And This Is My Testimony

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.

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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.