I’ve
been attending services at a local Salvation Army chapel now for
roughly 20 years. My early attendance was spotty, as I wasn’t sure
that I would ever come to like going there. Coming as I did from a
Catholic family, their practices were at first very foreign to me.
And it would be a long while before I was to realize that the much
smaller congregation there was able to provide me with something I’d
never experienced in all my years going to Mass or other Catholic
services: acceptance and love.
Since
those early days, I’ve come to consider that church home. And from
what I’m hearing, there is quite a large movement nowadays among
others who are, like I once was, searching for something that better
fills their spiritual needs.
With
the world in such disarray right now, it’s not surprising that more
people would need the comfort that only a small closely-knit
congregation can provide. I’ve observed something else, too: in the
larger churches, it’s simply not possible for the pastors or
ministers to get to know everyone personally. And now, as the
Catholic Church continues to close more churches and consolidate
those that are left into regional centers, going to Mass is more
impersonal than ever. Only the more aggressive Catholics are willing
to make the move to be known and to stand out. And despite the fact
that parishes are consolidating and more people have left the
Catholic fold, there will always be those who prefer not to be known.
That’s
how it was in my parents’ day when church attendance was so large
and so strong that the low ratio of several priests to hundreds of
parishioners meant that many would remain forever invisible and
anonymous. And that is not the way to run a church! Because when
someone becomes disillusioned and decides to leave, no one notices
that one of the sheep is missing and no one cares enough to go
looking for it. (Luke 15: 4-5)
At
the Salvation Army chapel, someone always notices when I’m not
there on a particular Sunday. I’ll get an email from a friend there
or a special “We missed you last week” hug from someone when I do
go back the following week. That never happened to me before, and at
the time, it didn’t really bother me. I was perfectly happy to slip
into and out of church on Sundays without being noticed. But since
then, I’ve realized that fellowship, mingling with other
Christians, hugging and sharing words of comfort, are all crucial to
the process and are actually beneficial from an emotional point of
view.
I’ve
noticed that, when I don’t go to church, I’ll feel all day as
though something is missing. My spirit will be low, and I will not
feel the usual buoyancy that I do after a service, the same fullness of
spirit that almost always follows my attendance.
In
the last few months, members of the congregation at the Salvation
Army Chapel have been asked to give testimonials to their faith or
their experiences within the church. Yesterday it was my turn. And
although public speaking makes me a little nervous, I asked God for
strength and moved ahead with it. Needless to say, it turned out very
well. Not only did I bless others with my words and sentiments, but
myself as well. I’ve included the basic transcript of the message
below, to which I ad libbed a few other comments here and there for
emphasis.
I
was honored to be able to do this, and I still today carry the joy of
knowing that God loved me enough to let me do it.
*************
It’s
no longer a secret that mine is the name that appears in the bulletin
under the heading of the Responsive Readings each Sunday. There's a
story leading up to that, but for purposes of word economy, I'll try
to keep it short.
First,
a bit of
background. I
was born in Biddeford, Maine
in 1950 and was raised in the Catholic tradition. Other than
attending Kindergarten in a two-room public schoolhouse in in
1955-1956, the rest of my schooling took place in both a
parochial
grade school and high school. While my parents’ faith was strong,
they were what I would call now the invisible ones. From behind the
scenes, they fulfilled what they thought were the basic Catholic
requirements, which pretty much meant letting the nuns at school
teach us all we needed to know. The most important take-away from
that is that nothing was ever explained or illustrated. It was
entirely a matter of blind unquestioning compliance with no room for
discussion.
Later,
when I was in high school and took it upon myself to “rebel” and
to start challenging the status quo, I was met with many raised
eyebrows and much resistance. Still, I didn’t get a lot of answers
to my questions, so I drifted away, returning to the ecumenical fold
only when my parents placed pressure on me to do so.
So
how did I come to be here? About 20 years ago, I became acquainted
with certain members of this congregation. Up until that point, I
hadn’t gone to church, any church, in many years.
I
will never forget my first experience attending a worship meeting
here. It was held in the old chapel, and none of it was familiar to
me. I felt very much out of place that day, but as time went on, and
I began to let my guard down, I felt a very strong sense of
acceptance here.
