Hebrews 10:24-25 “And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.” NIV
I have always thought of stained glass as a perfect representation of those of us who have had broken lives reclaimed by our Abba. The shattered pieces of our mistakes lie around us and the master artist takes them up and creates something that is beautiful to behold. His light shines through us so that we can show others just what can come when you let His forgiveness shine through you.
At the base of each window, in keeping with Methodist tradition are “in memory of” messages and founding parishioners names. As sweetheart and I sat down on one of the original pews with the maroon cushions, I looked to my left. At the base of the stained glass window was a set of names. One of the names was Pope. My maiden name. Just one more way that my Abba was letting me know I was in the right place at the right time.
There is an organ at the front of the church and at the altar rail are kneeling cushions made by the ladies of the church which depict the history of the church. The original chandeliers hang from the ceiling. There is a balcony just like the sanctuary where I grew up where we would play as children. It was definately the place we needed to be on Sunday.
The pastor, Dr Jenna Heart, was a lovely lady who gave a passionate sermon about the parable of the shepard and His sheep. Being a previous “shepard” I loved her pictures and her analogies. She absolutely did her homework, explaining how sheep need 24/7 care. It makes perfect sense that Christ used sheep in his parables. She talked about shearing sheep and how that was like us shedding our old, dirty, tattered lives and taking on the new clean life of Christ. What a great visual!
We didn’t get to speak to anyone other than just casual hello’s and goodbye’s. But the feeling of family and home was deeply moving. I have no doubt that had we stayed and participated in the pot luck they were having after the service, we would have been welcomed with open arms. The one thing I did miss was the pastor coming out on the steps to say goodbye to everyone. I hate that churches have done away with that practice. It always made me feel like I was part of something bigger when the pastor shook my hands and told me hello every Sunday. But I suppose with hundreds of parishioners, it gets a little out of hand. But it is sad nonetheless.
I am glad that we went to that little church. In our travels I intend to visit many churches. We will not let the Sabbath go by unnoticed just because we are away from our own church. The Sabbath is the Lord’s day and on that day sweetheart and I should be in His house. Anywhere that Christians are meeting is His house. No matter the size, no matter the denomination, no matter that we are from out of town. Who knows. Sometime I might be at your church!