The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Caught (19 page)

Avis Johnson-Douglass, dressed in a black sheath with a blackandwhite scarf at the neck, set her Bible on the simple wooden stand that served as a pulpit and called out, “Good morning, church!” Andy Wallace yelled back, “Good morning!” then collapsed in giggles on his mother's shoulder. People laughed. Becky's face turned beet red.

Avis smiled. “Andy's got the right idea. Talk to me! Makes me feel at home. I came up in the black church, you know, where talking back to the preacher was part of the worship flow.”

“Got that right!” called out Florida. “An' if you didn't talk back, you were asleep.” More laughter. I caught her eye and gave her a thumbs-up. Could count on Florida to talk back to the preacher, worship leader, or whoever was up front. That was one of the gifts Florida and Avis brought to Uptown, nudging us away from being an audience to being participants in all parts of the worship.

“So let's encourage one another this morning,” Avis continued, “to bring our cares and burdens from the week and leave them at the altar, so that we can freely worship our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Listen to the words of the apostle Paul . . .”

I marveled at Avis. Joy seemed to leak from her pores as she read from Galatians 5, verse 1: “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.”
Huh.
If my married daughter showed up at my house nursing a black eye and a cut lip, I don't think I could dredge up joy. Or could I? What did that verse mean anyway—the one that said, “The joy of the Lord is my strength” ?

“—old devil likes to bind us up any way he can,” Avis continued. “Sometimes it's religious ‘rules' that get in the way of a relationship with Jesus. Or money—having too much or too little. Or maybe it's that son or daughter who keeps you awake nights. Satan wants us to
worry
instead of
worship.
But let's tell Satan this morning that he's a liar. It is for
freedom
that Christ has set us free! Come on, church, let's sing praises to the God of our salvation!”

The worship band—keyboard, guitars, drums—did their best at launching into the Richard Smallwood song, “I Will Sing Praises.”
New Morning's saxophone would be nice,
I thought. But as we sang, several phrases stood out: “Lord, You are my joy . . . whom shall I fear? I don't have to worry, I won't be afraid. For in the time of trouble You shall hide me . . .”

That was Avis's secret.
Oh God, I want to have that kind of joy.The kind that doesn't depend on my circumstances.The kind that encourages others who are struggling.
I opened my mouth and poured my voice into the song: “I will sing praises! Praises unto You! . . .”

After an extended time of worship, the children and teens were dismissed to their Sunday school classes. But instead of preaching a sermon or serving Communion, Pastor Clark surprised us by announcing an ad hoc congregational meeting. “We have several pressing matters that need our immediate attention. We won't be voting on anything; that can come later at a regular business meet ing. Rather than call you back for an extra meeting, it seemed a good thing to weave these matters right into our worship—for that is the issue at hand.”

I looked sideways at Denny; he met my gaze. Both of us had an idea what “the issue at hand” might be. I noticed Josh was still at the soundboard; he hadn't left with the teens.Well, he'd graduated. Time for him to transition to adult responsibilities.

Pastor Clark, in shirtsleeves and tie, squeezed his eyes shut. “Lord, we invite You to be part of the business at hand. Our only desire is to love You, serve You, and bring glory and honor to Your name. Show us Your purpose for our presence as a church in this neighborhood. Amen.”

People shifted uneasily in their seats; murmurs rustled across the room and then settled down as Pastor Clark waited for quiet. “Most of you know we're outgrowing our space here on Morse Avenue. This building has served us well for almost twenty years. But give us a few more months and even a shoehorn won't help.”

“That's what I been sayin'!” Florida snorted. “An' these chairs don't help neither.”

Nervous laughter, more rustling.

“We have several options to consider. We can stay where we are—but like a too-tight shoe, that will stunt our growth.We can sell our building and hunt for a new one. That seems like the most obvious solution. Or—there is another possible option.” Pastor Clark paused. All the rustling ceased. “In other words, rather than treat our shrinking space as just a financial issue, as just a building size issue, I'm suggesting we use this opportunity to ask, what is God doing among us right now? What does it mean for us? Is God wanting to do something new? ”

“I don't get it. What are you talking about, Pastor? ” A voice spoke from the back of the room.

Pastor Clark smiled. “Bear with me a moment. This summer God brought a new relationship into our lives as a church—a relationship with New Morning Christian Church, which has been sharing our building as they looked for new space. Two churches, one building.”

“That's right, Pastor!” I said. Stu gave me a smirk. I ignored her. Avis told us to talk back to the preacher, didn't she?

“Then, as we all know, tragedy struck. One of their members—Dr. Mark Smith, who also happens to be a close friend of several in our congregation—was brutally attacked by members of a hate group, trying to sow seeds of hatred, distrust, and fear among the races and ethnic groups in our city.”

“Jesus! Help us!” Florida cried.

Pastor Clark didn't miss a beat. “Throughout this summer, both churches have made a conscious effort
not
to succumb to the enemy's schemes. We have invited their members to our men's breakfast and our Second Sunday Potluck; a few of us have visited each other's worship services. When they found a new space for their services, they invited our whole congregation to join them in thanksgiving and worship—something we decided to continue once a month as long as we are sharing this building.”

I saw several heads nodding.

“Soon, we could just go our separate ways. But God has been stretching us, teaching us what it means to be
His
church, not just
our
church. As your pastor, I think it's worth asking, what has God been doing among us? What does God want to do now? How does our need to move on from this building figure into
that
? ”

No one spoke for several moments. Then a familiar voice piped up from the soundboard. Josh. “We could sell our building and invest the money to renovate New Morning Christian's new space—”

“What? ” a woman behind me gasped. “Just throw away our church assets? ”

“Somebody said the same thing at our last men's breakfast,” a man snorted. “But it's crazy. You can't be serious.”

