My friend Xena used to ride her motorcycle to church, then call me the next week. “I don’t know what I’m doing in that ritzy church,” she would say. “Surrounded by all those women wearing their furs and me in my denims.”
Usually I would assure her that she was an important part of our congregation and that we would be much poorer without her, but once I tried a different approach.
“I saw where you were sitting Sunday morning, Xena. It might interest you to know that on the row behind you, that handsome well-dressed couple just buried their only son. He was in the Air Force and was killed when his trainer crashed. And on the same row as you, that family is battling alcoholism. An older lady a couple of rows in front of you is facing bankruptcy. Everyone around you was in church because they were hurting and needed the comfort only the Heavenly Father can give.”
“Thanks. I needed that,” Xena said.
Someone has said that everyone you know is either in a crisis, just coming out of one, or about to experience one.
You cannot look at their exterior appearance and tell. I had a reminder of that Sunday morning at Riverside Baptist Church down the street a mile from my home.
Toward the end of the worship service, Joe Marsh asked the pastor if he could say a word about the church’s Celebrate Recovery program. He rose from the pew behind me, walked to the front and stunned everyone with his testimony. Later, I asked for the privilege of sharing his story. After you read it (which I have edited slightly), I’ll give you my own little tale of woe, one I’ve never mentioned on these pages.
“I’m Joe Marsh. Those who look at me see a normal guy. I grew up in church, surrendered to the ministry at 17, and have been a grad student in seminary for 18 months. I’m 6 feet 1 inch and weigh 195. People who look at me have no idea what struggles I have in my personal life.”
“I am an overeater.”
