Monday, March 4, 2013

the un-lovely

I have been waiting and watching for what to blog about -- lately I have been going through a sort of life-inventory and self-evaluation that at times can be a bit trying -- anyone know what I mean?

Both B and I have taken the first steps and "inaugurated" ourselves into service at church. B has already translated for two sermons and I walked out of my shell and played for service. Being teamed with the pastor's son was a blessing, and for a moment there after the singing had ended I could feel the slight tingle of knowing God's presence with me -- not so much in playing well, but in playing with my heart -- a moment of a kind of Shekinah glory, almost.

But what I want to tell here is not that we have been good and praiseworthy, but perhaps to share a struggle and give challenge to myself.

On Saturday we were practicing for worship; inside the church were just the three of us -- B, Pastor's son, and me. We left the church doors open, as we are wont to do, because it leads right into the street for passersby to know we are there and feel free to stop by if they feel so inclined. Well, one lady did stop by, to our surprise and my consternation. She is the lady I have seen on spotty appearances Sunday mornings, the sight of her frightening me because her looks are not like others. Diminutive, hump-backed, toothless, and hobbling, it seemed in her movements unpredictable what she might do next. She came speaking of something but none of us could quite make out her slurred speech, which came out along with not a small amount of spit. She shuffled to each one of us in each point of the room -- even I could not hide behind the piano -- and came so insistently as she shared something that none of us could fully understand. As she stood there next to me I could tell something had disturbed her and I felt ashamed of my own insensitive fears. Swallowing pride and prejudice, I took the example of Pastor's son with his kindly, sympathetic face and listening ear, even though neither of us are very good at comprehending Taiwanese. In the end, she made her last round to each of us and starting with me, began to pray. I do not know what she prayed for, but when I finally realized she was praying as she put her wrinkled hand in mine, I was rebuked. Who knows the faith of this little woman, who claps so loudly and out of rhythm during praise and comes to church although her movements do not come with ease? Surely the world shrinks back or laughs and scorns her each day, and should she not find comfort and solace in the open sanctuary of saints?

Sometimes I wonder what I am doing here. But each week at service I see the world's unlovely and come to realize that the unloveable is what's inside my own heart. I only think that the role-reversal of this woman praying for me was in fact as it should have been. I am the one who desperately needs more of Jesus and more of His love. !


No comments:

Post a Comment