“—and merge the two congregations. Just be one church,” Josh finished.

A babble of surprise and dismay followed, though some people actually clapped. I gripped Denny's hand. Peter Douglass should be here.Wasn't this his idea? But he wasn't a member of Uptown, even though Avis was. And Josh was still a teenager. The idea would
never
fly unless the leaders of the church supported it 100 percent.

To my surprise, Pastor Clark laughed. “You stole my punch line, young man.” People laughed. For some reason, this broke the tension that had us all by the collar. But a lot of hands shot up, too, with a lot of questions and comments.

“What does New Morning think about this idea? They might be a little surprised if we all showed up—for good.”

“Yeah. Maybe they don't want us!”

“Who would be the pastor? Can't see Cobbs stepping down.”

“Visiting their services is one thing—but every Sunday? Not really my style.”

To my surprise, Denny stood up. “Pastor? May I say something? ” At Pastor Clark's nod, he made his way to the front of the room.

I tilted my chin up.
You go, Denny.

But for a moment, Denny just stood staring at the Communion table, not saying anything. Then he picked up the cloth covering the elements, the cloth with embroidered children from around the world all along the edge—
“red, brown, yellow, black, and white”
as the children's chorus went.

“Pastor . . . brothers and sisters . . . The events of this summer opened my eyes in a new way to those verses in First Corinthians that talk about the church being the body of Christ. Especially the part that says we can't say to different parts of the body, ‘I don't need you.' No, Paul said, the different parts of God's body
need
each other. But do we? Do we
need
New Morning Christian Church? Do they need us? We don't act like we do.We're so used to staying in our own little church corner, doing things our way, that I, for one, have no idea what it would be like to actually function as a whole body. But . . .” My husband tore off a piece of bread from the loaf on the table and then picked up the cup of wine. “Seems like I remember that just before Jesus died, right after He shared broken bread and wine with His disciples, He prayed that all His followers would be
one
, just as He and His Father in heaven are One.”

Denny looked up, holding the piece of bread and the cup. “Don't we have a chance here to take one giant step in that direction—to be
one
with another part of Christ's church? ”

17

T
hey should've included the teens in that meeting.” Amanda pulled a pout on the way home from church. “We have opinions, too, you know.”

I could practically hear my father:
“Some things are for adults to decide.”
But Amanda had a point. Whatever we decided would impact everyone at Uptown Community, big-time. Even the kids. Maybe especially the kids.
Huh
. Hadn't thought about it that way before. But the decisions we adults made said a lot about what our priorities were—spiritual and otherwise. Our kids were watching.

“Nothing was decided,” Denny said, “except everyone agreed we need to sell our building. Pastor Clark asked all of us to take one month to pray, and we'll make a decision next Communion Sunday.” He cocked an eyebrow in Amanda's direction. “You can do that, too, you know, kiddo. Pray about it.”

Josh was quiet on the trip home. I wondered what he was thinking. In fact, we hadn't really talked since our visit to Jesus People yesterday—and tomorrow was the first day of his jobless-schoolless life. As soon as we pulled into the garage, Amanda ran into the house—to call José and tell him Uptown was falling apart, no doubt—but I grabbed the little stepladder and a scooper of birdseed to fill my neglected bird feeder. Josh steadied the ladder for me. “Can I talk to you and Dad a few minutes? ”

“Uh, sure.Give me a minute.” Was I ready for this? I poured the birdseed slowly into the feeder. By the time I stowed the ladder and scooper, Josh and Denny were already ensconced on the back porch swing with glasses of iced tea.My glass sat on the porch railing. I unfolded a lawn chair by the railing and sat, studying my two men. Denny, casual in his khaki slacks and pale green short-sleeved dress shirt, a new job title tucked in his pocket, had reined in all the practical questions about a merger with New Morning and taken us to the core issue: did we really
need
the other parts of the body of Christ? Josh, still wearing those pathetic shredded jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt—OK, at least it was clean—had taken Pastor Clark's buildup and reduced it to the bare bones of what our gentle pastor was trying to say: sell the building, give the money to New Morning for renovation, and merge the two churches.

Now this six-foot fruit of my womb wanted to talk. I had no idea what to expect.

“OK.” Josh blew out a breath. “I'm not sure how all this fits together, but I know you guys don't want me just hanging around.”

Good.We had one thing straight.

“I'm really interested where this idea of merging with New Morning Church is going to go. Far as I'm concerned, we could have made the decision today. But . . .” He shrugged. “Guess people gotta think about it.”

“And pray,” I said. “We sometimes forget to ask what God wants us to do. At least,” I admitted, “I know I do.”

He nodded. “Well, yeah, that too. Still, if we
do
go that direction, I'm real interested in Pastor Cobbs's vision for reaching out to the kids in the Howard Street area—gang kids too.Not just church kids, like Uptown. I'd like to get involved. Don't know how. But that means waiting till Uptown makes a decision, unless . . .” He frowned. “Guess I could just change churches.”

Denny and I looked at each other. Josh was lost in thought for half a minute. Then he said, “But I'd like to wait till the next meeting, anyway, see what happens. As for Jesus People, I had a long talk with Edesa on the phone last night. She's really interested in that Manna House. It's not like Jesus People—the staff isn't residential. So if we volunteered at that shelter, I'd still have to live at home—if that's OK with you guys.”