Memorable

A friend joined me in the little space by the bathrooms for prayer. I was getting ready to both preside and preach at the evening's worship session after having already presided and preached a different sermon at the morning service then taught and led the crafts at Kids' Church that afternoon. I was tired and needed all the prayer I could get.

And it was one of those prayer sessions when I KNEW that God was moving in response to my friend's prayer. "Oh Lord, we ask that this be a memorable service . . ." That was all I heard.

All I wanted was a smooth plain vanilla lots of smiles no real problems short prayers service where nothing too earth-shattering happened so I could go home, eat dinner, and get to bed.

But he prayed for a memorable service. I resisted the urge to scream, "TAKE IT BACK TAKE IT BACK TAKE IT BACK!" That would have been rude and useless because I knew God and would be answering soon.

And, yes, of all the services I've been a part of, this one was definitely rises to the top of the list of memorable.

During the opening song and only seconds after the "Amen" to my friend's prayer, I had to physically remove three teenage boys who began verbally harassing and physically threatening a senior citizen who was sitting in the back row.

Because of trouble on the steps in front of the church we had to lock the doors and post a bouncer to control who could come in during the rest of the service.

After a song about peace, one woman who had recently started attending services stood up, turned around, and loudly cussed out some kids who were sitting several rows behind her.

And as the service drew to a close, a woman raised her hand and said, "Tonight I've decided to get baptized. How soon can we do it?"

We set the date.

Yes, it was a memorable service. And it wasn't so much because of the utter bedlam inside and out. The fact that He moved in a life-transforming way in someone even in the midst of that chaos -- now THAT is memorable.

I spend a lot of time praying for all the craziness in my life to just stop. And when I've maxed out on it, all I can seem to pray is for God to let me go home, eat dinner, an go to bed. It's then that I also need to look around and see a raised hand trying to get my attention to let me know that God is doing something memorable in the very center of it.

Because people have been praying in churches and in temples and at home and on the streets and even by the bathroom doors asking God to do something memorable. And though the chaos seems bent on distracting us, God is bringing transformation to people right in the center of the madness.

And on those days that I can realize that I KNOW I walk in the midst of prayers that are being answered, it's the glimpses of those answers rather than the chaos that make the day memorable.

Father, help me see you working in the world around me. Let me witness of You and share in Your vision.

Remembered

I ran into her on the streets several months later. The last time I had seen her she was strung out sitting and on her front steps while I was talking with her about sending her son to camp with the church. She's had a lucid moment remembering her own church camp experience as a child and wanted her son to go, too.

This meeting was quite different from the last. She looked healthy and had cleaned herself up. When she saw me she quickened her step toward me.

"Pastor, I'm so glad to see you. I want to let you know that I've been off the heroin for six months now!" We celebrated that good news together.

She went on to say, "I was planning on coming to your church but before I did I went back to that church that sent me to camp when I was a kid just to thank them. And when I got there, they all REMEMBERED me! I hope you don't mind but I've been going there ever since."

I'm venturing to guess that the memories they shared of each other were selective. I doubt they spent time dwelling on the memory of how long she'd been gone. I would guess that the memories they shared weren't of the disappointment the congregation went through when she left them for drugs. I even think that most of the strolls down memory lane didn't include the times that I'm sure she, as a teen, gave them a run for the money.

Instead, the memories were focused on who she really was inside. The memories were about the good times and the mutual blessing they had been to one another. They remembered HER.

I don't get much choice in how people remember me. The impressions that they have of me are out of my control. Yes, I can behave in ways that help provide the materials that people use to form images and memories, but those impressions are in their minds, not mine.

But when I accept this lack of control over my own image, I realize that I do have control over every other person's image inside me. I get to choose how I remember others.

I can easily choose to look at each person as a series of crystal clear bad decisions played out over and over again in some form of tragic drama. I can hold close to me the times they've hurt me and wallow as I remember my own superiority.

Or, I can choose a tougher lens to help focus my vision. No, it's not the Pollyanna way of looking only for the good. It's that foggy glass view that seeks to squint through what's going on in someone's life and see who is really there. It's trying to see what the Creator had in mind when the idea of this person was first imagined by Him. It's choosing to start from the place of knowing that whoever I see is somehow created in the image and likeness of the One who breaths life into each of us.

And it's remembering the words of scripture which say, "and their sins and their iniquities will I remember no more." (Hebrews 8:12 KJV) God chooses to remember who He created in me despite what I've done. This is the heavenly experience of His love, mercy, and grace poured out upon me.

I don't have control over how other people remember me. Gladly, I do know my Redeemer chooses to remember the ME that few others, including myself, ever get a good look at.

And when I get to meet Him face to face, I think the experience might be a bit like what happened to my neighbor when she went back to the church of her youth. That little group of faithful church-goers provided a glimpse of heaven here on earth. May I do likewise with all I meet.

Jesus remember me when You come into Your kingdom. Help me bring about Your kingdom in this time and place by seeing myself and others as You see us.