Heartfelt Reflections of a Country Church

The smells, sounds, and people of country churches stir an emotion within me that is deep and powerful. For those who have never had the opportunity to experience this blessed experience, let me explain.

 

From the moment you step into the vestibule (never called a foyer in a rural church), you instantly smell the footsteps of every person who has crossed that threshold - the mother with a load of kids in tow, the farmer, the truck driver, the wayward child. If those paneled walls could talk, they would tell of grace and guilt and sorrow and joy that couldn’t be hidden on the faces of the souls that dared to cross that doorway. Those walls would write books of clinched fists, tears on the altar, and singing from the saints. The smell of the aged carpet, whose color may have caused an outright quarrel in a business meeting, the creak of the floor, and the golden memorial tags lead you to a nostalgic thing of days gone by - a pew, padded if you’re lucky. 

As you wait for the obligatory piano prelude to begin at precisely 10:55, you may hear nearby talk about Sister So-in-So’s recent bout with gout or how the latest storm laid several trees on Brother So-in-So’s fence. But when those fingers hit the ivories, it’s as if an unspoken announcement has been made for conversations to conclude. For those with kids on their pew, it’s the advisement that now is their last chance to go to the bathroom because they dare not ask to leave during the service.

If a choir walks out at 10:59, you can be certain that a choir practice with shape notes or red-backed hymnals has preceded them to the hallowed choir loft that morning. Undoubtedly, a sweet Sister will boldly sing from her precious heart - loudly and badly off-key. But those other harmonies, those powerful anthems, they will give you a brief glimpse of the angel choirs in heaven.

A sermon, perhaps from the New King James Version if they consider themselves a more progressive church, will have been birthed out of a busy week from a pastor who likely works another full-time job. He wearily finds time for the needed visits to the hospital or to the homes of the all but forgotten shut-ins, all while trying to be a husband and father in his own home with the minimal time that remains. 

But the message from the Word. 

It’s simple, but it’s solid. 

It may not check all the hermeneutical boxes or pass the approval of Bible scholars, but it’s sincere and it is preached at a sacrifice of his own sleep and time with his family.

But my favorite part of every country church . . . 

the altar. 

In most small churches, it’s nothing more than a carpeted step or two that serves as a means to get up onto the podium area in the off-hours. But during the final moments of a church service, the dedicated time of invitation, those steps turn into a sacred place for prayers to be raised and tears to fall. If you’re the first one to make your way to those steps, the best feeling in the world is the arm that comes around your shoulder and you realize that you are no longer battling in prayer alone. It’s even better when you stand up and realize that a whole army of people were battling around you. 

Business is done at those altars. Burdens are laid down. Guilt and shame are left to be experienced no more. While you can pray anywhere, there’s just something about those two steps that result in a surrender unlike you experience anywhere else. When you find a church that isn’t ashamed to get on their knees, you typically find a church that experiences the fullness of God’s power and goodness.

Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.

Matthew 23:12

The thought of the local church arouses many different sentiments in each person's soul. For many, these ponderings remind you of nothing more than days gone by when life was simpler and sweeter. Others may remember time spent with Granny when she made sure her brood was in church on Sunday mornings, come hail or high water. Some have the absolute privilege of knowing nothing different than the well-worn red carpet and the piano prelude -- Every. Single. Sunday.

One thing is for absolute certain. The church - the body, the people - is extremely important to God Almighty. Your church may not look anything like the one I reminisced, but that's the beauty of the church! The building, the aesthetics, nor the order of service is prescribed in Scripture. Those things make for fond memories, but none of those things make a church. The church is the body of believers, gathered to worship and sent out to serve. 

The life of a believer was never meant to be lived outside of the body, whether it gathers in a steepled church in a rural mountain community or in a storefront parcel in the inner-city. One of God's greatest gifts to us is the corporate body of believers. 

To do life with.

To grow with.

To serve with. 

My encouragement to you today: Take full advantage of your rightful place within the church. If you're in the south, you have plenty of options to choose from as you can't throw a rock without hitting a church in most communities. If it takes you a few tries to find one that fits your family, it will be worth the effort. I promise.

For those of you who sat on a padded pew this morning and had the opportunity to kneel at an old-fashioned altar, don't ever take that for granted. Tell your kids and grandkids the stories of the faith of their ancestors. When they ask why you're singing yet another verse of "Just as I Am" after already singing all six verses, tell them that the Lord is still working. In fact, take them to the altar and show them what it's there for.