Oops. Didn’t mean to do that.
Sunday morning very early I left the house and drove 200 miles to a church where I was to preach. Originally, they’d asked me to bring a message for their senior adult emphasis this weekend, but they called during the week to say everything had changed. The pastor resigned abruptly last Sunday and an unknown number of members were leaving with him–some church leaders too–to begin a new church, and the congregation was in a turmoil. They still wanted me to preach today but not on the senior adult theme.
I was glad to do so. One of the benefits of having gone through a lot of trouble in the last couple of churches I’ve served is that I’ve learned some things to say to congregations and church leaders who are hurting. The only people I know who would willingly volunteer to speak to a church in crisis like this is a veteran preacher. At such times you know beyond a doubt you are called by God.
I left early enough to leave myself a little wiggle room in case I had car trouble. That’s why I arrived in their city 45 minutes early. So, I pulled into a nearby hotel parking lot, the same inn where my wife and I stayed just two months ago when I spoke at another church in the area. They have a spacious lobby where a guy wearing a white shirt and tie can collapse in a comfortable chair for 15 minutes without appearing out of place or being questioned. That’s when I noticed the families coming in.
A small crowd was congregating in a conference room toward the rear of the lobby. This was obviously a church service. I sat there resting, my body still throbbing from over 3 hours on the interstate highway, and heard the pastor welcoming the people. He thanked this one and that one and then named someone I know who had made the arrangements for this location. That’s when I knew.
I had happened onto the first meeting of the group that was leaving the church where I would be preaching in half an hour. For no reason I can identify, I felt extremely uncomfortable and immensely out of place. Hoping no one recognized me, I got up and walked out and drove to the church.
And, wouldn’t you know, we had an incredible worship service. Three or four hundred people were present, the youth minister baptized a teenager, and the service throbbed with life. A large number of beautiful, alert teenagers occupied the first three center pews. No one introduced me, so I did it myself. I walked to the pulpit and said, “Good morning. I’m your new pastor. The bishop sent me.” They laughed–as I was hoping they would. “Oh that it were that easy,” I told them.
As usual, I began by giving a brief report on New Orleans and asked for their prayers for the rebuilding of this troubled city.