The Gift

A few nights ago I sat at a breakfast table at the home of an older couple from church. Doug, the homeowner, was reading a section of The Christian Chronicle to us. It was an article that dealt with the lighter side of faith, particularly of our own faith tradition. The questions had us chuckling at first; eventually we were engaged in good hearty belly laughs. I sat at that table and so sincerely thanked God for bringing me to this place, both physically and spiritually.

My own faith journey had rocky places. Some of it was based on doubt, some on just plain disobedience, some on issues in the church that were simply difficult for me. I struggled with some of those issues for years. Actually, some I probably struggle with still. Through the years though, I’ve come to this. There is no other place for me to be. I belong to God and I belong to this body. Philemon is a letter I think Paul wrote with me in mind. I am the slave Onesimus, who tried to escape, only to find out that true freedom could only come through return.

Darryl Tippens has written a marvelous book called Pilgrim Heart, The Way of Jesus in Everyday Life. I heartily recommend it to anyone wanting to draw deeply from the well that is Christ. At one point, he discusses his own religious upbringing and the group of believers to whom he belonged and still does. He says, “Though their theology may have been thin in places, they were Christ to me.” This resonates with me. I share the same faith background as this author. I have had similar struggles and I came to a similar conclusion. I love the body I’m part of, warts and all. They have made me who I am and there were so many individuals along the way who were Christ to me.

Sitting at the table that night I smiled as I listened to Doug read. I hadn’t known him long; he and his wife had been sitting in front of us at church for the months that we’ve been here. Watching him read, listening to his gentle voice, I was reminded of every kind teacher I’ve had along the way. He reminded me of what I love about life, what I love about church, what I love about God. That God has made us for community and has provided us with fellow travelers. He has given me a heritage, the heritage of those who wear His name. I don’t think that’s limited to groups whose signs upon their doors look exactly like ours. But I do know that within this group I have a home, and that this group is part of that universal body that has endured through the centuries.

So that Thursday night was special for me. It was a reminder of God’s grace and His goodness. Of the appropriateness of where I am, both physically and spiritually. Of having a home always within the community of believers. Of the call to gratitude. Of the quiet beauty of lives well lived, as demonstrated by this man and woman. God used this charming couple to again teach this rough edged heart of mine to love more, laugh more, live more.

Three days later Doug suffered a heart attack. Within 48 hours he was gone. My heart is saddened because of the loss we will feel here, especially his wife and family. But I can’t help getting down on my knees and in wonder, exclaiming, “Thank you, thank you, God, that you gave my friends and me that one evening of fellowship before you called this good man home.” This time with him was truly a gift, pure and simple.