Out and About

Tuesday, a day I usually set apart to “hide” so I can work on sermons, was interrupted by God in some really powerful ways. First, we had a funeral for Edna Green. She and Bill were married for 61 years, and the testimony of their faith is impressive. Dr. Hunter had the service, and when you consider his own pain over his son’s severe illness, it’s just inspiring to see how life-long Christians continue to live in, on, and by the Word.

That evening was spent in a variety of conversations with neighbors. It came about because we had a lot of produce—from our garden, from First Church’s garden, and from our friends Angie and Mike Quigley. All told, 11 people were involved in a few hours on the front porch. We came together over gifts of vegetables and discussions about the Lord. It just kind of popped open. One guy said he sees us on the porch, and finally decided to get out of his house and come over and talk.

We’ll see where it all goes; the work is slow. You have to be building lots of relationships, because only a few people will even agree to visit church, and from there, an even smaller number will stay. Church in America, at the Rock, I know you have not had to think about this in your lifetimes. I know that it is easier to invite believers to church, people you know and are comfortable with. But we have to find the Lost Sheep.

The gardens are awesome this year. I have harvested beets, radishes, turnips, onions, and new potatoes. Angie and Mike gave us two kinds of eggplants, some squashes, and peppers. First Church brought cabbage, beans, and tomatoes. It has been great to get it out to people! First came the people who have helped in the garden. And then the folks I know are the neediest.

An elderly widow called, saying that I brought her vegetables and prayed with her last year, and would I be doing that again? Yes, Mary, I have been glad to! I saw a dude on his porch and handed him some produce. I went to introduce myself and he cut me off, saying, “I know who you are. You’re my preacher. I knew you’d be back once the garden food kicked in.” Thing is, he calls me his preacher, not because he comes to church, but because I have visited and shared the Word with him. Sometimes I wish I had a normal church. But most days not. I am glad that he knows I am his preacher—there are many on the streets who don’t know it, but I am nonetheless.