On Sunday mornings, the sun seems to tiptoe through the bedroom curtains, grasping lethargically at my covers, bidding me to stay in bed the entire morning.
This is the day I allow myself to oversleep some, yet it is so tempting to just roll over and go back to sleep for another hour or two. But I tell myself that the church needs my presence, the spirit needs the growth, and my heart needs the fellowship that attending church provides. At one time, I only attended a singles class at church and never attended the service. Today, I attend church and never the singles class.
Not only is church a place where I feel rejuvenated, but a place where I get to do something to feel good about myself. Even a person with limited talents, such as myself, can still find merited responsibility.
My unofficial title is “Usher and Greeter.” I’m kind of a spiritual gopher. I get to hand out programs and songbooks, and find a place for visitors to sit. Crying babies, feeble legs and spinning heads get my attention, with a prompt response and directed course of action. Serving communion and taking up the offering are duties I enjoy.
It is really a neat job. I get to hug the ladies, kiss the babies, and shake hands with the guys. Or is that kiss the ladies and hug the babies?
Standing in the back of the church, the congregation is easy to survey, and to anticipate any needs that might arise. Sometimes an additional songbook is needed or a fussy child’s mother needs some assistance. Visitors are found seats, and given a welcome smile and a visitor’s packet that outlines many of the church’s activities. All these duties and responsibilities keep me busy and fulfilled.
After communion I select a place to sit, often toward the back, in order to respond to any needs from the audience
One church day I sat on the last pew in the back of the auditorium. The preacher had started his sermon, before I noticed the individual seated directly in front of me. Although we were both seated, I could still see over his shoulders and back.
He was nearly bald, with only a few strands of hair left on a head that personified fatigue. A fatigue that seemed to have settled, causing the skin to lose the color of health and adopt the dark and gray color of suffering.
The back of his neck was a collection of loose skin that appeared mounted atop shoulders that were attempting, but failing to keep the dress coat from sagging. I glanced over his shoulders and saw a trembling hand attempting to grasp a songbook, resting uncomfortably on a thinning lap.
His voice was strong, but reflected traces of pain as it joined hundreds of other voices that praised God in song. His song cry of pain caused me great anguish, and I found myself tear laden as my own hand trembled.
Before one of the songs the audience was asked to stand. The man, shaking, with his left hand clutched the pew in front while the other held the songbook. He managed to stand throughout the song. Although his shoulders were bent and legs seemed bowed, they absorbed the weight of the skeletal frame. Although a young man, it took all his strength to keep from falling.
During the sermon, he remained alert, but just sitting there seemed to be physically challenging. He placed a hand on each side of himself to keep upright.
For the invocation song, he remained seated as the congregation sang, “How Great Thou Art.”
At that moment, I realized who he was. His physical features had been so dramatically altered that I had not recognized him. His body was reported ravaged by cancer, and he had only recently undergone a bone marrow transplant in an attempt to save his life.
As the congregation was dismissed, I stepped up to shake his hand. His handshake was soft and gentle, but his eyes reflected a sense of contented wonderment. His touch bathed my body with a feeling of accepted finality, but lingered long enough to proclaim the presence of God in human life.
Leaving the church building, the same sunlight that earlier enticed me to succumb to slumber now brought through the golden rays these words.
“O Lord my God! When I in awesome wonder consider all the worlds thy hands have made. I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder, thy pow’r throughout the universe displayed.” {Stuart Hine}
Durhl Caussey is a syndicated columnist whose columns appear in newspapers across America. He may be reached at this paper or dcaussey@sbcglobal.net.