunday when some great football games were on TV. We were part of a small guest list at a shower for a young couple who would marry later in the month. The groom was re-entering the college where he had been caught and convicted of drug use and dealing. He had served two and a half years of his four year sentence in our state penitentiary. This had all happened shortly after his dad, who had earlier left the ministry, left the family and broke the mother’s heart. The engaged couple had met in our church where she was a soloist while studying at the university. After lunch, the gift-opening time was led by the host couple. He was recovering from having led his dad’s construction company into bankruptcy. They were also struggling with the rebellious and troubled adult lives of their four adopted kids. We listened as he read from a modern translation of the Bible about love, forgiveness and perseverance. Three of the women seated around us were friends whose husbands had left for all the wrong reasons. I cried inwardly as I heard the words of the text that Shirley and I had built our wedding ceremony around thirty-seven years ago—Colossians 3:12-17. It was a good review for me.
This celebration of faith and hope was quite a wrap-up to just another hot summer weekend with church members who will never make six-o’clock TV news stories. Their faith was helping them face troubled kids, difficult marriages, job challenges, race relations and international missions. But now they know forgiveness, hope in Christ, and help from other believers, so they press on.
These experiences of faith-at-work were a lot better than trying to escape the summer heat in front of the tube. Thanks Shirley!" It was another weekend of seeing the salty, often hidden work of the Lord’s church!
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