The year was 1975, and my family was finishing a week-long visit with our very best friends on the Oregon Coast. Mike and Dan were my age, and with my brother we had many adventures on a pond, loaded with drift wood, located across the street from their house. We called it “The Frog Pond,” but it smelled a lot worse than dead frogs (rumors had it that someone hid bodies in that place, but we never saw them). I remember our instructions before we headed across the street, “Don’t get wet in the pond.” Since boys will be boys, we spent most of our time at the “pond” drying our clothes before coming home, as if our moms couldn’t smell the odor. Just remembering those moments brings a smile across my face.
On this particular visit, we were returning from our vacation on a Sunday afternoon. Mark, the two-year-old younger brother came down with a fever, and his parents decided to keep him home from church. I remember how Mark’s reaction reminded me of someone breaking the favorite toy. His heart broke and the tears welled up as he said, “I want to go to church.” The Tillamook Church of Christ boasted of 30 members on Sunday morning. They didn’t have a children’s program, and I’m not even sure who the preacher was. Regardless, little Mark wanted to be at church, and missing that Sunday night broke his heart.
His teary face burned a lasting image into my brain, and even now looking back, I’m led into wonder; only a child-like faith can be broken for missing church.
Most church-going Americans appear to have lost the joy in assembling with the saints. A poles-apart perception of church maybe at play with similar results. While some see church as work, others see it as duty. While some claim it’s boring, others believe it’s reverent. While some find the hour-long service almost too painful to endure, others have convinced themselves that that is what church is all
about. Both groups miss the mark, and Psalm 122:1 is an ideal never realized, “I rejoiced with those who said to me, ‘Let’s go to the house or the Lord.’” Just because I’ve chosen a profession which places me in the middle of church, doesn’t mean the joy comes any easier; sometimes it’s almost harder. However, recently, I’ve reflected on our assembly time and have rediscovered how church is a place of joy.
I’ve rediscovered church as a place of joy whenever a person, either comes to Jesus for the first time or comes to Jesus again for the first time. Even more joy is discovered when I’ve played some role in moving that person closer to Jesus.
I’ve rediscovered church as a place of joy whenever the assembly singing sounds like the singing we’ll experience in heaven. On those Sundays, we can almost see the pearly gates and hear the chorus of angels. Speaking of which, when I hear the voice of a child singing at the top of her lungs, goose bumps break out all over me.
I’ve rediscovered church as a place of joy whenever a member shakes my hand at the door and says, “Your sermon encouraged me,” or “Your sermon spoke to something in my life that I need to change.”
I’ve rediscovered church as a place of joy whenever a toddler pretends that I’m Darth Vader and chases me around the fellowship hall with his “light saber,” or I’m coloring pictures with elementary children while we talk about important stuff like their favorite book, movie, or food, or when a five-year-old rushes into my arms for a hug, only to hear him say, “Hey Preacher. You’re Fired!”
I’ve rediscovered church as a place of joy whenever we’re led in prayer, and the person praying almost sounds as if he knows God personally.
I’ve discovered church as a place of joy whenever my “adopted” granddaughter chooses to sit with Cile and me during the worship as she pulls my reading glasses out of my shirt pocket so she can wear them.
I’ve rediscovered church as a place of joy whenever the teenagers gravitate to my family, as if we’re the “in crowd,” or when older members share with me from their lives as if I’m as respectable as they are.
While I can’t say I’ve ever been as heartbroken for missing the assembly as little Mark was, I can say I’m looking for more joy nuggets in our assemblies. Those nuggets, sometimes more valuable than the worship time itself, tend to do more to fuel my passion for ministry and for the assembly. When that happens Psalm 122 can link arms with Nehemiah 8:10 and be just as true, “The joy of the Lord is my strength.”
Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)