A Church On Its Knees            

 

I was on my knees. I remember that distinctly, probably because that is not my usual prayer position. I tend to pray standing on my feet a lot, walking, laying on my back if it's nighttime, and more often than not, sitting.  I usually reserve praying on my knees for the most heartfelt or urgent prayers, or the ones I think have gone too long unanswered.  This prayer was the latter sort, the kind where you keep asking, seeking and knocking, but the door hasn’t been opened.

I had come to know Jesus a few years before and had been ravenously consuming my Bible and anything else I could get my hands on that would feed my faith hunger, but I knew something was missing.  I didn't grow up attending church, so I didn't really even fully understand why or what it was that I was seeking.  I just knew there was something else, like when you’re full from a great meal, but still have a craving for something sweet.  Every week I would spread out the pages of our local newspaper that listed all of the area churches, and I would pour over the listings (yes, that long ago, when we still had a newspaper!), selecting one church and then another, week after week, that I intended to visit.  But come Sunday morning, I wouldn't go, my enthusiasm for that particular church having inexplicably drained away. I wasn't spiritually mature enough to think that I was being prohibited from going by the Holy Spirit as Paul attested to, I just somehow knew on Sunday morning that I wasn't supposed to go.  And that is how I ended up on my knees, where I should have started the search to begin with. Frustrated, I implored God to “give me a church”, and waited for Divine guidance.  I don't really know what I expected…a sign? As in a vision… an actual sign with the name of a denomination or a church and an address on it?  Or for His voice to suddenly boom a name that I would recognize- like First Such-and-Such Church of Raton?  I’d love to offer a phenomenal testimony that that’s what happened, but it didn’t.  What I got instead was a cramp in my thigh.

However, a short time later I was invited to attend a new prayer meeting in a small, nondescript-looking building on top of a hill at the edge of town.  There were seldom more than a handful of people there, and there was no structure or format for the meetings. There was a special peacefulness about it, as we sat for long periods in silence.  Silence in the midst of other people can often be uncomfortable, but somehow there was a sweet sense of community in this silence, as if we were all sharing in a common but unspoken purpose, listening together for one Voice, the Voice above all voices. Prayers that were spoken were not bold or loud or eloquent; they were reverent and heartfelt. I began to realize we were all praying for a church. I usually think of community as being a natural product of communication - after all, they even share the same root word- but in those gatherings,  bonds were created in the quietness of listening to what was unspoken.

Eventually, those meetings began to change, giving birth to what would be a church.  I don’t know if all new churches start out as baby churches, but this one did.  Like a baby, it was sweet and warm and uncomplicated.  We grew into our respective places as pastors and congregants, but with a sort of innocence of “religion” and preconceived ideas about what churches “do”.  Sermons would end in conversations and questions, sometimes leading into an unplanned “second sermon”.  We shared prayer requests.  Sometimes, we’d join hands standing in a circle at the end of the sermon to pray together face-to-face and hearts facing in, rather than front-to-back in pews, affirming that we were all equal parts of that precious body, all equally powerful in our unity of prayer.  And as babies do, the church continued to grow and change.

One night after service, I caught Monty by the arm and asked him, “Now that we’re a church, what kind of a church are we?”.   He gave me that look -I know you've all seen it- that says that he's been caught a little off guard, or that the question asked is out of left field.  To be fair, I doubt that our beloved pastor had ever given that question the slightest thought. During those early days of his preaching, he regularly described his purpose as a pastor by quoting the apostle Paul; “For I determined not to know anything among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified.” (1 Cor. 2:2).  I don't really even remember what the purpose of my question was or why I asked it, just as I don't remember entirely what Monty's answer was.  For some unknown reason the incident has come back to my mind often. Reflecting on it, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that the question probably came from my own spiritual immaturity, from a need to put a label or a name on what we were doing and what we were becoming.

But recently, the Lord asked me the same question. Somehow, simple questions that I might ask out of innocence or ignorance and are of no consequence suddenly become deeply profound when the Creator of the universe turns my own question around on me. 

 

He asked me, “What kind of a church are you?”

 

First, let me be clear that there was no condemnation in this question. If anything, it was an opening for a conversation with Him, an opportunity for me to ask questions of Him and of myself.  I knew immediately that He was referring me to 1 Cor. 3:16, “Do you not know that you are the temple of God and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?”.  Paul referred to “the temple” to mean both the church body and the individual believers –their bodies– as the dwelling places for the Holy Spirit, but I knew God was referring to me personally, as His church and His temple, and was asking me a question that could only be answered by questioning myself.

So, what kind of church am I?  I’ve been asking myself….Am I a church built on the rock solid foundation of Jesus described in Matthew 7:24, that withstands the storms of life and stands as a place of worship despite the storms?  Have I laid the gold, silver and precious stones of God’s word as strong layers on the foundation, or is there some hay and straw in there from another source?

Is this temple really a temple devoted to the worship of the living God? Or have I allowed idols to sneak in, taking up space in this temple that rightfully belongs to God?  Are there tables that need to be overturned and “religious” things that need to be driven out as Jesus did to preserve this temple as a true house of prayer?  

Am I a church that conforms to the world’s standards, or am I a church that, like the church in the book of Acts, changes the standards of the world with The Word?

Am I a temple that offers true sanctuary - a quiet, light-filled space to listen for that Voice, the Voice that Jesus Himself promises we each will hear?  Am I still listening for that Voice, or have I allowed this temple to be filled with and influenced by other voices that clamor for my attention?

It’s always encouraging to hear about prayers answered by God, but perhaps it is even more encouraging to know that you yourself are an answer to prayer.  God answered my prayer for ‘a church’ by creating The Lighthouse, but each of you who read this are also ‘a church’ yourselves.  As such, you too are part of what God has done to answer that prayer.  Simply put, you are an answer to prayer.  The kind of temple we each seek to be within ourselves will influence what our collective church will be.  

As for me, this church is on its knees again, seeking answers to that question, “What kind of church are you?”.