Church-hopping, Part II

Looking for hope on the day after we bombed Iran

Sunday morning we decided to attend worship again, at a community church near us, but not a part of our denomination (Lutheran). I had been invited to visit a couple of weeks ago, right after we visited one of the non-denominational church in town. I really appreciated the invitation to worship. I used to encourage the members of my congregation to invite their friends, but I understand that it doesn’t always seem easy. I suspect that I am an easy person to extend an invitation to, being that I am a retired pastor myself.

I also wanted to attend worship on Sunday because of the Saturday night news that we had bombed Iranian nuclear sites. Whatever you think about the wisdom of this act, whether it makes you hopeful or despairing (or perhaps both, for different reasons), there is something about hearing about an act of war that makes me feel like praying with other people. It might be because of my age: I remember growing up in the Cold War Era, and our fears about nuclear war. I lived in Japan in the early 1980s and saw movies about Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I know the phrase “mutually assured destruction.”

Before we went to church, my husband asked me if I knew anything about what a worship service in this particular denomination was like. I confessed that I did not (although from seminary I do know something about their piety and theology). I said that I thought they would be more liturgical than Baptists, but less liturgical than Lutherans (I know, that’s not a lot to work with).

On the way to church, we noticed a lot of cars at one of the local “Bible” churches. It was really a full parking lot, and I hate to admit it, but I wondered if they were hearing sermons about this being the beginning of “The End of the World.” I remembered that in junior high, the book “The Late Great Planet Earth” was very popular. My dad and his best friend used to have conversations about whether this was the “end times”. I was not warm to this view, as I wanted to grow up and have a life, and do fun things.

We arrived at the church. The building had an old-time country church feel. It was just on the outskirts of town, and there were even a couple of horses tied up in front. My husband had to go and take a picture. I mentioned this to the greeter at the door, and she told me that the horses really like carrots — and apples. It was a warm welcome.

The air conditioning was out in the sanctuary, and we were all worshipping in the auditorium, without screens. The pastors congratulated the people on being flexible and being able to worship with hymnals again (like in the olden days!). The church had a clergy couple (the wife was the senior pastor) and there was another pastor (again, a woman) who offered the “pastoral prayer” (which I thought was lovely). That prayer mentioned a longing for peace in many forms, but not for the specific conflict into which we had just entered. The songs were mostly gospel songs. I enjoyed singing. I felt like I was in good voice. I especially enjoyed singing “I’ve got peace like a river” and — I don’t know why — at some point I did a few of the hand motions (Love like an ocean) — and when I turned around (we were sitting in the back) — I noticed a young girl sitting with her dad while he live-streamed the service. I did the “love like an ocean” move again and we smiled at one another.

At one point the woman next to me asked me if we were visitors too. I nodded in the affirmative and caught myself wondering who they were and where they lived and what they believed, and why they had decided to visit that particular church. Occupational hazard, I guess. I wasn’t able to talk to them after church, because observant church members corralled them right away to tell them about the congregation.

The sermon that morning was on the fruit of Fruit of the Spirit. While it was an engaging sermon, I started to reminisce about the sermon series I had preached at my congregation in the summer of 2019. It was on the Fruit of the Spirit, and we actually had a tree in the sanctuary, and put another fruit on it every week. I preached (that time) on each of the fruit of the Spirit. This sermon was more general, about the necessity of all of the fruit in our lives.

No mention of bombs. Does the fruit of the Spirit relate to bombing Iran (or anywhere else)? I caught myself wondering.

I am not sure what I expected. I don’t think I needed someone to preach to me about whether this was the end of the world or not. I am usually suspicious of people who are too sure about what these moments in history “mean.” But I think what I needed to hear — always — is that our hope is in the power of God, which is not the same as the power of bombs. I need to hear about the God who is wider than my fears, the God who wants to expand my heart, who wants me to pray for my enemies as well as my friends. I need to hear about the God who cares about my country, but whose guidance, whose wisdom, whose love, is wider than my country.

I would have liked if there had been a mention, an acknowledgement, of the bombs, not to give easy answers, but just because we can pray for anything and everything, we can lay it before God and admit we don’t know the answers. I would have liked to hear a prayer that asked for wisdom, that acknowledged that our actions are imperfect, along with expressing longing for an elusive peace. But even so, it was healing, however briefly, to sing “I’ve Got Love Like an Ocean”, to make the hand motions, and to smile at the little girl in the back of the room, to feel like we had a small secret between us.