I sat in the Wednesday evening service, discouraged. Not about attendance or church conflicts. No, Ms. Spiritual was discouraged about the color scheme. Yes, the outdated color scheme and the frayed wall covering in the hallway and the rusty fence around the parking lot.
I had just returned from an important meeting in Tennessee with a lot of important people, all dressed impeccably, and meeting in the most gorgeous ministry facility I had ever seen. Every room, from the dining hall to the restrooms, could be featured in House Beautiful. And here I was, back in my dumpy church, feeling inadequate, wondering why anyone even comes.
Our own Southern California backyard has Lloyd Ogilvie’s and Chuck Smith’s churches, the Church on the Way and Crystal Cathedral, among others. Our converted warehouse, located right behind a lovely bowling alley, could be called, “Jay’s Pray ‘n Bowl” or “The Church That’s Way Out of the Way,” or perhaps, “The Stucco Cathedral.”
I didn’t have much time to be depressed about our taste-impaired facilities, because that weekend Jay and I flew to Idaho to celebrate the one-year anniversary of a friend’s church. I spoke on Sunday morning, over-dressed in a green suit that just the weekend before had seemed plain. Afterward, we toured the new building they were thinking of leasing. They were so excited, even though “needs work” would most aptly describe its condition.
Two congregations combined services that evening to hear Jay preach, so we met in a different church. The barn-size building had few separate rooms, so the nursery was housed in a large balcony over the main room. No one seemed to mind the pandemonium, not even Jay, who usually loses his concentration if a baby toy squeaks. Ruddy-cheeked country boys hung over the stair rail, babies wailed above the din, faces smiled, nodded, and laughed. God showed up in a humble place, like he did the first time, and people welcomed him. No one gave a thought to color schemes.
In Idaho I met people who had little and were happy to have it. It sent me a sweet reminder from my Father, one of those gentle heavenly rebukes that comes with a knowing smile and an affectionate wink, because he knew I got the point.
SURPRISE TESTIMONIES
Jay (my husband, who good-naturedly endures my writing about him) recently celebrated his twentieth year in full-time ministry. Our church threw us a wonderful surprise party. Besides having speakers and presenting us with a book of letters from friends, they also produced a video of testimonies about Jay’s ministries.
It struck me that no one testified about Jay’s incredible delegation skills, his mastery of Robert’s Rules of Order in committee meetings, his strategic planning, his genius with scheduling, his seeker-sensitive sermons, his budgeting expertise. No one mentioned Jay’s great taste in church furnishings or how he can throw together a short-term missions trip on short notice. No one said they admire all the reading, studying, and preparing he does. No one mentioned much of anything we read so much about in the ministry magazines.
There were stories about the time Jay spent many days and nights with one of our members, holding her hand, singing to her, reading to her, and just sitting quietly with her, until she died. How he accepted, loved, and encouraged a young man after a great failure. How he protected a woman and her children from her abusive husband and supported her through the separation, divorce, and recovery. How Jay walked into the hospital and set things right with the doctors who were about to discharge a single mother, when she needed to remain in the hospital. How surprised and comforted a couple was to see Jay walk into the emergency room after their child was abused by a baby-sitter and they were face to face with suspicious social workers. How he finds work around our church and home for people who need a financial boost.
They appreciate how he shows up at their kids’ sporting events, how he always has a spare LifeSaver for a young friend, how he can be counted on to buy whatever their kids are selling for school fundraisers, how he reaches out in meaningful ways even to their extended families, how he recognizes and supports both their secular work and their ministry work.
There were funny tales about Jay’s method for inspiring prayer (he invites you to sit in the passenger seat while he drives). Jay’s way to spell paradise (B-U-F-F-E-T), his sermon quotations (“Where was I?”), his eccentric mode of dress (he thinks he’s a tour guide in Hawaii).
Jay is convinced that he gets no respect, and his tombstone will read, “They told me to slow down” or maybe “One buffet too many.” It won’t. It will carry some sweet sentimental phrase appropriate for a small-church pastor who sometimes bungles the things that don’t matter much, but is an expert in what matters most.
I asked our associate pastor for some tombstone epitaphs for Jay. He didn’t even want to think about it, but I pleaded with him, and he relented, coming up with, “We loved him, because he first loved us.” Of course, this verse is referring to Jesus, but, thankfully, it applies to Jay as well.
I think I’d rather have something like that on my tombstone, instead of “Here lies Linda Riley. Her color schemes are gone but not forgotten.”
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Linda Riley is director of Called Together, a ministry to pastors’ wives and women in ministry, in Torrance, California.
Copyright (c) 1995 Christianity Today, Inc./LEADERSHIP Journal
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Copyright © 1995 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
