Pastor Steve and Brave Hope
A dozen years ago, Pastor Steve described a quick doodle he wanted me to email him the next day for the church Christmas letter. This January, after hearing the news that Pastor Steve was finally Home, I was reading old emails from him and uncovered it in one of them. Pastor Steve was one of the most joyful and buoyantly hopeful people I've ever met. Last week, in desperate need, I found myself crying out to the Lord to remove a hope of mine if it was fruitless, and I thought of Steve and this doodle and faithfulness and hope.
Sometimes it's tempting to think that God works most profoundly in those local church bodies in which there are quantifiable results-- church membership, baptisms, babies, vibrant small groups, outreach programs, and so it goes. As one who has always worshipped in faithful, small churches, sometimes by necessity, sometimes by choice, I know this to be false, though all of those things are good blessings.
When John and I were first married, we worshipped in a local church in which there were other young couples and families. A year or so later, we moved to Buffalo, and our new congregation numbered under 20 people, counting us-- no babies, no toddlers, and no young couples to befriend. Here I was, a country girl living in a tiny upper apartment with two toddlers, surrounded by cement and sandwiched between two railroad tracks not much more than a block away on each side, the only young mother I knew in town, while John simultaneously worked full-time and went to school full-time getting his Master's degree.
And what happened? God worked good things. God rooted us. God grew fruit.
I remember our years in Buffalo fondly. God used our young family to encourage and enliven a small congregation of believers who greatly needed encouragement. Babies and new life! He used the older couples in that congregation to encourage us, and to show us firsthand what it means to faithfully and courageously worship, even when the Lord chooses not to swell numbers. John, Mildred, and I were baptized together in that church, with Annika's birth and baptism soon to come, followed two years later by Susannah's. Looking back, I know it to be a precious time. I have great affection and love for the people in that tiny church, most of whom I have not seen for 15 years or more, and they and Buffalo will always occupy space in my heart.
After John graduated, we moved closer to my family and became members of the church in which we met Pastor Steve and his inimitable wife Mitzi, along with equally inimitable Pastor Ralph Selin and Mary. It was another small church in town, but this one was in the beginning stages of big transition, shedding the old and growing the new, and we were there to bear witness and to join our hands to the work. Again, God worked good things, and God grew fruit.
Over the years, we've said hello to some members and goodbye to others. Our numbers are still small, but those babies who used to fill the pews are now young men and women, ones whom I am proud to know and in whom I see the light of Christ. God used His people in this small church to enrich John and I and our young family, as I hope He used us to enrich them in return. The body of Christ will always bear fruit, and on Sunday mornings, I see that fruit in the young faces who greet me. I hear His goodness in young voices raised in song. Here, in this tiny church where some would not see worth, God grew and grows His kingdom, raising up lights in the darkness. They shine brightly in a place that sorely needs it, and this is a great good.
Praise God for good works among His people, wherever they are found.
Praise God for Pastor Steve's legacy and for his brave hope.
