In the midst of such soulful worship, such beauty, such creative expressions of the Resurrection, I was a wreck.
I felt like standing on my chair and keening for restoration and for loving his His church. I felt a wind sweeping through me and I was crying and then I was climbing the make-shift stairs, looking out at the elementary school gym, perched on a stool like an inelegant fool, and the words came and God was honored. It wasn’t about me. I was telling someone else’s story, but it was for me, too. I feel like it was something holy, loving his church, something new happening in my heart.
The Joy of Loving His Church
I was overwhelmed with joy, with the Resurrection, with the truth of the Cross and the empty tomb, with what life in Christ means for all of us.
I was so thankful, I felt like dropping to my knees, flinging my hands up, sobbing with gratitude and longing.
We covered an old rugged cross in blossoms, we threaded tulips and daisies and chrysanthemums through old chicken wire and when we were done, it was blooming with new life, beauty out of bedlam and barrenness. A lady turned around and gave us handfuls of flowers to put on the cross, and even the little kindnesses like that feel like a kiss on the wounds of being ignored and overlooked Sunday after Sunday.
I loved it. I loved every messy, imperfect, celebratory, powerful, soulful, emotional and wild thing about today.
I loved our pastors, our teachers, our sound guys, our choir, our children, our grandparents. I loved every person that came through the doors, this is family, I loved the folding chairs, and I loved the cross front and center, towering with color and beauty. I love knowing I’ll see some of these folks during the week, at the library, at the park, on Facebook, at Bible study, at dance lessons.
I loved the songs we sang loud, and I loved the sight of the tinies standing on risers, flinging their arms around with the action songs, beside their friends, I loved my baby in my arms, and I loved us all in some supernatural thing of wholeness and connection.
Like somehow, when I wasn’t looking for it, when I gave up on ever finding it or even loving his church anymore, God made something beautiful out of my baggage, out of my brokenness, out of my church drama, my own sticky pride. I found myself loving his church.
Jesus snuck up on me, surprised me with grace and community and family, a glimpse of something good, a restoration unsought: loving his church.
