Jackson's laugh, Nancy Caroline's dimple, Sadie's little feet. The color yellow, good coffee, and the smell of a #2 pencil. The way Michael says "comfort", a candle burning, and the feel a good book in my hand. The wisdom of my father, the love of my mother, and the feel of home. Sundays on Saba.
These are a few of my favorite things.
When we moved to Saba years ago, we knew that churching was going to be a bit of a challenge. The type of church we had been accustomed to and raised in was not found on the island. But worshiping our Father was a must and we decided to do that in our home. God provided a few friends that shared the same type of spiritual background so we met together. Sundays quickly became one of my favorite parts of my life on Saba.
Lately I have been trying to take my mind back to those sacred days and try to put my finger on why they were so special.
In the informality of our homes we would sing praises and study the scriptures. We prayed together. We studied and asked questions. We communed and visited. We shared our fears and doubts. We gathered in our living rooms and around dinner tables. There was an abundance of laughter and then even tears at times. We visited and then we rested. If I have ever known true Sabbath, Sundays on Saba were it.
With that Sabbath came peace and assurance of Kingdom living that had purpose and was undeniably God breathed. We studied and discipled. We served those in our circle and those outside our circle. Everyone was welcomed. Questions could be asked and genuinely heard and taken to heart. And then we attempted to answer them. Equality was understood and respected. We valued each other's views, feelings, wants, and needs. We respected each other's backgrounds and cultures. No one placed limitations guided by human opinions. I do not remember anyone ever being offended or demanding their own way.
On Sunday mornings I never worried about what I was going to wear or if Michael would be judged for wearing something someone deemed disrespectful. Some days the Caribbean heat was a bit much. Other days the dampness could be felt as the clouds floated through our opened windows. Neither of these ever drew complaints. Some of us sat on the floor. Some of us sat on bar stools that had no backs. There were no walls to paint, floors to carpet, or parking lots to resurface. All of our tithing went to help people who needed to be loved in some way.
What does one call this? This is the truest definition of church. Most of us are never blessed enough to experience it openly and honestly. As I spend more and more time in the corporate American church, I praise the Creator of it more and more for the two years I got to taste it. It was not perfect...but it was truth seeking and love giving. The two must go hand in hand. And contrary to belief, it is possible.
Relationship, true relationship is so very hard. Godly hospitality is even harder. Loving the way Christ did for most of us is the hardest. But He is the head of the church...He claimed it and took ownership of it. All He asks of us is to acknowledge Him as the leader He is and act like He is our Lord. And to be quite blunt, for the most part we stink at this task.
We allow cultural preferences to become truth and traditional norms to be the sole expectations. The status quo becomes gospel. We are blinded by the comforts of what we have always known. We make gods out of men who should be seen as shepherds and send servant hearted deacons to do minuscule tasks that Jesus never saw coming. We have silenced and ignored women to a fault and that is a huge loss. Boys have a whole list of intimidating expectations to arise to while little girls can't find their place in the Kingdom as it has been painted. Our opinions out weigh biblical truth and our insistence on comfort overshadows Christ's example of uninhibited, unconditional, true, hospitable, relational love.
Our selfish and prideful human desires have become the head of the Church.
God have mercy on us.
We must seek Sabbath and look to resembling our namesake until His reflection is all that can be seen. What does that look like? How can we know? Look at the stories. Read the word. Ask the questions. You will find love and joy and hope full of faith with arms and hearts opened wide. There will be no stoic faces graced with silenced mouths with arms crossed or hands in full pockets. No hard fast, cold opinion oriented rules with a heavy dose of disappointment and scolding ready to be dealt. Just a place to be heard and accepted and discipled and loved.
And that doesn't only have to take place in a house on a little remote island. That's just where it happened for me. It can take place in an African village or on a Southeast Asian street or in a Mexican orphanage. It can occur in a classroom or at a camp or in a coffee shop. When Jesus walked the earth it took place by the sea, at wells full of water, and on hillsides. It can take place anywhere, even in the comfort of an American "church building". Some of us just have to have the courage to stand up and make it happen.
