My wife and I had been shopping endlessly for a home church since our move. We attended large churches and small churches, flamboyant churches and reserved churches, seeker sensitive churches and hearty meat churches. But for all of our toil, all of our searching, it seemed that we could never find the one that was home. Every time we thought a church might be a possibility, God always led us away.
It was for that reason we came here this Sunday. There was nothing overtly special about it on the outside. It was a normal looking church with normal looking people. As we took our seats near the back of the church, we wondered what was in store. Would we be eagerly greeted and accepted? Would we feel at home? Or would it once again end with the feeling of dissatisfaction?
My wife and I spent the next hour and a half taking in what this church had to offer. As the blessing was spoken by a deacon, I felt troubled that he seemed unsure of what to say and paused over several words while offering up his praise. As soon as he finished, the worship team took the stage and began to fill the air with what I felt was a poor offering. Their musicians were noticeably off-key, and the look of the singers was drab. But I cringed the most when I heard the noise that came forth. I suffered through a laundry list of classics that I knew was in no way worthy of the King of Kings. I only shuttered to think of what God himself felt after such a display.
But the best was yet to come. As the well dressed pastor took the pulpit, his appearance gave me hope. I was soon let down at the realization that his delivery did not match his look. His message was fine to be sure, in fact one of the best I had heard. It was biblically based, on target, and without reproach as to the truth. It fed a long time believer such as myself while encouraging those new to or just outside the faith. It was a masterpiece. But the pastor himself fell short. As his sermon went on, I found myself noting imperfections in his look. Slight wrinkles in his pants and shirt caught my eyes. The fact that his tie was a shade to light for the shirt he was wearing distracted me. And his speech was the worst of all. He had a distinct stuttering problem, and when that wasn't acting up he would speak to slowly for my taste. In all it was a disaster.
As the service moved forward, I would steal glances at my wife. She would look back at me, concern in her eyes, but with perseverance to see the service through. When it was mercifully over, I quickly gathered my belongings and stood up. But before I could make my way out of the church I was overwhelmed by greeters and well wishers. Members from across the aisles made their way to our seats to see who we were and if we enjoyed our time. I tried to speak to my wife about the need to leave quickly and never return, but before I could she was trapped by a question.
"Do you think you might come back?" an elderly lady asked my wife directly.
"Yes, of course," my wife blurted out without thinking. I glared at her with shock as we finished the round of pleasantries.
My wife and I headed to our car, and I plopped myself in the driver's seat. Before starting the car, I looked over at her. "I really hate that you had to lie to that old lady."
My wife turned to me. "It wasn't a lie. We should come back next week."
"Really," I said annoyed. "Were you not in the same service I was? It was a mess. An unmitigated disaster."
My wife began to nod her head in agreement. "I know, I know, it isn't what we might have liked. But we need to give it another chance. Didn't you hear the message? Didn't it speak to you?"
"I heard the message," I replied. "And I guess, yes, it was good. It was just the messenger I couldn't get past."
My wife just shook her head and we drove off. We didn't speak about it again until the next Sunday, and my wife insisted on going back to that church. I acquiesced, as I had no better ideas, and forced myself into the car.
We arrived and were again greeted warmly as we took our seats. I braced myself as the welcoming prayer began, and was not disappointed. The same problems existed that week that existed before, and I held my eyes tight in prayer that my suffering would not be long. I refused to look at my wife, as I blamed her for making us go through this again. I focused only on the singers and the preacher until it was almost over. Finally, I turned to my wife to give her one of my disapproving stares. I was disturbed by what I saw.
"When did you start wearing glasses?" I asked her. She simply smiled at me and put her finger to her mouth, indicating a need for silence until the service was officially over. When it was, I stood up to flee from this place, but this time the pastor came down to greet us. My wife politely rose to shake his hand, taking off her glasses and putting them in her purse. I shook his hand and let out a barely audible grunt, as I wanted nothing more to do with this church. As soon as I could I ushered my wife out of the sanctuary and towards our car.
"Now can we never come back?" I pleaded.
"Never come back?" she retorted indignantly. "Didn't you hear the message?"
"Yes, yes," I whined. "It was another wonderful sermon. But come on. I mean, does that make up for everything else?"
"Is there anything more important?" she asked me. "Besides, things were better this time.
I wondered how she could say that. Was she even paying attention? If anything, the service had devolved from the previous week. This time one of the soloists forgot an entire verse. She simply hummed along with the melody. We would come back. This was certainly going to be the last time I ever set foot in that building.
