There tends to be a strong devotion to the church among Christians in rural areas.
Every Wednesday night, we have a meal before our Bible Study and prayer time because that’s what Southern Baptist churches in the south do. I’m pretty sure that it’s commanded in the Bible somewhere. (I haven’t found it yet but that doesn’t mean it’s not in there.)
Just over a week before Christmas, tragedy struck the family that prepares those meals. We were left with tons of food for a big Christmas dinner and no one to cook it. It took over 20 people to do what was usually done by two; but it got done. Men took off of work to deep fry chicken. Women came early to cook and make sure there was enough food. There was. That’s because the people in the church don’t just come to get fed. They care just as much about feeding.
Rural churches will carry you.
Back to that nervous, 10-year-younger version of myself about to preach his first funeral at his new church. I got even more nervous when the person who was supposed to lead the hymn backed out at the last minute. That left yours truly as the song leader. Here’s a little background information on yours truly: I can’t sing.
But that didn’t matter, I thought to myself. Once I sing the first few words, the crowd will take over. There was one problem. The crowd was more Free Bird than In the Garden. So I sang a solo to a dazed and confused crowd. You know that joke about singing so low you can’t hear it? That was me. But I noticed something happening.
Some of the regular members of my church were in service sitting on the back row. But they weren’t just sitting. They were singing. Loud. For me. Over me. By the time the song was over, their voices were drowning out the scared, monotone voice of their nervous pastor.
And that’s probably the best thing that I can say about rural churches, at least the one that I serve. They’re often made up of people who are willing to sing the song that you could never sing on your own.
This article originally appeared here.
