We Are The Body

From the choir loft, I notice my friend bend down to my five-year-old son's level.  Her long, brown hair tumbles over her shoulders hidiing his face for a moment.  When she stands upright, I notice that he now stands proudly holding a hymnal, turned to the correct page.  Her finger draws his attention to the correct phrase.  Though, he can't read a word, he is participating in the Sunday ritual of singing praise to God, and the smile on his face reveals that in his sweet mind, he is singing and reading each word with melodic accuracy.

Since I sing in the choir each Sunday,  my husband usually sits with our children, but from time to time, A and C find themselves sitting on an entirely different pew or my husband has to fulfill scripture reading or ushering duties.  Making sure our children are cared for during service, though, is never an issue because a member of our church family always steps in to see to it that A and C are seated respectfully.  Someone is always there to lovingly turn my son's upside down hymnal to the correct position and to the correct page.

I hold my son's hand as we cross the street to the park, where we are meeting friends.  The afternoon sun hangs low in the bright blue sky, its rays filtering through the colorful array of fall foliage.  We manage to open the lopsided wooden gate then C sprints to meet his friends, who are already busy swinging and sliding.  To an outsider, the group gathering on this cheerful autumn day have arrived at the park to celebrate another Saturday of college football victories or the birthday of a child, but this tight-knit band is here to grieve with friends, fellow church members, who are getting ready to say good-bye to their beloved step-mother who recently passed away after a difficult battle with cancer.  While our children's voices echo happily through the air, women of all ages sit in a ring of folding tail-gate chairs sharing stories, swapping memories, and offering solace in ways that only friends can. Though there are no crosses on the wall or bibles in our hands, church is in session and the comforting power of the Holy Spirit can be felt throughout the park.

One favorite argument skeptics use in their thesis, "Why I Refuse to Attend Church," is that they love Jesus but can't stand the church.  I get it.  The church is messy; the church is flawed; the church can be judgmental, harsh, and legalistic; the church is full of sinners.  But, it's hard to love and serve Christ if you don't love His body.  Whether we like it or not, the group of believers called the "church" is how Christ chooses to fulfill His purpose in our world.  The Son of God entered into the brokenness, and He expects us to do the same.  Though skeptics may despise it, Jesus loves the church.  Ephesians 5 says, "just as Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her with the washing of water by the word.  He did this to present the church to Himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or anything like that, but holy and blameless....for no one ever hates his own flesh but provides and cares for it, just as Christ does for the church."  Christ is the head of the body, the church, and he loves us so much that he gave Himself up for us.  Christ also calls us to be a unified body, working as his hands and feet, ministering to a hurt and broken world.  

Perhaps our real problem with the church, once we move past the easy, comfortable answer of "I don't like it because it is full of hypocrites," is that it forces us to become vulnerable and share our lives with others whom we fear might reject us.  It challenges us to immerse ourselves in a broken world, where we may be required to get our hands dirty and our hearts broken.  Church membership calls us out of the sanitized safety of isolation and demands we feed the poor, comfort the brokenhearted, love our enemies, and wash the feet of both strangers and fellow believers.  It compels us to work alongside others who challenge us, encourage us, and sometimes, even anger us.  We will witness pain like we've never seen, hurt that causes our hearts to ache, injustice that makes us want to scream, but we will also see the face of Christ reflected in those we serve and in those we serve alongside, and we will see Him move in ways that astonish us.  We will witness the power that Christ has to heal brokenness and to set captives free from addiction, guilt, bitterness, and sorrow.  Though many of us like to proclaim our faith is a private matter, scripture clearly calls us to live out our faith in community.  And, while conflict and division sometimes prevent us from effective ministry, I invite you to see where the church shines:

When a tornado ravages a neighborhood destroying homes and leaving a wake of desperation and chaos, church members of those affected respond even before the rain has ceased falling.  Phone lines are cluttered with the quick chatter of members making plans to provide shelter, clothing, meals, and clean-up assistance.  Long after the branches have been cleared, the church is still there picking up the pieces.

Refugees seek solace from persecution faced by governments in Iraq and Syria, the church through organizations like Samaritan's Purse unite to provide food and clothing.  

Bible study groups and youth groups shop for local food banks and homeless shelters; they meet to pack shoe boxes that will travel thousands of miles to provide smiles to children on the other side of the world, a brief reprieve from the hardship that constitutes their daily reality.  

Missionaries travel into areas where others flee to provide medical care and hope for those dying of disease, thirst, and malnourishment.  While moments of crisis are where we often shine brightest, it is in the quiet, dark moments of everyday heartbreak and stress, where I most feel the grace of Christ, as He reaches out to me through the ministry of the church

I place my head in my hands and roughly push my fingers back through my hair until pieces are clenched tightly in my fist.  I fight the urge to scream.  I've over-scheduled myself, yet again.  If one more demand is made on my time, I may seriously consider crawling into bed and hibernating until spring.  Anxiety consumes me, as I worry over a family member fighting for her life, and watch the threads of my family slowly come unraveled as fighting and finger-pointing ensue a controversial decision. I wonder if reconciliation will ever occur.  Rather than begin the thousands of tasks on my list, I sit, staring at the table, overwhelmed by sadness.  In that moment, I keenly sense the brokenness that surrounds me.  For some reason, I open my computer to check my email and see a message penned by the youth and family pastor at my church.  He sensed the Holy Spirit's prompting to send me a prayer that put into words the groanings expressed by my spirit.  His words bring comfort.  

A dear friend from my Sunday school class senses my stress and invites my daughter over to play for the afternoon to give me some much-needed time to myself.  I receive text after text and call after call from the girls in my Sunday school class and bible study checking on my family and me, all offering a safe place to share my grief and frustration.  A friend brings a meal just because, but I know it's because she understands what we are going through.  Women I only met because of our church membership are now among my dearest friends, even the ones who no longer attend the same church.  Because we are sisters in Christ, unbreakable bonds have been formed.  My own church has faced a season of grief and loss, as several dear, many too young, members of our congregation have died.  Each member could add her own beautiful thread to the tapestry of stories we collectively weave, stories of members selflessly ministering to other members and to the world at large.  Yes, this is how Christ chooses to minister.  "How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!" How messy, human, broken, stumbling yet beautiful is the bride of Christ.