Today was most strange, most blessed.

One of our board members happens to be working on her certification of Master Gardener. A while ago, she noticed the photo of moss hanging on my wall and commented on it. After finding her actually interested in my waxing poetically about moss, I gave her one of my miniature moss gardens the next time she came in--much to the amusement of her fellow board members.

A week ago, she heard me talking about my Japanese dwarf holly bush that has black root rot. I learned that it needs to be dug out, including the surrounding soil, and then the remaining hole and the other two bushes treated with a fungicide drench to try to prevent them from falling ill--it is in the soil, not the plant and is basically incurable. I was also talking about the fact that I needed to cut back (dig up) the sedum border I have on one of my flowerbed. So, she offered to come dig up the bush if I gave her some of the sedum. I responded that I was not about to have a board member do hard labor on my behalf (I feared the very idea would horrify my boss), but I was happy to give her the sedum. I also offered a cutting of the giant, spotted begonia I have. She ignored my protest and told me she would be over on Saturday at 2:00.

Given that I did not arrive home until well after 5:00 AM, waking up at 2:00 PM was a bit difficult, especially since I felt so awkward about having her help me. Had I known what she would end up doing, I certainly would have called her and made the very understandable excuse of exhaustion. Yet, I somehow rolled out of bed, dressed, and hastily vacuumed before she arrived.

One way to describe her visit was that I had a landscaping consultant. Another was that I had a personal gardener. Still another...one more lesson on perspective.

At first glance, she was not convinced about the black root rot, but a close reading of my reference article convinced her that the half-dead, half-new growth bush needed to go. She pruned it back a bit and then started digging rather vigorously to break through the roots that were quite stubborn about leaving the diseased soil. Then she chopped everything up and put it in a clear plastic bags for my brush pick-up. That should have been enough. But no! She went ahead and dug up my dead azalea; weeded my entire front bed; pruned the Crepe Myrtle that was obstructing the front door in new growth; took me to Lowe's, picking up two bags of top soil, two bags of potting soil, one bag of sand, and a new pot; loaded them in the car; took me to the nursery to get some fungicide drench; unloaded everything; mixed the drench and applied it; filled the hole; re-potted a pom-pom juniper she found on the back deck and set it in the empty space; bagged up all the clippings; put away everything; and then helped me cut back the sedum border before heading home. She also gave me the great idea of putting something beside a holly in that space (I have to wait at least a year to be sure the soil is safe) so as to add height and make a bit more of a statement in the bed.

I was shaky just following her around and pitching in when I could. But I was also humbled by all her labor. She told me that the best thing I could to was to chat whilst she was laboring (she would take it kindly were I to remain conscious the whole time), so...well...I started talking about the Lutheran theology I am reading and this very strange pastor in my life.

My organization is not a faith organization, but it was started by the Methodist Church 35 years ago, so many of the board members are heavily involved with their churches. She, it turns out, is not religious AT ALL!

Still, I did not offend her. She had heard about the Jan Karon books (the Mitford series) and commented that Pastor D sounded like Father Tim. She also commented that she was born into a Lutheran family and that recently her sister had returned to the church. But mostly she just listened. She only had two real observations, qualified by the firm statement that she was not religious and did not have a stance on God, the bible, faith, or anything likewise. The first was that it seemed that Pastor D was only being who he is as a person and that I should accept help wherever I could get it since I was no longer in a position to get by without it. [Ouch!]

I wanted to tell her, that according to Luther, she was, in fact, doing the work of the very God she denies. God uses vocations to give us our daily bread; He uses dairy workers to give me milk and butter, the electric companies and electricians to keep me cool, the police to keep me safe, and so on and so forth. However, I held my tongue.

She also observed that it should not matter if I disagreed about some point of doctrine, that she was sure I would be welcomed in that man's church.

Not very long ago, I would have joined her in saying that doctrinal differences shouldn't matter if we are all worshiping Christ. But I am troubled by Pastor D's stance, the confessional Lutheran stance, that doctrine does matter. It matters because it is helping people understand Truth. Truth always matters. [I am sure he would correct me on that point, but that is the best I can articulate it.]

