Evelyn and I went to the 11:00 Classic Praise service today, partly to hear this choir sing but mainly because it fit our schedule for the rest of the day. We got up at the normal time and sat at the dining room table doing the desk work early in the morning that we typically do in the afternoon on Sundays. Right after this late service, we rode with Dave Lautzenheiser to grab lunch and then drive to Springfield, Ohio to go to the afternoon visitation for Cindi Cooper's dad who died earlier this week. Evelyn car pools with Cindi, and we go to church with her and Dan. We're grateful for their friendship.
We found several friends from church there. "You should have driven the church bus up," one of them quipped.
Twila Paris's haunting anthem prompted me to think about how grateful I am for the church and all the connections and examples and forgiveness and help I've received because I've stuck with the church all my life.
How beautiful when humble hearts give
the fruit of pure lives
so that others may live.
I thought about our friend Verna and her dear mother, Mildred Holmes, who has lived for the Lord for all her 95 years, serving him and encouraging others to live for him. Verna is tending to her, frail and in the hospital now. Verna and Bill, of course, have served in ministry as missionaries in South Africa and at several points in the U.S. What an example these lifetimes of service are to us. They're beautiful!
How beautiful the feet that bring
the sound of good news
and the love of the King.
Then there are the men at our church seeking to find the right minister to lead us. Their commitment to Christ, their loyalty to the church, their example of purity and faithfulness are, well, they're beautiful.
None of these people is perfect, of course. I could mention weaknesses and quirks and mistakes—but no more than I could list about myself. But because I am united with them in the body of Christ, the blood of Christ heals our brokenness and compensates for our failures. It's beautiful!
How beautiful the heart that bled
that took all my sin
and bore it instead.
How beautiful the tender eyes
that chose to forgive
and never despise. . . .
How beautiful is the body of Christ.
How much of this can a 10-year-old grasp? As I think back upon the first time I heard a choir sing these words, maybe a decade ago, as I remember all the church members who have influenced me and lifted me up, as I enumerate all the ways my life has been enriched by the body of Christ, my answer is, "Very little."
But their unified voices joined with earnest expressions and perfect memory to touch something deep inside me this morning. It leads me to ponder a renewed commitment:
And as He laid down his life
we offer this sacrifice
that we will live just as he died:
willing to pay the price
willing to pay the price.
It's a high price. But it's not much in return for what I've already received, something remarkably and eternally beautiful.
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| Something else beautiful, but in a different way . . . the Littleton and Rue Funeral Home building where we visited with Dan and Cindi Cooper and other members of the body of Christ this afternoon. |
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