About
two years after that, I lost both my partner and my mother to cancer
less than a month apart; and then, I lost
all
sense of who I
was.
Whatever
or whoever I reached out to during those very dark days, good or bad,
right or
wrong, felt
better than being in the black hole of losing not one, but two, of
the most important people in my life. And even then, despite how far
I'd fallen, and I did hit bottom many times, I never stopped praying.
But I prayed, not for what was good for me but for what I thought
would make ME happy. And then, I slipped away from that when I
started to feel that I wasn't worthy to even think of drawing near to
God, and that there were many far more deserving than I to claim that
privilege.
In
retrospect, I see now that when God didn't answer my prayers in the
way I'd hoped, it was because he was yanking me back again from
making more mistakes. But it took me awhile to understand that, and I
could have conceivably been compared to Lazarus who died before Jesus
could get to him. In John 11, verse 11, Jesus says “Our friend
Lazarus has fallen asleep; but I am going there to wake him up.”
(NIV)
In
my case, I had not “fallen asleep” in a physical sense but a
spiritual one. Never having understood what salvation was all about,
how could I know what I was looking for and what it would look like
when I found it? As a child, I’d
simply mimicked what I saw going on around me, and all I knew was
that I’d better obey the Ten
Commandments
or else! Even much later, as a young adult, I still was not alive to
the spirit of God and His love, and it would take years before I was
to feel, rather than hear, the words, “Rachel, come forth.”
And
now, on to how I came to write the Responsive Readings...I've been
writing for over 30 years in different capacities...news
correspondent, reporter, theater reviewer, and most recently, as a
nature writer for the now-defunct Journal Tribune...nature with a
capital N, God’s magnificent manifestation...God at His most
eloquent as He speaks wordlessly to us and through us from all that
He created. In Nature, everything makes sense and Evil is not welcome
there.
About
a year and a half ago, I decided that it was time to give back to the
one who had given me this ability, so I approached Major B and asked
how I might go about "writing for God." The weekly
paraphrased Psalms are the result of that, as are the occasional
essays that she graciously prints out for the Welcome Desk. I’ve
learned something important about Scripture in the time I’ve been
doing this. God’s word is not static or arbitrary
or fixed. It
is a living breathing thing that can take the shape of whatever will
do most the
good and that
will most
effectively convey His message to us. I’ve been doing this for well
over a year now, and each week, God’s words take on new dimensions
and attributes. And therein lies the miracle.
Unlike
some, I’ve never had a “born again” moment, no great epiphany.
Having been baptized as an infant, I just always believed I WAS saved
and that it didn't require any special effort on my part. What I HAVE
experienced, however, are intense moments of pure enlightenment that
can only come from God, moments where it doesn’t even occur to me
to resist, such as when I turned to writing about Nature, which is
what initially lifted me out of that black hole; being inspired to
rewrite the Psalms to make them more accessible and personal; and
something else that happened right here on this very spot not that
long ago.
I
got a call one evening asking if I'd be willing to read from
Scripture. It was a passage from the Gospel, though I've forgotten
now which one. I approached this lectern that day nervous and hoping
that I would do God’s word justice. I went ahead with the narrative
that introduced that particular passage and read up to a certain
point, and that's when it happened. The words progressed from the
Gospel-writer's to those that Jesus had spoken, and I felt the air
shift around me. At first, my voice faltered a bit, but I was able to
go on. When I was finished and back in my seat, the full impact of
what had just taken place swept over me. It hadn’t
been me
speaking up here but Jesus, speaking through me, using my voice.
Not
only had I read a portion of Scripture, but I had also articulated
the very words that Jesus himself spoke when he was on earth more
than 2,000 years ago. In the life of a Christian who has traveled so
far and fought so hard to find her way back, there is no greater
honor, no greater blessing, than to be found worthy enough to utter,
for all the world to hear, the very words that Jesus Himself spoke.
At that moment, I knew how very much He loves me.
I’m
Rachel Lovejoy, and that is my testimony.
