I am a church girl. My dad was a preacher so when I say I grew up in church, I LITERALLY grew up in church. Maybe that’s why it makes me sad to hear so many people complain about the church.
Now to be clear, I am not oblivious to the faults that can be found inside the doors. Having spent the whole of my forty-eight years in a local church, I have seen it all. I could write a book on what I have witnessed that would seem a good reason to walk away. Through the years, in different churches, I have seen leaders commit sexual sin, believers eat each other alive with slander, legalism that ostracized earnest babes in Christ, and yes even embezzlement of church funds.
And yet, here I sit on a Wednesday night in my seat. I listen to my brother share how to walk in the Spirit. I know this guy. He’s not perfect, but he is the real deal. We will share prayer requests in a minute and I will put little stars next to the ones I know and especially Ms. Charlie because she is getting close to seeing Jesus and I ask God to be close.
Later I will make my way through people that I know and love. I will hug some of them and stop to ask how their mom is doing in her chemo treatments. I will ask another if she can bring fruit to the missions breakfast next Saturday. Because this is family and ministry and it’s a beautiful messy combination of both.
Some people have grown cynical of church and have scars to prove their hurts, but I am willing to keep on coming and praying with and for these people. I think about the message Sunday that our PreacherMan gave from Philippians. We persevere and pour out in this ministry called the church because She is precious in His sight.
And who am I to think that I have a better plan than Christ when it comes to spreading the gospel than His church? I will fail in ministry. I will get hurt and at the same time, hurt others. I will be disappointed and in turn, let others down. But you know what? By God’s grace I’ll still keep going to Wednesday night prayer meetings. To be honest, I haven’t found any place that does for me what Wednesday night prayer meetings does. Maybe it’s because my prayer life always needs work, or maybe I just prefer the relaxed way the Preacher Man shares the Word with us. Regardless of the reason, it’s where I am supposed to be. I hope my heart stays soft towards Wednesday nights for the next forty-eight years.