When my parents died back in the 80’s I stopped attending church services. For a time I “shopped” for a church home where I could feel a sense of belonging and always found an excuse why this congregation or that congregation wasn’t right. Finally I just stopped going. To say I had a crisis of faith would be overstating the matter. I don’t think I ever stopped “believing”, I just stopped attending services and rationalized it in that fashion. The suffering that my mother endured for more than three years in her battle with ALS, and then my father’s sudden death 6 months later had me feeling shocked and not just a little bit angry.
At any rate, a few years after this time, I was working just outside of Red Deer Alberta for the summer months. My Dad’s brother lived close by and I had been trying to connect with him with no success. On one particular Sunday morning (20 June 1993 to be precise) I awoke and decided that I would surprise him (my uncle) by showing up at his church home for the worship service. I remember that day vividly because I was in a pretty good mood and it was a beautiful day; warm and sunny.
I drove into town a little early and parked on the street outside the church. Again, I felt pretty good that day and was unprepared for what was about to happen. As I walked through the doors of the church it felt like a weight was literally lifted off of my shoulders. It was the same sensation you get when you spend a day hiking up to a campsite in the mountains and your hiking partner lifts your 70 lb. pack off your back at the end of the day.
I had no backpack on that morning, and because of this, the sensation was so powerful and so “real” that I immediately had to stop moving to catch my breath. I was so overwhelmed that I started to weep. No one in the congregation had yet spoken to me (I was just crossing the threshold of the building). The congregation was not one I was really familiar with and apart from my Uncle and his family, I didn’t really know anyone else. I didn’t go searching for this feeling, and on that day, I didn’t even sense that something was amiss in my life. Obviously God had another idea.
I believe that He saw what was needed at that moment and took advantage of the opportunity. He could have done the same thing to me if I were walking in a beautiful park or working at my desk. I have asked myself though, whether I would have “got the point” in any other setting. To this day, I believe that I was meant to hear a very specific message. A statement telling me that I was missing out on the most important part of what it means to be a Christian. A statement saying that the fellowship and support that comes from membership in group of people of faith will enrich and add to your own faith.
I have said to many people over the years that I wish I knew what it feels like to experience a “call”. Perhaps I do know after all. Instead of a call to a vocation though, God just chose to say to me, “You need me… and I Love you”.
My resurrection story is in the form of this very personal and very powerful invitation to return to the fellowship and community of the church. I am profoundly grateful for this gift; this invitation.
One of my mother’s favorite old gospel tunes had new meaning to me after this:
Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,
calling for you and for me;
see, on the portal’s he’s waiting and watching,
watching for you and for me.
Come home, come home;
ye who are weary, come home;
earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,
calling, O sinner, come home!
Alleluia! Christ is Risen indeed! Alleluia!