Amazing Love

Something amazing happened. Extraordinarily unexpected. This past Sunday in church.

Let’s start a few months ago, back in January. I received a call from one of our members, the patriarch of a large family, and I immediately knew it would not be a pleasant conversation. “Can I come and visit with you today?” Enough was said in his tone. Given the rocky road we’ve been through the past six months, I knew what was coming—another dissatisfied member, unhappy with the changes we are making, on the verge of leaving, if they hadn’t already decided that. He and his family were critical of me, and not shy about it. At the conclusion of one sermon series, he greeted me after church, “Boy, we sure are glad that series is over.” So, I knew what was coming.

He stepped into my office, sunk down into the sofa, and jokingly said, “See ya! We’re outa here.” I said nothing. After a moment, he began to explain. He and his family had some major concerns with the direction of the church, my leadership, the state of our worship, the fact that we are a United Methodist congregation, bespeckled with misperceptions. But it wasn’t his concerns that bothered me. It was how they were colored, how these concerns became imbued with spiritual accusations which may or may not have been a part of all this. For instance, at one point, he said, “We have not experienced God in worship since you have been here.” Ouch. That hurts. Tell me your concerns. I can deal with that. But don’t imply that I am not of God. Am I a tool of Satan? Am I holding back the ‘power of the Spirit’? What do I do with that? How do I answer that? As a man who secretly prides himself on being a man of integrity, guided by the Christian ethos set down in Scripture and handed on to us through generations of martyrs, I don’t think anything could have been said that would have struck more at the core of my being and the deepness of my heart. I was hurt, angry, frustrated. Internally, I was steaming from the fresh wounds inflicted upon me. I wanted to lash out, defend myself, lecture him on discernment, something to get back at him. I kept silent.

He left, us not having resolved anything. Surprisingly, the next Sunday they were in church. Every subsequent Sunday has been suspenseful. Would they be there? Have they left? And every Sunday they are present, I do not want to greet them. But I do. Every Sunday they arrive, I do not want to share the “love” of Christ with them, whatever that is supposed to mean anyway. But I am compelled to. I have held on to the words of the Psalmist, “Be still before the Lord, and wait patiently for him; do not fret over those who prosper in their way, over those who carry out evil devices. Refrain from anger, and forsake wrath. Do not fret—it leads only to evil.” (Psalm 37)

After communion this Sunday, as I was retreating from prayer back to my seat, I ran straight into the path of this man returning to his seat from the communion line. I did not want to look at him, but I knew it was inevitable. That “love” of Christ thing again! As I saw his face, there was something different in his eyes. He was holding back tears, some of which already graced his cheeks. He extended an arm for a handshake, and once I obligated mine, he pulled me close for a hug. “Thank you, Jon.” He tenderly and warmly spoke into my ear. Enough was said in his tone. “Thank you.”

I don’t know how to explain it. But it felt good. Not to have been redeemed from disgrace, per se, as if I am now the conqueror, the one who wins after all. Yes, that is a temptation I struggle with. Deeper down, however, it felt good to know that this man is growing, struggling with the same things every man does, and somewhere in the thick of life, he found gratitude, he found grace. And he offered some back. Praise you, O God, for your amazing love!

In Christ,
JON