On our way home, by the time we hit 81 the traffic was heavy, particularly a fleet of semi tractor-trailers that I had unfortunately fallen in with. If you’ve ever spent any time on Interstate 81 you know what a white-knuckled thrill ride it can be. To make matters worse, my sciatica nerve was plotting violent Revolution from hip to knee, making the trip even more intolerable. Then, out of the blue, my wife says, “Would you like to listen to the service?”
As many of you know we attend Hope Church. Luckily they have a YouTube channel which airs all the services for three groups of people—folks too lazy to crawl out of bed and go to church, people who are too sick to attend, and people who find themselves going 80 miles an hour in a pack of truckers with throbbing pain in their hips. So I said, “Sure.”
My son attends West End United Methodist church in Nashville, an old school church that features Gothic architecture, the largest pipe organ in Tennessee, ancient liturgy and a robed choir. When the congregation broke into Christ the Lord is Risen Today, we were moved by a powerful and enchanting soprano descant that brought me to the edge of tears. Later, the gifted organist let loose with a spellbinding solo that shook the rafters. It was an incredible experience.
While driving down 81, I couldn’t watch the video of our service, I could only listen. It opened with three songs that I didn’t know, performed not by a choir but the praise band at Hope, a mixture of full-time and volunteer musicians, many of whom I have come to know in my time at Hope. They are devoted followers of Christ who happen to be musically gifted. Although, I tend to prefer traditional music on special days like Christmas and Easter, I quickly became enthralled with what I heard. The band was as tight as I have ever heard them, the voices were clear and confident. I found myself listening to the words and being caught up in what it is that we actually celebrate on Easter. Then I heard a strange voice reading the scriptures. Pam told me it was Anthony from the Thrift Store. Of course it was…I would have eventually recognized him. Then David Dwight delivered the sermon, the kind of message that felt prayed over and creatively conceived.
It was about halfway through the message when I felt an odd sensation as I dodged in and out of gaps in the traffic. It was as if I was in a bubble of care, like our car had been slipped into a protective sleeve. For an entire hour I listened to my church worship and celebrate the risen Christ. Seventy-five miles later, the service was over and I snapped out of it. The pain in my hip and hamstring returned with a vengeance— Where had it gone?—The traffic was still off the chain but seemed easier to manage somehow.
It occurred to me as we finally took the exit off 81 and on to 64 to Richmond, that this is why Christians need to be attached to a fellowship, an assembly of disciples. Listening to the Easter service of my church a day late united me to them, soothed me for an hour, and reminded me of the transcending power of the resurrection.
Every church has deficiencies. There will always be something not to like. You might not like this or that. Such is the way of the world. But spending your life looking for the perfect place to worship is a fool’s errand. Join an imperfect group. Attach yourself to a fellowship who tries to do great things even if it means failing sometimes. Get out of bed on Sunday morning. Don’t miss the assembly, the gathering together because there is power in it. But if you find yourself out of town and in a stressful situation, give the service a listen. Picture their faces and thank God for each of them.
Doug, this is Beautiful!
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