I was glad when they said to me, "Let us go to the house of the Lord!" Our feet have been standing within your gates, O Jerusalem! (Verses 1-2)
"Come let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob, that He may teach us His ways and that we may walk in His paths."...For all the peoples walk each in the name of its god, but we will walk in the name of our God forever and ever. Micah 4: 2,5
I was listening to the pastor of the church we visited yesterday talk of his early days in a liturgical church he attended. Sitting in the balcony, he'd scribble on the back of the bulletin waiting for the break between services when he would be able to scrounge a donut from the adult Sunday school dismissing for the service to come. How he'd endured two years of catechism on Saturday mornings until noon. The drudgery of church. Where the services seem interminable and boring. However, it was in a church (a different one) where he heard with his spiritual ears, the gospel. The good news that informed the young man that being an altar boy and memorizing the commandments wasn't going to do him any good unless he knew Jesus personally. Until he discovered Jesus loves him, without conditions, enough to die for Him--to live within him. The pastor, at fourteen, was born again into the kingdom of God...at church. Liturgy finally made sense.
We don't inherit faith in Christ. It's individual. Personal. That our parents took us to church was important to me. That's where I heard the good news of God's grace first. It was Jesus I loved at the age of six. Loved Him more than anything. In fact, so much so that I wanted to get to heaven as soon as possible! Just knew I was going to die on the weekend after I walked down the aisle of an enormous Baptist church, and, with tears filling my eyes and overflowing onto my pretty Sunday dress, asked Jesus sincerely and happily into my little heart. This Jesus Who loved children. I'd seen the pictures of kids sitting on His lap while His dark blond hair flowed onto His shoulders and His robe fell in light blue folds onto the ground beside Him. Who wouldn't want to see Jesus for real? It worried my parents, though, the declaration on Monday that this was indeed going to be my last week on Earth. Heaven bound and no need for a suitcase. I didn't understand the ramifications of death's finality then, but I did understand that heaven is where I really belong. There were, in fact, reams of information I didn't have. I just loved Jesus. That's all.
Through the week, I spoke to my parents of my homegoing. Convinced with every fiber of my being that I'd be with Jesus before church the next Sunday. On Monday it was amusing to them. On Tuesday, not quite so funny. By Wednesday, Mother was simply annoyed. But on Friday, when I still talked on and on about seeing Jesus, my parents were worried enough to invite the youth pastor over for a conference. "Do you think this could be true?" Mother asked the bespectacled theologian. "Should we take this seriously?" She was worried. The three adults murmured seriously over my situation at the vinyl dinette table as they sipped coffee and Daddy smoked a cigarette while I went outside to play. Not much sleep for my parents Saturday night. I'm sure they came in to check on my living-dying situation several times in the night. Sunday morning I was awakened by the smell of pancakes and bacon, thrilled that heaven had the same food Earth does. Stretching out of my dreamy sleep to covers that looked remarkably like my earthly ones. Then there was Daddy, standing in the doorway. "Get up! It's time to go to church!" I was surprisingly unscathed by the rather disappointing turn of events. I was glad when Daddy said, "Let's get ready for church!"
It's where I learned about my God. As the catechism of the preacher yesterday made sense to him once he'd asked Christ into His heart, so church informed me, sometimes imperfectly, but always faithfully, of God's ways. There is so much to know about God. He is, after all, God! I've had so many questions over so many years. So many joys; so many struggles. And through it all, Jesus has pursued my six-year-old heart as ruthlessly as He did on that morning when I walked down a carpeted, earthly aisle and discovered I'd actually entered into the gates of heaven. There is no other Jesus in all the other religions of the world. Only One God gives salvation as a free gift, bought and paid for. Only One God died once for all time for every person willing to reach out a life to His proffered hand. I will walk with my hand in His forever more.
"Come let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob, that He may teach us His ways and that we may walk in His paths."...For all the peoples walk each in the name of its god, but we will walk in the name of our God forever and ever. Micah 4: 2,5
I was listening to the pastor of the church we visited yesterday talk of his early days in a liturgical church he attended. Sitting in the balcony, he'd scribble on the back of the bulletin waiting for the break between services when he would be able to scrounge a donut from the adult Sunday school dismissing for the service to come. How he'd endured two years of catechism on Saturday mornings until noon. The drudgery of church. Where the services seem interminable and boring. However, it was in a church (a different one) where he heard with his spiritual ears, the gospel. The good news that informed the young man that being an altar boy and memorizing the commandments wasn't going to do him any good unless he knew Jesus personally. Until he discovered Jesus loves him, without conditions, enough to die for Him--to live within him. The pastor, at fourteen, was born again into the kingdom of God...at church. Liturgy finally made sense.
We don't inherit faith in Christ. It's individual. Personal. That our parents took us to church was important to me. That's where I heard the good news of God's grace first. It was Jesus I loved at the age of six. Loved Him more than anything. In fact, so much so that I wanted to get to heaven as soon as possible! Just knew I was going to die on the weekend after I walked down the aisle of an enormous Baptist church, and, with tears filling my eyes and overflowing onto my pretty Sunday dress, asked Jesus sincerely and happily into my little heart. This Jesus Who loved children. I'd seen the pictures of kids sitting on His lap while His dark blond hair flowed onto His shoulders and His robe fell in light blue folds onto the ground beside Him. Who wouldn't want to see Jesus for real? It worried my parents, though, the declaration on Monday that this was indeed going to be my last week on Earth. Heaven bound and no need for a suitcase. I didn't understand the ramifications of death's finality then, but I did understand that heaven is where I really belong. There were, in fact, reams of information I didn't have. I just loved Jesus. That's all.
Through the week, I spoke to my parents of my homegoing. Convinced with every fiber of my being that I'd be with Jesus before church the next Sunday. On Monday it was amusing to them. On Tuesday, not quite so funny. By Wednesday, Mother was simply annoyed. But on Friday, when I still talked on and on about seeing Jesus, my parents were worried enough to invite the youth pastor over for a conference. "Do you think this could be true?" Mother asked the bespectacled theologian. "Should we take this seriously?" She was worried. The three adults murmured seriously over my situation at the vinyl dinette table as they sipped coffee and Daddy smoked a cigarette while I went outside to play. Not much sleep for my parents Saturday night. I'm sure they came in to check on my living-dying situation several times in the night. Sunday morning I was awakened by the smell of pancakes and bacon, thrilled that heaven had the same food Earth does. Stretching out of my dreamy sleep to covers that looked remarkably like my earthly ones. Then there was Daddy, standing in the doorway. "Get up! It's time to go to church!" I was surprisingly unscathed by the rather disappointing turn of events. I was glad when Daddy said, "Let's get ready for church!"
It's where I learned about my God. As the catechism of the preacher yesterday made sense to him once he'd asked Christ into His heart, so church informed me, sometimes imperfectly, but always faithfully, of God's ways. There is so much to know about God. He is, after all, God! I've had so many questions over so many years. So many joys; so many struggles. And through it all, Jesus has pursued my six-year-old heart as ruthlessly as He did on that morning when I walked down a carpeted, earthly aisle and discovered I'd actually entered into the gates of heaven. There is no other Jesus in all the other religions of the world. Only One God gives salvation as a free gift, bought and paid for. Only One God died once for all time for every person willing to reach out a life to His proffered hand. I will walk with my hand in His forever more.
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