Early Church Memories
Q: What is your only comfort in life and in death?
A: That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.
(Heidelberg Catechism Q & A 1)
In a recent conversation with a few parishioners, we were talking about growing up memorizing—or at the very least—learning the catechism, something most people completely miss out on. I remember memorizing this particular answer—I confess it’s about the only one that stayed on the surface of my brain—in the basement of First Reformed Church sometime around age 8. I probably had no idea what it really meant at the time, but it’s an answer that rises out of me now and then because it has been engrained in my memory.
Ken and I were talking a few weeks ago about running out of things you hand out in a children’s sermon. My earliest memory of church is not getting something the minister handed out—in my memory it was some sort of a yarn ball. But what I remember most distinctly was that as I walked back to my pew, an older child gave me her gift. Grace learned very young.
Maybe it’s catechism on Wednesday nights that you remember, or a Scripture passage that you had to memorize, or maybe it’s a favorite Sunday school teacher or a craft that sticks out from way back when. These memories have formed who we are now.
What’s your favorite early church memory?
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
From Gilead, a novel by Marilynne Robinson (written in the first person by an elderly dying minister to his young son):
"The light in the room was beautiful this morning, as it often is. It's a plain old church and it could use a coat of paint. But in the dark times I used to walk over before sunrise just to sit there and watch the light come into that room. I don't know how beautiful it might seem to anyone else. I felt much at peace those mornings, praying over very dreadful things sometimes--the Depression, the wars. That was a lot of misery for people around here, decades of it. But prayer brings peace, as I trust you know.
"In those days, as I have said, I might spend most of a night reading. Then, if I woke up still in my armchair, and if the clock said four or five, I'd think how pleasant it was to walk through the streets in the dark and let myself into the church and watch dawn come in the sanctuary. I loved the sound of the latch lifting. The building has settled into itself so that when you walk down the aisle, you can hear it yielding to the burden of your weight. It's a pleasanter sound than an echo would be, an obliging, accommodating sound. You have to be there alone to hear it. Maybe it can't feel the weight of a child. But if it is still standing when you read this, and if you are not half a world away, sometime you might go there alone, just to see what I mean." (Gilead, p. 70)
I guess it's a minister's blessing to be able to know the loveliness of time spent alone in a sanctuary with only the light of the sun through the stained-glass windows by which to see. It is both beautiful and peaceful. Most people are only in the sanctuary or chapel when it is filled with others. A gift you could give yourself would be to stop in at church sometime during the day--or even before an evening activity--and spend your daily devotion time in the sanctuary, in the quiet, in the presence of God.
Grace and peace,
Jess
"The light in the room was beautiful this morning, as it often is. It's a plain old church and it could use a coat of paint. But in the dark times I used to walk over before sunrise just to sit there and watch the light come into that room. I don't know how beautiful it might seem to anyone else. I felt much at peace those mornings, praying over very dreadful things sometimes--the Depression, the wars. That was a lot of misery for people around here, decades of it. But prayer brings peace, as I trust you know.
"In those days, as I have said, I might spend most of a night reading. Then, if I woke up still in my armchair, and if the clock said four or five, I'd think how pleasant it was to walk through the streets in the dark and let myself into the church and watch dawn come in the sanctuary. I loved the sound of the latch lifting. The building has settled into itself so that when you walk down the aisle, you can hear it yielding to the burden of your weight. It's a pleasanter sound than an echo would be, an obliging, accommodating sound. You have to be there alone to hear it. Maybe it can't feel the weight of a child. But if it is still standing when you read this, and if you are not half a world away, sometime you might go there alone, just to see what I mean." (Gilead, p. 70)
I guess it's a minister's blessing to be able to know the loveliness of time spent alone in a sanctuary with only the light of the sun through the stained-glass windows by which to see. It is both beautiful and peaceful. Most people are only in the sanctuary or chapel when it is filled with others. A gift you could give yourself would be to stop in at church sometime during the day--or even before an evening activity--and spend your daily devotion time in the sanctuary, in the quiet, in the presence of God.
Grace and peace,
Jess
Monday, October 10, 2005
To write or not to write--that is the question of the day on prayer. At the risk of sounding like I'm in a confessional, I write my Sunday morning worship prayers out ahead of time. There's a part of me that is slightly uncomfortable letting this be known outloud. But there's the majority of me that is pleased to let you in on the full and utter human-ness of ministers. If I didn't write prayers out ahead of time, I would, like, have, um a few more pauses, and I would like, um, use a lot more of the same phrases, and I would probably like...
panic and completely run out of words.
