Today, I went to church. I sat patiently through the singing of the choir and the three specials. The children were loud in children’s church, and I sent up a silent prayer that it wasn’t my two. Kelsey, who had successfully created 5 perfect little robots always had something to say about the parenting shortcomings of that week’s ‘bad kids’ in class. I could see her tilting her head and raising her eyebrows as she humbly gave her advice to everyone except their mother.
Finally, the preacher began his sermon by reading out of Galatians chapter 5. I pulled my notebook out and began taking notes.
God, I desperately need something today. Please, send me something through the Pastor. Give me ears to hear, Lord. Fill me up!
This week we were going over the works of the flesh in comparison to the fruits of the Spirit, paying special attention to the fruit of Goodness. He referenced two or three other passages from the New Testament and finished up five minutes early. From start to finish his sermon was twenty-five minutes long. I felt an emptiness settle in my heart when I realized that he was done so soon. I’d written only three lines, and I already knew the information in each line. I didn’t want to put my notebook up. I hadn’t learned anything new, yet.
My family and I slowly made our way toward the foyer and out the door. We dodged the small groups of people chatting, apologizing as we bumped and squeezed through. Before we could go through the door, though, we had to pass by the Pastor who stood with his hand out, giving each person handshakes as they passed by. Some people were eager to shake his hand, but I never liked to. For one, I didn’t like touching other people at all, but mostly when my eyes would meet his, and I could see that shaking my hand was just part of the job for him. It left me feeling bad for him and I didn’t like it. In my heart I heard… Let love be without dissimulation.
We aren’t supposed to fake our love for one another. I knew that. Nevertheless, social graces had to be upheld. We shook and smiled and left.
Afterword, we decided to stop by the grocery store and pick up a loaf of bread for sandwiches. We laughed and talked together as we entered and grabbed our buggy. My kids talked excitedly about the candy they’d received for being so good in class and then about the older boys who kicked the back of one kid’s chair until he got so mad he stood up and screamed. The teacher had to throw him out of the class. I stopped laughing and exchanged worried glances with my husband. “We’ll talk about this when we get back to the car, okay?” He said to them both. They exchanged worried glances, probably wondering what they had said that changed the atmosphere in our car. Suddenly, we saw a couple from church waving at us just inside the door. We approached them and took up polite conversation. It felt very forced, because we barely knew anyone from church, even though we attended for over a year now, but in order to keep up social graces we stood and smiled and nodded. We realized as the conversation went on that they were not a couple, but in-laws. Dave and Bennie. Dave was married to Bennie’s niece. She was very chatty, but Dave always seemed to have something better to do than speak to anyone. I wondered if he felt that the conversation was forced, too? I glanced up at my husband, and motioned for the children to settle down, as they were getting antsy due to all the standing around. Just before we parted ways, another woman came through the door. She wore a woven floppy sunhat, with a neat black ribbon sash, a bathing suit and a black sheer bathing suit cover.
I smiled at her, and she returned my smile eagerly. There was lots of cheer in her face and eyes. Her smile was bright and genuine and contagious. I ushered the kids to back away from the baskets so that she could get to them, and she thanked me and the kids both. When I looked back toward our friends from church, my smile faded quickly. Bennie was staring after the woman in black with what I would have described as a sneer on her face. “I just don’t see how a woman can go out looking like that and not be ashamed of herself.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head at the sweet woman. We said goodbye and parted ways.
I thought about her comment for a while that day. It discouraged me. Before I knew Christ, I used to be just like that woman, if not worse. The simple answer to Bennie’s question was that the woman didn’t see anything wrong with her choice of clothing. Maybe she wasn’t saved yet. She didn’t have the Holy Spirit living in her heart to convict her of her sins. That possibility alone should have cultivated a little more grace in Bennie’s heart for the woman. It disturbed me that it didn’t, especially after the sermon we had just heard about Goodness. Regardless, it wasn’t our job to judge someone outside of the church. It was God’s place to judge the woman. Lucky for the woman, too. God would have more mercy than Bennie would have shown her.
We decided to go for a walk down by the park near our home.
It was a good way down a little trail, and as I walked and talked with my husband and kids I slowly forgot about the mean boys and Bigmouth Bennie. Of course, the park always made my kids hungry for ice cream, so after a few hours we headed out. Without seeing a single other person, I left behind a little plastic baggie with a pamphlet inside that explained how to get to heaven on the bench. It wasn’t directly witnessing to someone, but it did fill my heart to think about someone reading it and accepting Christ as their Savior.
At the ice cream shop we stood eagerly in line behind another family. By the way that they were dressed, we could tell that they had been to church that morning also. All of us were still in our Sunday clothes. When the woman, who’s name I found out was Marty, turned around and looked me up and down she smiled and struck up a conversation. Where did we go to church? What was the Pastors name? How old were the kids? Our conversation was very bright and pleasant, until Marty began to give us directions to a Farmers Market here in town we should visit.
“There’s a little street there on the right that you turn down, off Mainstreet. There’s a tattoo parlor on the corner.” She stuck her tongue out and pretended to gag. “We’ve already told the kids about that place! No tattoos for us, thanks! Not the type!” She laughed, but all I could see were the arms of the lady behind the counter scooping the ice cream for our children. She had large roses covering both of her forearms. I thought they were beautiful, and wondered if Marty would have even started talking to me if I had tattoos like that. Probably not. My eyes met the women for a moment, and I smiled sadly at her, trying to apologize for Marty. She rolled her eyes and kept working. My face blanched as I realized she must assume that my opinion about her tattoos and Marty’s were the same. I knew that Marty was just being ignorant, but I wished she wasn’t. None of us are the type, and instead of comparing ourselves amongst ourselves, maybe we should compare ourselves with Christ. Instead of inviting us to her church, she should have been inviting this woman behind the counter, but now because of her arrogance she’d lost her testimony, and mine as well. We are all free in Christ, and I was pretty sure that it was what came out of a person that defiled them. Anger burned in my stomach, and I stopped speaking to Marty after that. She got the hint. I had had enough foolishness for one day. Lord, doesn’t anyone care about anyone but themselves? Are we all consumed with pride and unrighteous judgment? Please, forgive us Father.
eviehammonds23 