20 May 2009

On the Journey

                            I met Jesus today in worship—and I cried!

              I slipped out of Paducah Monday morning to travel to Atlanta for the Festival of Homiletics in Atlanta. A week devoted to the inspiration and art of proclaiming the gospel of Jesus Christ. Barbara Brown Taylor, one of the guest preachers, described the festival as “The Tournament of Preaching.”

              There are 1,600 preachers from all across North America in attendance. If you did not know we were all preachers, you might think we are members of Peachtree United Methodist Church attending special services this week. Peachtree is hosting the festival this year. We appear so ordinary—male and female, tall and short, skinny and round, old and young. For the most part, we are not a very distinguished looking group. Looking across the sanctuary, the words of the Apostle Paul rise up from my memory:

Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong . . .so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us the wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness, and redemption. Therefore as it is written, “Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.”[I Corinthians 1:26-31]

              There is a time each day when you might venture a guess that we are collection of preachers. This time occurs when we engage in worship at least twice each day. The sanctuary of Peachtree United Methodist Church inspires awe and reverence. The stained glass windows fill the sanctuary with color. The religious symbols remind us of the invisible presence of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The great pipe organ fills the room with sounds that tingle on our faces. As we sing the hymns, the whole place comes alive with human voices singing to the glory of God. We sing with such passion that I have yet to hear the sound of my own voice! When called to prayer, every head is bowed, and one senses that the whole congregation is praying silently. Our hearts unite with the expectation that the very voice of God will be heard when the Holy scriptures are read. When the preacher of the hour proclaims the Word of the Lord, we are listening with open hearts and open minds. Instinctively we sense that God is somehow mysteriously present in all that we are doing. Worship, we know, is an event, and we are present before the Lord.

              I have experienced a deep connection with the Great Church, as I have worshipped with these 1,600 preachers. We know the language and movements of the faith, and we are responsive in worship. When preachers worship, they refuse to be spectators. We engage. I suspect it is because every Sunday we find ourselves yearning for more people to sing with passion, for someone to say, “Glory to God, for someone to rise to point to the Lord who has appeared. Therefore, when someone says, “The peace of the Lord be with you,” we respond without hesitation, “and with you.” When the scriptures are read, and the reader concludes with, “This is the Word of the Lord,” we reply, “Thanks be to God.” 

              Yet, all of this would mean nothing, if we did not meet God in the midst of worship. This morning, while Tom Long was preaching, I experienced Jesus so intimately and powerfully that I cried like a baby. With both hands, I wiped away tears.

             Tom Long told of recently visiting a church to lead a seminar about sharing one’s testimony. During a break, a middle-aged woman came up to him. She informed Tom that she was a new Christian, and she handed him a small booklet that held her handwritten testimony. Tom read the woman’s story of faith during his flight home to Atlanta.

              The woman was from Cambodia. In the 1970s, she married the young man she loved. Then they became swallowed up in what we call “the killing fields.” Terror reigned in Cambodia. The authorities seized the young couple and sent them to different labor camps. The woman became very ill. Somehow, her husband learned that she was sick. He did something very brave. When night came, he took the camp director’s bicycle and rode three hours in the dark to be with her. When he arrived at her side, she looked into a face red and swollen. Along the way, he had stopped to take some honey from a beehive as a gift for her. The bees stung him on is face. He stayed with her for a brief time, and then he rode back to the camp through the night. Her husband later died.

              In her testimony, she recalled how someone had told her about Jesus. They told her about his suffering and his death. They told her of his resurrection. She said that is when she saw Jesus. He was alive. His wounds were evident. He opened his arms to her and the honey of God’s grace was all over his hands—there for her!

              Somehow . . . someway, I don’t understand, the Risen Christ appeared to me today in worship in that stranger’s story. I wept. Somehow . . . someway her story connected with my heart and my faith, and Jesus revealed himself to me. Why? I don’t know. This is the mystery of faith. Jesus comes to us before we even realize that our souls are calling to him.

              This is so every week at Immanuel when we worship together. God is there in the midst of us. He is present in the prayers. He receives the songs of praise. He speaks through the written and proclaimed Word. He is present among us. When was the last time you experienced him? He never fails to show up. Perhaps, you, too, will hear your soul calling to him, if you choose to move from spectator to participant in worship. I assure you that whenever we gather to worship, the Lord is near.jamie