Spiritual Memory--God's Gift

It happened as my husband read the familiar words of Scripture to me during our devotional time together: “... though he was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, that you through His poverty might become rich” (2 Cor. 8:9).

Somehow the words carried emotionally rich, beautiful overtones of the many times since my youth that I had heard those same words from the pulpit. I could again hear many voices--some loud and clear and full of feeling, others quiet and serious, all merging with my husband’s voice, and carrying the message of years of my hearing about God’s giving love. In that moment I realized how much church experience has enriched my life.

I have read about many Christians who found experiences in the church limiting or even damaging. Their experiences are real and need to be shared. But my experience is also real and has been life-transforming . It is something for which I thank God.

My early childhood church experience was varied. One of my early memories from perhaps age 4 was being in a pentecostal church service with my parents where we were guests. I think that may have been the only time we attended there. I did not know any of the people and as a child I was a quiet observer. I thought they were singing “Hold the fork for I am coming.” I wondered why the women were waving handkerchiefs in the air instead of forks. (Years later I learned they were holding the fort and not the fork. ) However, there was something authentic and comforting I felt among those people. Something stirred in me which I could later call “hunger for the things of God.”

I remember attending a large children’s church meeting on a Sunday a.m. when I was about 4 or 5. I believe that was the only time I attended that church. I was shy and did not know any of the children. Again, I was the quiet observer. I did not understand much of what the lady upfront said. But she led us in the simple chorus, “Into my heart...come into my heart Lord Jesus… come in today…come in to stay…come into my heart Lord Jesus.” I did not understand intellectually what it meant. But something at the core of my being responded and I knew I wanted Jesus to be “in my heart.” Again I experienced comfort and something like hunger.

Another memory is short but clear . . . I was playing in our yard with my siblings at about age 4 or 5. Next door was a beautiful old church. I had never been inside. But I remember finding unreasoned comfort and a sense of reverent awe in the chime of the church bells as I paused in play.

During my early elementary school years I attended a small community Baptist church walking distance from our home. I did not understand any of the sermons during those years. But I liked the way the light shown through the stained glass windows during worship. I was comforted by the sound of Bible pages turning as the pastor gave references for the people to follow. My favorite part of the service was the closing hymn: "God be with you till we meet again." Somehow as we sang those words each Sunday morning, I felt the assurance that God would indeed guard me throughout the week.

It was wartime in America and I was part of God’s army in 1943. The great heroes of the Old Testament, Moses, Joshua, Joseph, David, Daniel inspired me. Even in the public school we sang “Onward Christian Soldiers.” DVBS (daily vacation Bible school) was a highlight of my summer. We were “Bible Commandos” who needed to learn Bible verses to serve in God’s army. The Bible verses I know best today are those I learned as a Bible Commando in the Lord’s army-- and in the King James’ version. At the end of the summer, faithful commandos were awarded a pocket New Testament and decorations much like the U.S. soldiers wore. I cherished those prizes.

I have many Christmas memories related to church. Our family moved a lot and I always hoped that I could be involved in the Christmas program in the new church. One year we started going to a little church just a few weeks before Christmas and I can still feel the thrill I felt when I was allowed to be on the stage with all the children and enact the story again…the most beautiful story ever told. My most memorable church Christmas program was in early elementary school when I was given a part to memorize. "Room for the Christchild." I empathized deeply with Mary and Joseph as I spoke the words:

It was sad when the innkeeper said,
We are crowded, there’s room for no more
So the wonderful Christchild, the King
Was turned from the innkeeper’s door.

It was thus that the rude manger bed
Was the place where the little child lay,
While unmindful the world was asleep
At the dawn of the first Christmas day.

There are none who this day would deny
This dear Christchild a place for His head;
Yet he asks not to enter the door
Of our homes, but our heart’s door instead.

Let us open them wide to the King
Nevermore will we turn Him away:
But we’ll sing,”there is room, blessed Lord,
Enter in on this glad Christmas day.”

As I recited the final stanza, my heart pledged openness to this Christmas gift, the Christchild who was a King. And I felt sure that everyone in the congregation that night would be convinced to open their hearts to their King.

I also have fond memories of "Sunday school papers." Even as a child, I thought the little contemporary stories poorly written and simplistic. But I was excited to have paper written for a child with verses and ideas to help me in my Christian life.

Another clear church memory I have was at a Bible Church which belonged to the Independent Fundamental Churches of America. (“Fundamental” in those days meant about what Evangelical means today.) It was a very friendly body of believers with a warm-hearted minister. I was now in sixth grade and I could understand the sermons; but it was the music which inspired my heart. “His eye is on the sparrow . . . and I know he watches Me,” the soloist sang. “Jesus Savior Pilot me . . .” “If we could see beyond today, as God can see…” And we all sang the beautiful words, “At the cross . . . at the cross where I first saw the light…” “It is well with my soul…” “Amazing Grace…”

In jr. high, spiritual hunger began to have a name. Most girls in that group were friendly enough but were absorbed primarily in whispering conversation during the church services about boys with convertibles, weddings and nail polish. My heart said, “There has got to be something more.”

Throughout my growing up, I loved the stories of God’s power evident in concrete ways in people’s lives. I wanted to see a burning bush . . . to feel God’s hot Holy fire as did Isaiah . . . hear God’s voice . . . have a prophetic dream. . hear a donkey talk . . . stand on the mount of transfiguration… be blinded by godlight as was Saul. The “something more” came to me when I was 16 at an Assemblies of God church. I can still remember leaving the church that night with a heart of joy. I couldn’t stop praising God or smiling. I was spiritually transformed and wanting to tell the whole world about Jesus’ love.

My spiritual journey has taken many twists and turns since that night. I have had varied experiences in churches over the years. Some have been upbuilding. Some have been disappointing or difficult. I have had teachers and leaders who were highly educated and those who had more fervor than knowledge. I have fellowshipped with believers who were strong in faith and those who struggled and disappointed themselves and others. I have experienced church growth and a church death. I have worshipped in small churches and large congregations with formal and informal worship, song leaders and choirs, pianos and organs, hymnbooks and Sunday school quarterlies, overheads and praisebands.

However, through all these experiences, I am deeply thankful for Scripture read from the pulpit, songs sung and played, prayers prayed, stories told, truths proclaimed.

And often in quiet moments, I can see stained glass, beautiful in the sunlight, hear those voices from the past, church bells ringing, and Bible pages turned; I can feel the quiet of the church at the beginning of the service before anyone has come, sense the warmth of friendship in an auditorium filled with believers, and smell the fragrant mix of books, wood and perfume. In those moments I realize how often God has met in me in a church and how much I have been enriched by experiences there.