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Surprised by Tears
On Sunday, we said goodbye to our church. We have finally moved into our new home, half an hour away, and it is time for us to root ourselves within a new local church. When we stood in front of our old congregation to receive their prayers of blessing and consecration, I expected to feel sad. I did not expect to weep with grief and gratitude and wonder at the gift of this spiritual home for the past twelve years of our family’s life. But all five of us gathered in front of the congregation, and the tears rolled down our cheeks. Afterwards, I felt as if I had run a half marathon. Exhausted. Good. Grateful.
As I’ve written about before, this church is a very ordinary church. Usually, a handful of kids show up for Sunday school and even fewer than that for youth group. Our attempts at contemporary worship generally fall short. The sound system sputters with some regularity. We often run a deficit. The church is comprised mostly of middle-aged to elderly New Englanders. We keep our feelings in check. We sing hymns. We bake casseroles. We listen politely but unexpressively to the sermon.
But this church is also filled with people who show up for each other. And who pray for our kids. And who make the Christmas pageant happen. And who have a deep—if quiet—desire to know and love God.
Peter and I started a Bible study sometime shortly after we joined the congregation. Over the past decade, we’ve hosted dozens of people, from a 22-year-old migrant farmer to an 82-year-old widow and everyone in between. The majority of the people who have attended have never read the Bible independently before. So it might look like a place where I, with my seminary degree and regular habits of nerdy personal Bible study, have a lot to offer. I have offered what I can, but I have also never learned so much from any group of people.
In the past two years, an elderly man has joined us religiously. He told us once that he was called dumb by his teachers when he was in school, so he didn’t expect to have anything to contribute to our group. But he started to share his thoughts. He noticed Jesus’ leadership and humility. He talked about simplicity and the peace that comes from sitting still. He started reading the Bible on his own at night, and each week he would tell us a little bit more about this unfolding story. His presence opened us all up to the gentle, simple, peaceful way of the Spirit of God.
It was sweet to hear all the kind words that members of our congregation said about us on Sunday. But once I had collected myself enough to speak, I told them the truth—that we had gained more than we had ever given. That we knew Penny could always sit wherever she wanted in the sanctuary and be welcomed. That the 80-somethings would care deeply about how William’s first year away at school went and that the pastor would never shame us for missing church for Marilee’s soccer games. We knew that each one of us belonged. That we all had ways to give. That we all had so much to receive.
Outside of the doors of our church, it would be easy to think of our family as impressive or prestigious or the ones who have a lot to offer. Peter runs a school with lots of accolades. We graduated from fancy colleges and have masters degrees. I get to write things for national publications and speak around the country. But the gift of our church was that we got to offer our gifts without those gifts being put on a pedestal, without them becoming status symbols or power plays. We got to give and receive in a place where the Bible scholar learned from the engineer who had never read the Bible before, where people whom I might once have dismissed or disdained became friends, where the person who talks too much then prays the prayer that sinks the deepest words of blessing and truth into our souls.
We can’t really explain the mutuality other than to say that’s just the way God works. Everyone matters. Everyone is lifted up.
And so we wept. And laughed. And ate mac and cheese and biscuits and brownies in a potluck lunch after the service.
The next day, I received a text from the pastor of our new church. He asked if Penny would like to read Scripture for the congregation one Sunday. I suspect we are heading into another place where unexpected blessing abounds amidst ordinary people coming together to follow a God of extraordinary, steadfast love.
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MORE WITH AMY JULIA:
- Employment in Churches for People With Disabilities
- RNS | Why do I still go to church?
- S7 E 12 | Reimagining Church Leadership and Disability with Andrew Draper
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