Bethel: My New Second Home

Many of my new friends speak of returning “home” at the conclusion of each long day at PRC. Although I am quite cozy in my suite (?), it’s not quite home. Now, the decorations lift my spirits. I sit here and see many photos of my grandsons with their fantastic parents. My self-bought daisies from week one are still hanging in there, urging me on. The basket of flowers from my wonderful hubby proudly sits on the kitchen counter. There are Easter cling-ons attached to my window. (OK, so my dorkiness is showing up.) I can see my kindle with many books yet to experience. There’s a TV (with a missing remote that I still can’t locate due to my eye to detail and organization) that can distract me. The part on messiness is very much like my home in Roselle.

The second home to which I am referring in the title is the comforting church where I have been attending services. All three pastors bring comfort through their sermons and friendly nature. They even know my name. When they included my full name in the morning prayers, I gently cried as I felt the Holy Spirit caress my soul with love. Even here, where most are still strangers, they emit my name in prayer. That’s when I decided that this structure has transformed into my second home.

I loved the children’s sermon. Watching a little girl with a poufy pink dress wider than her tiny frame, a smile came to my weary face. A little boy seated next to me swiftly ran ahead while his pregnant mother followed far behind. Rushing to the altar, kids and more kids came to hear the good news. Although these youngsters gain much from their weekly trips to the front of the church, they teach us so much more with their frank honesty and unblemished view of the world.

Today’s gospel was from the 9^th chapter of John. Since I originally worked with kids with vision disabilities, I always felt especially inspired from these verses. This reading talked about Jesus providing sight. While the kids were rushing up front for the children’s sermon, out waltzed the pastor with dirt. These little youngsters talked about things you do with dirt. They came up with such ideas as drive your truck, make mud pies, and of course, look for worms. We all laughed at the innocence of this simple response. The sermon went on to describe Adam being made from dirt and mud. God created all animals, even worms. The children returned to their seats, clutching a card, to draw a picture of an animal God formed. These pictures would later be returned during offering. One more chance for little legs to hurry back to the alter while they grew in confidence that they were important in God’s house.

While the adult version urged adults to determine the works of God that are revealed inside us, my mind (yes, I do have one) couldn’t forget the little boy’s worm. God has made all the animals, each unique in its own way. That’s how he made humans too. Out of plain old dirt, life appears. You can’t focus on the dirt, be mesmerized with the worm.

I admit when I first crossed the threshold to this beautiful church, I was disappointed with what I then considered an unfriendly congregation. They didn’t come rushing to my narcissistic self. I sat in the Parents’ Room for some quiet to ease my migraine, and parents actually had the gall to enter with children. Even my tears in the chapel were dismissed as people hurried by to sing, to laugh or to hurry home. But a pastor soon came to hug my shoulders, listen to my plight, and say an encouraging word.

So, I returned to this church for the Wednesday Lenten service and was surprised that the pastor actually remembered my name. There we go with my name again. After worship he encouraged me to join in the evening meal. I wanted someone to come take my hand and loudly announce that the fantastic Janet was in the midst. Instead, I solely went up for my chili, only to quickly find the pastor at my side to help me with my dish. He set me at a table where conversation was strained and largely required my instigation.

By the next week, I was starting to get it. I placed my chubby little arm out to introduce myself. I laughed with others while I hung up my coat. I talked with ushers and fell in love with little ones. People didn’t have to come up to me. God granted me a strong voice that surely couldn’t be denied by anyone north of the Mason-Dixon line. By Wednesday, I began to notice familiar faces, and they began to recognize me.

This morning I was all set to slip into one of the handicapped parking space. They were full! At first, I was aghast that a place was not reserved for me. I had to park far down the lot. Then I heard my PT urging me to exercise this weekend. I wanted to lose weight and get some exercise, but I thought I required special parking. God whopped me on the head, and I got the idea.

When we go to a new church, or any new place for that matter, we tend to quickly notice everything that is wrong. That little boy’s worm should have been holding up a big stop sign. Stop and look at the good. There is lots of it. This church has fabulous missions that could inspire congregations nationwide. The youth program is marvelous. The adult programs are wonderful! The choirs are superior.

When I needed to change my seat from the Parents’ Room, I walked through the hallways and focused on the cross. This huge cross has brilliant stained glass reminding us to look beyond this mighty symbol, and enjoy the colors – all of them.

So in my new second home, this wonderful church here in Rochester, I gained self-confidence even on bad days. I could still reach out first and meet new people. I could get some exercise instead of being lazy. I could bring some exciting ideas back to my home church. And by thinking of that worm, I could focus on the many colors after the cross. Then, I could bow my head in prayer and hear MY name offered in prayer. The whole congregation joined in that prayer.

Thanks Bethel. It’s good to be home. See you on Wednesday.

Advantage of the Mighty Three

• You get to visit new churches when you go to special centers and focus on the worms God made.