But my insistence held little sway. My wife insisted on going back, and more than once. Each time she gave the caveat that we would only try it "one more time". But each "one more time" seemed to strengthen her resolve. In fact, she was becoming rather involved in this church, and making quite a few friends. Meanwhile, I searched and searched to find another church that might tempt her away from this train wreck.
A month and a half passed since our first visit, and I was at the end of my wits. Each time I had to force myself to go, dragging my carcass out of my bed and to the church, painfully experiencing every moment with excruciating detail, but in the end always having to admit to my wife that the sermon was top notch. I was trapped, and as I did this for the seventh time I was through. I barked and complained at my wife the entire way to church, grumbling about how I could not take another week of off-key singing, out of harmony musicians and a stuttering preacher. We didn't speak a word to each other after exiting the car, and left a space in between ourselves when we sat down. There was a frigidness that existed between us, and it was going to take a miracle to unthaw.
The service started and I winced. I closed my eyes for the prayer and shook my head. Moments later, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to my right to see my wife poking me with her glasses.
"Put these on," she whispered.
"I don't need your glasses," I shot back and put my head back down. I soon felt the poking again, this time more painfully.
"Put them on!" she demanded.
"Fine," I said defiantly, yanking them from her hand. I scowled at her and mockingly put them on. "You happy?"
My wife nodded at me and smiled. But that made me even more furious. Not only were we in this place, but now I looked like an idiot wearing my wife's reading glasses. Pride welled up inside of me and I grew impatient. I was about to get up and walk out of the sanctuary. That's when the worship team stood up to sing.
I can't say that I hadn't heard such a beautiful sound before, but it was hard to recall a such a time. The voices that poured forth were no less than heavenly, and the music that accompanied hit every note with perfection. I soon became engrossed with what I heard, finding myself nearly brought to tears. As the music ended and the pastor stepped forward, I found myself locking in on his gate. For the first time I failed to find any imperfections in his dress. When he spoke it was like hearing the very voice of Jesus bellowing forth and bestowing heavenly knowledge. I was in shock and wonder that these people had made such a turnaround in such a short amount of time. I looked over at my wife with amazement, and she smiled and redirected my attention to the stage. I anxiously waited for the service to be over so I could ask the pastor what had happened.
As the service ended, I quickly took the glasses off, handed them to my wife and rushed to greet the pastor. He grasped my hand and smiled, and I blurted out the first thing in mind.
"How in the world did you do it?" I said excitedly, with no real reference to what I was talking about. The pastor looked at me with confusion. I felt my wife grab my hand from behind, and the preacher turned his attention to her.
"Good morning," he said.
"Good morning, pastor," my wife replied, then turned her attention to me. "Honey, we have to go."
I was still in a stupor, and found my mind racing as to the possibilities of the grand turnaround. But my wife led me out, all the while saying hello to her friends throughout the sanctuary. A smile was plastered on my face, one that did not soon fade. We found our way to the car, but before we got in I confronted my wife.
"You know something, don't you."
"I don't know what you mean," she said coyly.
"You know something," I insisted. "How in the world do you explain that," I said, pointing back at the church. "They were never this good before."
"Weren't they?" she retorted, waiting for me to respond. But I just stared back at her. "Fine," she said. "Those glasses I made you wear. They are special. You finally got to see everyone with God's eyes."
"God's eyes?" I asked. "What do you mean God's eyes?"
"When we first came here, I thought everything was as bad as you did. But I prayed about it, and God gave me the vision to see them as He sees them. Don't ask me how, but it came through those glasses."
"What are you talking about?" I asked. "God is sees everything perfectly. And he sees them for all their deficits."
"Yes, God sees their deficits. But when you look through His eyes, you see much more than that. You see the beauty, wisdom and potential in others. You see them as He meant them to be, not as the world sees them. To Him they are masterpieces, where to us they may seem like torn canvas. You have now seen them as God sees them, and you know how they really are. Your eyes have been fixed."
I pondered for a moment. "As God sees them," I muttered. "Of course. I looked for perfection in the imperfect. I should have been looking for perfection in Him." I paused for a moment. "But what about the glasses? We have only one pair. Who gets them?"
My wife smiled. "I don't think either of us needs the glasses any longer. God has done permanent work to our sight."
No comments:
Post a Comment