I have not had communion in a long time. Much of my current spiritual...well...not crisis, but perhaps turmoil...began on Christmas day. I had popped by Pastor D's church more so as a way to avoid having to spend more time with my step-mother than to actually be in church on Christmas Day. I do not come from a Christian family, so when I am home I forgo Christmas and Easter services to avoid the conflict they would create. Holidays were always nightmarish with arguments and ugliness, so I have not really enjoyed them. Last year with Bettina's family was remarkable for me in its peace.

I cannot even say exactly what in the sermon disturbed me. I do know I blurted out a very troubled question to Pastor when he stopped by the pew where I was still sitting to greet me. Instead of rushing out the door to be with his family, he sat down and tried to understand what I was asking so that he could give comfort...I suppose.

I did not immediately start asking for spiritual counseling or teaching then. Nor, in fact, did I later when he started sharing books and stuff with me. I have asked since. And I have started going to his church on a regular basis, even when getting out of bed on the weekends is such a sacrifice because I struggle through the work week only on the hope of being able to sleep away my battle on the weekends. And mornings just plain hurt. I hate pretending at work that I feel okay, especially when I arrive. I pretend, I mask, all day. I cover the cognitive dysfunction. I cover the vision problems. I cover the fatigue. I cover the weakness. I cover the pain. I pay dearly for this practice, but I do it. So, as much as I long to be part of a church body again, I would rather rest all day Sunday in the hopes of being ready to work another week.

Back to communion...sort of...I have been going to his church because of the Truth I hear at the two bible studies I attend, the Wednesday nooner on Psalms and the sometimes, every-other-Wednesday-night one currently on the Epistles. However, as a confessional Lutheran church, they practice closed communion. They believe communion is a very powerful act and want to ensure that those who take it completely understand it--that to do otherwise is harmful and irresponsible care of those who come forward. [I think I got that point right.]

Now, I could pop over to the Presbyterian church that I have attended most in recent years and have communion. Just pick a first Sunday of the month and mission accomplished. However, I do not want to do that. I want to take communion with those whom I know believe as I do, who understand the Body and the Blood, who are not there just because it is the first Sunday of the month, who don't just take the bread and wine because everyone else is. Yet, I have miles to go before I can pass muster in demonstrating I understand the theology they agree to be accurate teaching of God's Truth.

I know the board member would not have understand the closed communion thing, other than to lump it in with the differences Lutherans have between themselves...or...as she put it...all that in-fighting in the Missouri Synod. If I mentioned it, I am sure she would have encouraged me to go to another church, any church, if that is what I wanted. Such encouragement would have been welcome, yet would not have really rung true for me.

I do not want vague belief. I do not want sermons taught more around Father's Day or the latest fad book or some semblance of pop psychology, many of which based more on what I can do for God rather that what God does for us...His power, His majesty, His glory, His mercy, not mine! [There are certainly no holiday-themed topics in Pastor D's sermon book!] I want to read Scripture and have it read. Not just a few verses, but the whole passages from the Old Testament, the New Testament, and the Gospel that I would hear every week at St. Athanasius. I want to speak the Creed, join in the chorus of voices who are proclaiming the glory and majesty and grace of God, and pray the Lord's Prayer together. I want to learn about the gifts of Faith, the objectivity of Grace, the salvation of Baptism (especially the bit on present tense...the power that comes in being able to say I am baptized, not I was baptized. One moment in time that actually carries forward each and every day, washed anew in Christ.). And as much as I long, nay ache for, the Lord's Supper, I want to wait.

So, it was something of a shock to me, when I found myself disagreeing, rather gently and with little further comment, that yes, indeed, doctrinal differences do matter. Not that I believe that Lutheranism is the only way to worship our Lord and Savior. Not that I believe Baptists or Methodists or Episcopalians or Catholics or Presbyterians do not have the gifts of faith. Not that I do not believe all are a part of the body of Christ (or rather those within the churches who do have the gift of salvation since all churches have at least attendees who are unbelievers). But aligning my public voice with that which I believe teaches God's Truth accurately does matter to me. I do not half understand it myself, but it does matter.

At the end of the day, I was most thankful for not fainting (today was an extremely fragile day physically), for all this wonderful labor in my yard, for the company, for kindness heaped upon me, and for the wonder of that shocking moment.