I stood at the bus stop, my mind
engaged in a mental conversation with God. Technically it doesn’t qualify as a
conversation as I was not looking for His views on what I had decided to do.
There was no exchange happening, so that made it a monologue, didn’t it? I was
telling Him. Not asking Him. I didn’t want to be talked out of what I planned
to do. It was a good plan I fooled myself into thinking. Reasonable, thought out,
pros and cons listed.
I’m church hunting. Much as a house hunter might carry a list of requirements
that their new home must measure up to, I have my own list. Determined not to
make any instant decisions I have decided to commit myself to a month or two to
see what comes or not. I am into week six, although weeks three and four I didn’t
do to church as I had a really bad cold. Four weeks of going.
There is a voice in my head that tells me that this isn’t the way to do
things, the list. It’s a very detailed list and I’d rather not have to
compromise on any item. The voice also tells me that it is not what I get out
of going, but what I can contribute. It
should be God directing my path, rather than me marching off in a certain
direction, armed with a list.
I crossed through much of the list and just two things remained. If, I
said, to God at the bus stop, these two requirements were not met, this would
be my final visit. I’d try another church.
Just two things.
The first was worship songs. The church has a very young band who bounce
around at the front. I’d not yet met a song I knew. To be honest, the lyrics
were ‘me’ and ‘I’ and ‘we’ and ‘us’ and very people focused. I know that God
has done a lot and I wouldn’t be where I am without His help. I wanted to
praise God without me getting in the way. That condition was not met. Not
really. I have to admit that it did not stop me worshipping. There was a line
about God rescuing us in one of the songs and I turned my thoughts toward
someone who I had long thought impossible to rescue and God did it. I was thankful.
It added to my list – that opportunity to testify to God’s goodness. I didn’t
know the working of the church to know if I could just go forward and say
something, so I kept quiet.
The second thing was about the preacher. I wanted it to be someone else,
not because this man is not a great preacher, but because he always preached. I
sometimes feel that when a church leader doesn’t invite others to take the
pulpit, it can be down to a lack of trust. If you are a church leader and you
have grown up and matured people in your flock, why wouldn’t you trust them to
speak a godly message? Part of this is down to a church I once went to in South
Africa. It was in the years immediately following the end of apartheid. Churches
were in the process of integrating people. There were Indian and black members
of the church that knew their bibles and had a solid faith walk, but they were
not given the chance to speak. No one but the church minister spoke there. It
seemed the wrong way to grow gifts in people if they did not have a chance to
exercise their gifts. I like variety. I like being a potential part of that
variety of preachers.
That requirement wasn’t met. It was the man. There was no different a
preacher. However, he began speaking and my list was really torn to shreds.
The word was about Gideon in Judges 6. God had called him a mighty
warrior even though Gideon was threshing wheat in a wine press hiding from the
enemy. Gideon did not see himself as a mighty warrior and needed some
encouragement. The story moves into the fleece prayers.
My own personal fleeces about the worship songs and preacher had not
been met. I hadn’t thought of them as being fleeces but they were. The preacher
went on to say that Gideon’s actions with putting out the fleeces fitted into
the way people did things in those days. They did not have a personal
relationship with Jesus. They didn’t have an abiding Holy Spirit within.
Fleeces are all a part of chance and randomness and the very fact that Gideon
did it twice shows that it did not always give you an answer you could step out
in faith on.
Today, he said, we don’t put out fleeces. We pray. We search scripture.
We ask wise friends. But we don’t look to chance or random stuff like a red
lorry passing by in the next five minutes. Please don’t assume I am not praying,
searching the scriptures or asking advice. I am, and others are praying too. And
giving me advice.
If there are things from my list not there in the church it does not
mean that this is not the church God has ear-marked for me. I have often done
things in churches that perhaps were technically not allowed, or not usual or
common, but I have had such a burning inside that I have to say something, and
I have stepped over or around these things to do them. There’s nothing to stop
me asking the music group to sing a familiar song once in a while. If there is
no outreach group, it doesn’t mean I can’t start one. It no one shares a poem,
it doesn’t mean I can’t. If I want to share a story about the un-rescueable man
that God rescued, then I should – or at least find out what the rules are.
Church meetings are not just about worship songs and sermons. My list
was defunct. It was after all the worship and the speaking and well into teas
and coffees that I discovered there was something important I had not put on my
list – fellowship and friendliness. I could have been a psychopath with an axe
in my rucksack but someone, knowing nothing about me, offered me a lift home so
I didn’t need to dash off to catch a bus. Someone else said to me, ‘I hear you
write poetry…’ How did she know I wrote poetry? I’d like to say it was a word
of knowledge but another lady in the church had been at the Sunset café way
back when I read it out over the noise of a coffee-maker-hiss and the echoes of
wooden floor boards.
So list demolished, permission not granted to go elsewhere, I will be
there next week. Armed with a poem? Perhaps. Ready with a testimony? Maybe.
Talking to a member of the worship team about golden oldies? A possibility. Taking
my tambourine? Absolutely yes.
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