Were you there when they crucified my Lord...
Onward, Christian Soldiers...
I walked today where Jesus walked....
The old rugged cross....
Amazing grace...
How great thou art....
Hymns of my past, present and future. Some of my favorites. My foundation of my faith....my connection to church and the Word. I've sung them from a hymnal, from memory, and on a large screen hanging from the ceiling near the pulpit.
I've seen their hymn numbers posted in bulletins, flashed on screens, but last Saturday, as I was preparing for Sunday's service I decided I liked them posted - the old fashioned way....
You see, these numbers....these tattered, aged, worn pieces of cardboard, remind me of .... me.
A little rough around the edges...
Worn...
Faded...
Sturdy...
I relate to these numbers....
I ponder all the hands that have held them, I wonder if, when they accidentally bent a corner while trying to place it in the row, how they might have felt. I think about all the hands - giving hands - that put them up and then took them down, Sunday after Sunday, Advent through Lent, baptism, funeral, Confirmation, Christmas, Easter, Reformation Sunday....
My Christian journey started in a small-town Methodist church - where we still had enough kids to have a children's junior high choir, even adults to have an adult choir, and rarely an empty pew. I found the hymn numbers in the bulletin and marked them in the red hymnal that I treated with great reverence- thanks to the teaching of my parents (I would almost cry if I bent a page of the thin paper).
I've been a member of a large suburban church near Des Moines where there were more services on one Sunday than we had in a month of Sundays growing up. I've seen the opportunities this church had simply because of the sheer numbers. I sang hymns from the large screens that dropped from the front of the church while the organ rang loudly in my ears to accompany such a large congregation.
Currently, I'm one of approximately 12 that worship at my small Missouri Synod Lutheran Church in NW Iowa. We have two kids in our church ages 15 and 18 - and they are mine. We have no choir unless you count us all sitting in our individual pews. I've blogged about my church home before - how much it means to me....but last week, as I put the hymn numbers up on the board it dawned on me...
No matter the size of the church...
No matter the delivery of the hymns....
No matter the loudness of the music...
It boils down to this for me.....
How long will our church survive? How many more hands will touch these beautiful pieces of cardboard? How many more Sundays will they go up and down on the board? How many other rural churches will survive?
What does it take to get people to church? What deep, personal connection will make them come back? Is it the pomp and circumstance that some churches have? Is it the time of fellowship before and after that will draw them in? Is it the feeling of acceptance - or is it that they won't feel accepted that keeps them away?
I don't have answers....I only have my connection.....
And my connection has always been the music....
And my love of placing the worn, old, tattered cardboard numbers up near the pulpit.
