In Which We Move Beyond the Walls

Today has been a good day. Today was a day that started by moving out beyond the walls of church. And for me, it couldn't have been better timing. It may seem hard to understand, but over the last month or so, I have grown fidgety. Like, when I am sitting in a pew, I fidget. I find it hard to just sit.

I have been thinking and praying about this. I have been reading. Droves of people are leaving church, becoming disheartened. Declining churches are continuing to decline while growing churches continue to grow. However, they are growing with previous churchgoers, not the lost, unchurched. My heart grieves and I think that overall the lost aren't just going to show up to sit in the pews either. They aren't drawn in by the liturgy. They aren't breaking down the doors to come to the Lord's table {even if they were led to partake by the Spirit, would they feel welcome?}.

Don't misunderstand me, I am not saying that there is anything inherently wrong with tradition. But, it seems that traditions have an uncanny ability to morph into legalistic institutions that will eventually die out with those  who cling to them. There is a deep affinity for how church was in the 1950's and 1960's. And there is this "But-this-is-how-we-have-always-done-it" mentality while the Lord says, "Behold, I am doing a new thing! Can you not perceive it?" And we don't really. Not entirely. Not when we come to church for us, to feel good, and not for the purpose of preparing to re-enter the mission field. It's almost as if, when the meager attempts to reach others have failed, we write it off {blame society's moral decline}, and continue the status quo.

This morning, I saw the happiness in Esther's face as she was read to, I listened to stories from Al's full life, I heard Bernice exclaim how beautiful our sanctuary was as she returned from her walk, and I held Hilda's hand as she teared up and told me she didn't want us to go. After we had sang "Amazing Grace" to Barbara, who was bed-ridden, her family asked her if she wanted to hear another song, or if she was too tired. She said emphatically, "I'm tired, but I'm not giving up." So we sang "Holy, Holy, Holy" very softly. And it was hallowed.

My heart resonates with Barbara. I am not giving up either. I am not giving up on the lost or the Church. I know we are all imperfect, all broken, but we are still the body, the Bride of Christ. And as such, we continue to reach out. Beyond ourselves, beyond our walls.