I was raised within the church. In a sense, quite literally raised. I can not recall a childhood memory that is not somehow bookended by my time spent there. Sunday school was followed by listening to Brother Allen's sermon at First Baptist Church. All the while, I sat next to my mother on a wooden pew trying to distinguish the patterns on the stained glass windows. As soon as the final prayer ended, we kids would run down the steps and play in the large expanse of yard, often making it as far as Ames Creek to look for Crawdads beneath the mossy rocks. Later that evening we would head back to church to listen to another sermon and then play tag to the dim glow cast by the streetlights. As I got older, Wednesday Awanas was replaced by Royal Ambassadors .
Arts and craft times in the basement of our old church. Youth sleepovers and afternoon potlucks. The sound of the choir, never entirely on pitch, but resplendent in their scarlet robes. Mr. Shockey shuffling down the middle aisle, sitting in a chair beneath the pulpit and pulling out his accordion as my friends and I would muffle giggles beneath the disapproving gaze of our moms. These are the memories of my childhood. But there are even more.
Summer mornings filling the hot sanctuary with squirmy children as we began Vacation Bible School. Standing to the procession of the flags. The third floor of our church transformed into a walk of terror on Halloween as adults would pop out of darkened doorways eliciting screams from me and my church friends. Being hauled out of church by my mother, my toes barely scraping the floor, for some offense deemed too severe to ignore. The swift and painful discipline administered as soon as the heavy door swung shut behind us. Stepping out from my pew and walking down the aisle, feeling all the eyes upon me, to the strains of " Just As I Am". Brother Allen leaning into my nine year old ear and whispering, " Hold your breath" as he baptized me in the baptismal behind the stage. The sound of the applause of our little church family.
I have taken wonderful memories with me as I left that old church and began a life that has ultimately led me to ministry. But I also took something else, an affliction that has stayed with me throughout these years. As I listened to those sermons on sin, I began to focus on my behaviors and and took my eyes off of my Savior. "How am I doing" became more important to me than what Jesus had already done. Consequently my faith became a lifestyle, a series of rules and guidelines dictating which behaviors were acceptable and which were not. I lost sight of what I knew at nine, that Christ forgave my sins, and put all my effort into becoming more righteous. As I grew older, I became even more accustomed to looking within my self for the strength to navigate the shifting sands of this life. The work of Christ on the cross became an afterthought, not the center of my faith.
But As I have grown older, I have faced circumstances beyond my strength. Beat down, discouraged and weary, I looked inward, not to my faith, but to the strength I brought to my faith, and discovered that all my best efforts collapsed beneath the weight of my circumstances.
Romans 5:1 says, “Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”. It goes on to say in verse 10 that we’ve already been “reconciled to God by the death of his Son". As I have looked down at my circumstances, I have looked inward for strength. Discovering I lack it, I have looked up and found that the strength I need is present in the finished work of Christ. Where my heart lacks peace, the promises of Christ abound with it. Even in my darkest seasons, when my heart is weak and my faith seems small, I still have hope. Not because of who I am, but because of what He did.
"True faith takes its character and quality from its object and not from itself. Faith gets a man out of himself and into Christ. Its strength therefore depends on the character of Christ. Even those of us who have weak faith have the same strong Christ as others"!-Sinclair Fergusen
As I write these words, my mind goes back to the small church of my childhood...And I can picture Brother Allen smiling.
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