Sort of together
Nancy Kennedy
Years ago I visited a little church at the edge of the county. They had a new pastor and I had gone to interview him for a story for the paper.
As I walked around the building looking for the door, a man with messy hair, dressed in shorts and sandals, walked behind me. I thought maybe he knew where the door was, maybe he thought I knew.
We walked around the building, sort of together, eventually finding the way in.
He went into the sanctuary and sat near the front. He didn’t seem to know anyone, but he didn’t seem too terribly uncomfortable.
When the service started, I sat in the back so I could observe the goings on better. I was especially interested in that man who came in with me.
Why was he there? Why was he alone, and why choose this church? It sits a couple of miles back from the main highway, and unless you know it’s there, you wouldn’t know it.
During the pastor’s sermon, the man appeared to be listening, although he didn’t nod or say “Amen” like most of the other people did.
He didn’t sing any of the hymns or go forward at the altar call, but neither did he leave early to avoid it.
When the service ended, he just slipped out quietly, not staying to chat or shake anyone’s hand.
I’d love to have talked to him, to learn his story, what brought him there, what he thought about what he heard there, if he was moved at all.
Did what he heard anger him? Help or comfort him? Confuse him?
Did he go back the next week?
The sermon that day was about Mary, the mother of Jesus, who, when she learned she was pregnant, went to visit her cousin, Elizabeth, who was also pregnant.
On my sermon notes I wrote: “Pursuit of community — Mary goes to Elizabeth, the only person who ‘got’ it and wouldn’t think she was nuts.”
Something else I wrote on my sermon notes: “We who were once not a people are now a family.”
It’s like the verse in Psalm 68 that says, “God sets the lonely in families.”
My pastor always says that, as a church, we walk to heaven together — as a family.
I like that — I love that.
When I used to write books, every new book that was published, my church celebrated with me.
They celebrated ME.
And when I was at my lowest, they wept with me.
The other day, I passed by that little church on the way to a newspaper assignment. Some people were trimming bushes and some others were raking leaves. A few were laughing.
The day I attended that church, an older man and a little boy in the pew in front of me were talking about toy race cars prior to the service.
The older man told the boy, “I look forward to seeing you every week.”
Maybe that’s part of why God created the church, so people have a place to come week after week where other people look forward to seeing them.
I wondered if the man with messy hair saw that too.
