In my last post, an eon ago, I mentioned that I had moved across country and was in search of a new church home so that I would feel as though I really had a home here in North Texas. What I didn't mention in that post is how God encouraged me to make the move. I know people talk about wanting a sign from God, but God was so determined for me to come out here that He was making it nigh on impossible for me not to get the message that I was to pack and GO! NOW!
As I was saying in my last post, I ended up visiting my niece's Baptist church for three weeks because she asked me to attend with her. Now, the fact that she had been saved and dunked like a donut by the Baptists is especially funny to me because it reminds me that when praying to God, be careful what you ask for because you just might get it . . . but not in the way you imagined!
I forgot to ask God to make any non-saved relatives Presbyterians, or Lutherans, Methodists or Episcopalians, so He dropped her down amongst a bunch of Baptists and, well, now "she are" one!
This just highlights God's wicked sense of humor. After all, as a Presbyterian, I know that we joke about the Baptists just about as much as they joke about us. We also joke about living in Palatka (Florida) but that's another blog and another good laugh even though I have a couple of friends in "Palatky". All this joking about being a Baptist, and being from Palatka, it's all good hearted fun, but the bottom line is the Baptists make a great punch line to a story and now I have one of them in my family. (I think is sort of like finding out that one of the members of your family is secretly a raving fan of the SEC . . . it's a bit of a shock and you just hope they come to their senses before football season is over!)
So, I was attending church with my niece and realized, to my horror, that the Baptists were about as to the right of Christian conservatism as you can get . . . clearly way further than the centrist Presbyterians! At the end of the third week attending the Baptist church, I went running for my life. Seriously. Thank God I didn't drink their kool-aide or accept their coffee or fried chicken.
For two weeks I researched local churches . . . I would have attended the local Presbyterian church, but when reviewing their newsletter on-line I discovered that there wasn't a picture in the newsletter of anyone under 101. Clearly that was not the church for me. The other tip-off, and I kid you not, was that they had horoscopes in the newsletter for all the September born Virgo and Libras. Seriously. Right there in the church bulletin for all the world to see! I figured that they definitely didn't need a 9 o'clock traditional service-type Presbyterian, raised in the very orthodox Scottish Presbyterian church, the Kirk, to come down there and straighten them out. (Where is my pastor and the Session from Jacksonville when you need them??? Bring on the Elders and the Deacons!)
One Saturday I'm at the feed store . . . (Hey, I said I was in Texas!) . . . and the proprietor, whom I'd had the pleasure of meeting previously, came in after noticing my snazzy little two-seater out in front of the store.
"Thought I recognized those Florida plates. You still here?" he inquired.
"Yes, still here."
"Well, are you going to call this home?"
"Well, if I can ever find a church home, then I'll be able to call this home. Got to find that church home first," I replied.
Larry, not the cable guy but the feed store guy, starts telling me about the church that he and his wife attended. Larry says I should hear their pastor, and he mentions that the week before everyone in the church wore flip flops and at the end of the sermon everyone took their flip flops up to the front of the church, tied them together, and left them for the missions. The pastor, Larry says, was preaching barefoot! (Definitely not Presbyterian but definitely Mandarin Presbyterian's Kevin Pound!)
As I was saying in my last post, I ended up visiting my niece's Baptist church for three weeks because she asked me to attend with her. Now, the fact that she had been saved and dunked like a donut by the Baptists is especially funny to me because it reminds me that when praying to God, be careful what you ask for because you just might get it . . . but not in the way you imagined!
I forgot to ask God to make any non-saved relatives Presbyterians, or Lutherans, Methodists or Episcopalians, so He dropped her down amongst a bunch of Baptists and, well, now "she are" one!
This just highlights God's wicked sense of humor. After all, as a Presbyterian, I know that we joke about the Baptists just about as much as they joke about us. We also joke about living in Palatka (Florida) but that's another blog and another good laugh even though I have a couple of friends in "Palatky". All this joking about being a Baptist, and being from Palatka, it's all good hearted fun, but the bottom line is the Baptists make a great punch line to a story and now I have one of them in my family. (I think is sort of like finding out that one of the members of your family is secretly a raving fan of the SEC . . . it's a bit of a shock and you just hope they come to their senses before football season is over!)
So, I was attending church with my niece and realized, to my horror, that the Baptists were about as to the right of Christian conservatism as you can get . . . clearly way further than the centrist Presbyterians! At the end of the third week attending the Baptist church, I went running for my life. Seriously. Thank God I didn't drink their kool-aide or accept their coffee or fried chicken.
For two weeks I researched local churches . . . I would have attended the local Presbyterian church, but when reviewing their newsletter on-line I discovered that there wasn't a picture in the newsletter of anyone under 101. Clearly that was not the church for me. The other tip-off, and I kid you not, was that they had horoscopes in the newsletter for all the September born Virgo and Libras. Seriously. Right there in the church bulletin for all the world to see! I figured that they definitely didn't need a 9 o'clock traditional service-type Presbyterian, raised in the very orthodox Scottish Presbyterian church, the Kirk, to come down there and straighten them out. (Where is my pastor and the Session from Jacksonville when you need them??? Bring on the Elders and the Deacons!)
One Saturday I'm at the feed store . . . (Hey, I said I was in Texas!) . . . and the proprietor, whom I'd had the pleasure of meeting previously, came in after noticing my snazzy little two-seater out in front of the store.
"Thought I recognized those Florida plates. You still here?" he inquired.
"Yes, still here."
"Well, are you going to call this home?"
"Well, if I can ever find a church home, then I'll be able to call this home. Got to find that church home first," I replied.