Even a written prayer, though, is still very meaningful for me--and, while the words are right in front of me, I still feel very deeply that I am in communion with God, and often adjust prayers in the moment of praying them outloud on Sunday mornings. Preparing ahead of time helps me to be fully aware of what I am praying, of how I am addressing God, of thinking broadly of the needs beyond the congregation. In fact, as I am writing/praying a prayer in preparation for Sunday, I usually have a stack of books around me--reading through the hymns of the morning and the Scripture passages, and sifting through a stack of books of prayers for inspiration. Occasionally, I will feel specifically inspired to use a portion of a written prayer--not something that is easily cited. If I use a prayer or parts of a prayer from somewhere else, and someone appreciates a prayer, I explain that I used such and such a resource; but for those that think every prayer is a Jess-original, again, I'm in the confessional.
I have a Baptist friend who thinks it's peculiar that I write my worship prayers out ahead of time--she claims it's got to be a Presbyterian thing. Perhaps you think this as well, now that the secret is out. The whole topic of congregational prayer was a brief discussion in Sunday school yesterday--a comment was made about posting a prayer. I have done so below. I look forward to reading your comments.
panic and completely run out of words.
Even a written prayer, though, is still very meaningful for me--and, while the words are right in front of me, I still feel very deeply that I am in communion with God, and often adjust prayers in the moment of praying them outloud on Sunday mornings. Preparing ahead of time helps me to be fully aware of what I am praying, of how I am addressing God, of thinking broadly of the needs beyond the congregation. In fact, as I am writing/praying a prayer in preparation for Sunday, I usually have a stack of books around me--reading through the hymns of the morning and the Scripture passages, and sifting through a stack of books of prayers for inspiration. Occasionally, I will feel specifically inspired to use a portion of a written prayer--not something that is easily cited. If I use a prayer or parts of a prayer from somewhere else, and someone appreciates a prayer, I explain that I used such and such a resource; but for those that think every prayer is a Jess-original, again, I'm in the confessional.
I have a Baptist friend who thinks it's peculiar that I write my worship prayers out ahead of time--she claims it's got to be a Presbyterian thing. Perhaps you think this as well, now that the secret is out. The whole topic of congregational prayer was a brief discussion in Sunday school yesterday--a comment was made about posting a prayer. I have done so below. I look forward to reading your comments.
God of Glory and Grace, we bow before you in worship, adoration, thanksgiving, and praise. Too often, O God, we come before you as if you are a vending machine—put our prayers in the right slot and out comes what we want. Forgive us. Help us instead to enjoy your presence and be drawn to you in love and thanksgiving.
We praise you that you are our God and have chosen us as your people. By the power of your Holy Spirit, guide us to live lives that reflect not the world with its value of busyness and accumulation, but lives that reflect you—creating, loving, welcoming, forgiving.
We thank you for this place of worship—that we can gather here freely, that we can praise you in word and music, that we can celebrate with and strengthen one another.
We thank you that you are ever-present, ever-involved in our lives. We praise you for those times when you have turned evil into good, hardship into joy, fear into hope. We ask that your presence of love would be felt by those in need.
We love you, O God; help those places where there is no love. We have faith in you, O Lord; fill us with light in those places where faith is lacking. We thank you, O God; turn all our greedy spaces into rooms of gratitude.
We ask these things in the name Jesus Christ, as we pray together the prayer he taught us, saying: Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.
We praise you that you are our God and have chosen us as your people. By the power of your Holy Spirit, guide us to live lives that reflect not the world with its value of busyness and accumulation, but lives that reflect you—creating, loving, welcoming, forgiving.
We thank you for this place of worship—that we can gather here freely, that we can praise you in word and music, that we can celebrate with and strengthen one another.
We thank you that you are ever-present, ever-involved in our lives. We praise you for those times when you have turned evil into good, hardship into joy, fear into hope. We ask that your presence of love would be felt by those in need.
We love you, O God; help those places where there is no love. We have faith in you, O Lord; fill us with light in those places where faith is lacking. We thank you, O God; turn all our greedy spaces into rooms of gratitude.
We ask these things in the name Jesus Christ, as we pray together the prayer he taught us, saying: Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.
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