“Why do we attend church on Sunday?” I innocently inquired. The Sunday part, even I knew that Sunday was the third day after the crucifixion of Jesus when his tomb was found empty and he first appeared alive and resurrected to Mary and the disciples. Every Sunday is resurrection Sunday. But, why church? 

One would think that a preacher’s kid growing up and forced attendance to both Sunday school and church would have provided me a clue. But, nope. As a first year seminarian in the Introduction to Worship class led by Dr. McCabe, I sincerely didn’t know the “why” part of attending church.

Dr. McCabe’s tight lips betrayed a wisp of a smirk. “Mr. Goddard,” he began, pointing his index finger at my nose, “we attend worship to give praise and thanksgiving to God.” 

Boom! Like lightening and an energized light bulb above my head, I was given clarity to a question I long had wondered.

We gather, as a community of likeminded followers of Jesus, to praise God. Praise for God’s handiwork and marvelous creation, from atom to cosmos. Praise for God’s abundant, all encompassing, inexhaustible, unconditional love. Praise for God’s unmerited amazing grace that saved a wretch like me. I wasn’t feeling like a wretch, mind you, but, even I, a first year seminary student was self-aware of my imperfections. 

When we gather to worship God, we return our thanks. We thank God for the gift of scripture, God infused truth, Spirit filled insight and strength, that anchors my foundation of faith. We thank God for the gift of sacraments, initiation through baptism, sustenance for the journey with the body and blood of Christ. We thank God with such fervor that we sing out with hymns of praise, prayers of confession, intercession, and petition, and with silence to contemplate the awesome sauce of God’s plan. 

Praise and thanksgiving is a community effort on Sunday’s, as well as for weddings, and funerals. Praise and thanksgiving became my focus every time I placed the yoke of ordination around my neck, a stole resplendent with colors and symbols of the body of Christ across the centuries, at work to redeem and save the world. Sometimes praise and thanks were channeled to God by my labors of liturgy, sometimes in spite of me. Every moment at the pulpit or behind the altar, I experienced the awesomeness of responsibility, of privilege, of God’s imminence when leading worship. Leading worship is humbling, leading me to become greater disciplined, reflective, discerning.

In my 42nd year of leading worship I take to heart Dr. McCabe’s defining words that changed my life. I could get over Dr. McCabe’s pointy finger, and I did. Thank you, God, for Dr. McCabe and his impact on my life, call, and ministry.

—

The pool. My lane. This morning, I was uninterrupted. 

The water was cool and refreshing. The laps sailed by and in the blink of an eye, I was done. 

The water in which I swam, was the same water that baptized me in a little Evangelical United Brethren church (a predecessor denomination of The United Methodist Church) in Stillwater, New York. I swam in the same water that flowed among Jesus and John when Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River. The same molecules of water floated Moses, drifting him into the Egyptian bullrushes. The water that gave me buoyancy is the same water the Lord created, and found it good.

The water in which I swam is God’s gift of hospitality, of inclusion, welcoming even me into the community of sinners and saints, from time before, until time unending, salvation in the here and now and salvation into the eternal here after. 

We swim together.

—

The Rabbit died. 

My new-to-me yellow Volkswagen that carried me to Dayton to attend seminary wouldn’t shift into any forward gear. Reverse was good, but highly impractical in city traffic. My parents, poor as church mice, had nothing to give but empathy and prayers. Three days later (resurrection perhaps?), a check came in the mail from my older brother, Steve, 13 years my senior, and at that time, an unfamiliar brother who left for college the year I entered kindergarten. Steve wrote me a check to pay for the transmission repair. 

Did I mention God’s grace. Yup. Sustaining. Amazing. Thank you, Steve, if I hadn’t thanked you enough already. Thanks for throwing me a solid.

I arrived at my job as a crisis counselor at Eastway Community Mental health promptly at 6:45 am, giving the new shift an opportunity to be briefed by the overnight crew of any ongoing interventions before the start of the 7:00 am shift. Opening the double door to our lobby, I was greeted by a middle aged woman dancing barefoot on a coffee table, shrieking and laughing, obviously disconnected from reality, experiencing a psychotic episode. Now there is something you don’t see everyday. 

I passed her by, put my lunch in the fridge in the staff lounge, and took my place at my desk, waiting for report. Our desks were arranged in a circle, each with a telephone to receive crisis calls, under expansive skylights that welcomed in the daylight sun and gave sight to the rising moon. In the center of the circle was a rotating file with one dumb terminal, a Wang computer, that we all shared. It was State of the art, back in the day, a link with mental health records in Columbus. 

Dr. Rueth walked in, put his briefcase in his office and sat on a desk in our circle. “Anyone notice Mrs. So-and-so in the lobby?” Why yes, now that you mention it, I did. Dr. Rueth pointed at me and with a gesture invited me to follow him. We went to the waiting room. 

Slowly, gently, quietly, Dr. Rueth talked this psychotic woman off the table, took her by the hand, and led the two of us into his office. When he completed his assessment, Dr. Rueth walked her over to the day program, and brought her a cup of coffee, where she reconnected with reality, smiled, and thanked us. 

Wow. I was truly in the presence of greatness.

Afterwards, I learned that this woman was the wife of a prominent judge, who dominated and brutalized her in their marriage to the point where she would psychologically break from reality. She was a long term survivor of domestic abuse, her abuser protected by an unjust system of power and authority, disguised by the black robe of justice. 

In that time and era, in the absence of hard evidence, there wasn’t much that Dr. Rueth or I could offer her, except for a little bit of dignity, respect, and comfort. Our presence and undivided attention gave this woman a sense of worth and love, a lifeline of hope, as tenuous as it was, in a storm of uncertainty and evil abuse. 

It remains unknown to me how everything turned out, if it even did. She was a long-term client of Dr. Rueth, a woman he valued and treated with dignity and respect, simply because she was a child of God. She mattered. The lesson she taught me would last the rest of my life. 

People matter, much as I like to complain otherwise. Equal rights matters. People are not objects (the focus of objectification), where some are valued more or less than others. Power inequality cannot be dismissed as political wokeness. Life matters, because life is a good gift from God. 

Treat life kindly, beloved. Show respect. Love others, just as you are loved.