Larry, not the cable guy but the feed store guy, starts telling me about the church that he and his wife attended. Larry says I should hear their pastor, and he mentions that the week before everyone in the church wore flip flops and at the end of the sermon everyone took their flip flops up to the front of the church, tied them together, and left them for the missions. The pastor, Larry says, was preaching barefoot! (Definitely not Presbyterian but definitely Mandarin Presbyterian's Kevin Pound!)
Alert the media! By golly, said I, that is something that Kevin Pound would do! And the more Larry, the feed store guy, talked, the more Larry's pastor sounded just like my pastor, Kevin, back home! And let me just say this . . . Kevin is a hard act to follow . . . I have gotten more out my eight years of listening and studying with Kevin than I ever did anywhere else.
The funny thing was, several people had mentioned Stonewater Church to me in passing, and I had made a mental note to check it out eventually if I couldn't find a mainstream church I liked locally. And as Larry, the feed store guy, kept talking, I could hear the ding-ding-ding in my head that the church question was correctly answered and I was meant to go to Stonewater the very next morning! In fact, I realized that it was clearly where God had meant for me to go all along . . . but working under my own direction and not God's, I was looking for a traditional Christian church not a non-denominational contemporary one, which is clearly not where God wants me today.
So, next day I am at the 9 o'clock service, and as soon as I walked in I knew that I was meant to be there, worshiping God in the cafeteria / assembly hall at Acton Middle School in North Texas.
Aa the weeks go by, I am having conversations with God about Stonewater.
"Lord, I know you mean for me to be at Stonewater. Clearly you do, but this is unlike any church I've ever been to. I mean, I love the messages they're sending, and they are definitely a biblically based church, but I really miss singing Come Though Font of Every Blessing every other Sunday, and what about saying the Apostles Creed? What about that, Lord?"
"Rituals. All rituals. Don't worry about rituals," and because my mother must have been up there at His right arm reminding Him that I sometimes need to be told things twice: "Now is not the time to worry about rituals."
"But communion first Sunday of every month??? They don't have communion first Sunday of every month and sing The Lord's Prayer afterwards. I really loved that! Standing up under the cupola, singing the Lord's prayer, the stained glass window of Jesus crossing the St. Johns . . . I really, really loved that! It was so emotional! So . . . perfect!"
The funny thing was, several people had mentioned Stonewater Church to me in passing, and I had made a mental note to check it out eventually if I couldn't find a mainstream church I liked locally. And as Larry, the feed store guy, kept talking, I could hear the ding-ding-ding in my head that the church question was correctly answered and I was meant to go to Stonewater the very next morning! In fact, I realized that it was clearly where God had meant for me to go all along . . . but working under my own direction and not God's, I was looking for a traditional Christian church not a non-denominational contemporary one, which is clearly not where God wants me today.
So, next day I am at the 9 o'clock service, and as soon as I walked in I knew that I was meant to be there, worshiping God in the cafeteria / assembly hall at Acton Middle School in North Texas.
Aa the weeks go by, I am having conversations with God about Stonewater.
"Lord, I know you mean for me to be at Stonewater. Clearly you do, but this is unlike any church I've ever been to. I mean, I love the messages they're sending, and they are definitely a biblically based church, but I really miss singing Come Though Font of Every Blessing every other Sunday, and what about saying the Apostles Creed? What about that, Lord?"
"Rituals. All rituals. Don't worry about rituals," and because my mother must have been up there at His right arm reminding Him that I sometimes need to be told things twice: "Now is not the time to worry about rituals."
"But communion first Sunday of every month??? They don't have communion first Sunday of every month and sing The Lord's Prayer afterwards. I really loved that! Standing up under the cupola, singing the Lord's prayer, the stained glass window of Jesus crossing the St. Johns . . . I really, really loved that! It was so emotional! So . . . perfect!"
"Put the rituals aside for now. They aren't important."
"Lord, I am a Scottish Presbyterian! I'm a serving Deacon! What about 'How Firm a Foundation'?"
My mother's eyes probably rolled into the back of her head as she shook her head and said, "She always tried me, too, Lord."
So, because I am really am walking in obedience with the Lord, although it is clearly always a day by day effort, I am attending a non-denominational Christian church in the heart of Texas where people show up dressed like cowboys or ranch hands, in shorts or in jeans, in sneakers or flip-flops. Stonewater is reaching out to the unchurched and I, the long churched, am learning to let go of the rituals. It's not about the rituals.
"Lord, I am a Scottish Presbyterian! I'm a serving Deacon! What about 'How Firm a Foundation'?"
My mother's eyes probably rolled into the back of her head as she shook her head and said, "She always tried me, too, Lord."
So, because I am really am walking in obedience with the Lord, although it is clearly always a day by day effort, I am attending a non-denominational Christian church in the heart of Texas where people show up dressed like cowboys or ranch hands, in shorts or in jeans, in sneakers or flip-flops. Stonewater is reaching out to the unchurched and I, the long churched, am learning to let go of the rituals. It's not about the rituals.
Thankfully, because of my mother's determination to drag me kicking and screaming to "the Kirk" whether I liked it or not, I had that firm foundation. God was pursuing me, and I ran as hard and as fast as I could, until, many years ago out of the periphery of my eye, I saw something that slowed me down and allowed Him to overtake me.
So the long churched comes face to face with the unchurched, which is really why I am out in Texas. It doesn't end in Texas. This was not how this blog was supposed to end, but at 6:37 AM on November the 24th. 2009, like Samuel, I have heard the Lord calling in the night.
Yes, Lord, I'm listening.
So the long churched comes face to face with the unchurched, which is really why I am out in Texas. It doesn't end in Texas. This was not how this blog was supposed to end, but at 6:37 AM on November the 24th. 2009, like Samuel, I have heard the Lord calling in the night.
Yes, Lord, I'm listening.
Comments
Post a Comment