To be frank, there are two types of sermons I just cannot take: those on sexuality and those on assault. I also struggle with listening to those about parents, but such sermons do not make me want to flee. But, if you think about it, when do you really hear the former topics covered? Well, the day of my baptism, the Sunday School lesson began with the topic of sexuality. I fled the room and truly battled wanting to just leave the building altogether.

Tonight, I thought I would try the monthly Evening Prayer Service again because a) I have been so cold since last night I thought if it was merely uncomfortable temperature-wise in the room I might actually warm up and b) I resolved that I would walk out immediately should there be no air-conditioning at all like that disastrous night in June.

So, there I was, sitting in a less-than-cool room that at least did not accentuate the chills that have been wracking my body since about 2:00 this morning. Following the Liturgy was difficult because, in the Evening Prayer Service, there is much more singing and chanting than at church. I was always behind in finding the proper page and even the proper spot on the page. I couldn't even flip the pages of my bible fast enough to have the scripture readings before me and only managed to be able to read along to about half of each passage. The Galatians passage (3: 15-22) confused me somewhat because some of my passage did not match his. I read NASB (and KJ and am trying to add ESV); usually Pastor reads ESV, though I am not sure which version he read tonight. I believe it was verse 19 that was at issue. When the Gospel reading covered the story of the good Samaritan, the thought of the circumstances of that portion of scripture flitted through my mind, but I was not immediately alarmed. After all, I have heard at least a dozen sermons on this passage. I should have been.

From the first sentence, I knew that Pastor's sermon was not one I could hear. From the first sentence, he put us in the place of the man. From the first sentence, he put his condition front and center, he put the assault front and center. Oh, how I wanted to flee.

But, you see, it is a small room with a small group and I was torn between trying not to cry and trying to decide if leaving would cause more of a scene than remaining, unable to chant or sing or pray in my distress. Why...someone please tell me...why is going to church so difficult?

Pastor warned me, as I walked into the building, that the room was not particularly cool and even very thoughtfully fetched me a cup of water. Why could he not have warned me, knowing full well what happened after the concert, about the sermon topic? I am frustrated with myself because I want him to remember even though he has a whole church full of people, a family with three children, and now his doctorate studies in graduate school. When you look at it that way, my wanting him to remember, to give me a heads up on those difficult topics seems pretty selfish. Oh, how I wish that I were not so weak...how I wish such topics were easy and matter-of-fact...

After deciding that jumping up and leaving would be too disruptive to the others who had come to worship and be fed, I sat there trying to focus on the book I had started reading last night. After reviewing the points the preface made on the Gospel, I then tried to remember Walther's first evening lecture. He had started with the differences between the doctrines of Law and Gospel. The first was the manner in which the doctrine is revealed to man. His discussion of this difference actually involved a question I tried to ask Pastor a while ago. The exercise of trying to recall the details of what I read helped to block out what Pastor was saying, although the word "assault" kept hammering my heart, so often he repeated it.

If I could have borne listening, I am sure that his lesson would have been a balance between Law and Gospel, ending with the sweetness of Christ. If nothing else, I have learned the need for Pastors to preach and to teach both and, in the process, confuse neither with the other. Pastor D certainly keeps that in the forefront of his mind, as do the Internet Pastors S, W, and P and many others on Four and Twenty+ Blackbirds. They understand full well our wretched condition and our utter need for grace and mercy.

I couldn't pray, but at one point I set aside the turmoil I feel with such topics long enough to listen to the woman next to me. It is for her that Pastor holds the monthly Evening Prayer Service at the nursing home. I had been introduced to her last time, but I had not really talked with her. [For that matter, sadly, I knew very few people in the church...not even enough to put names to faces when I pray for them using the bulletin notes.]

She is a bit of a chatty Catty, which was a great compliment to my wallflower nature. I tried to ask her a couple of questions so that she did not feel affront at my less than social response to her affable exchange. I did find a measure of comfort in that she, too, did not stand for all the standing parts of the service. At church, I feel lonely sitting in the pew when everyone else is standing, but they are standing in reverence and I wish I were standing with them. I could, for a time, but it starts to hurt and tires me, so I do not. Though, when I am holding A, I try to stand for some parts with her. Tonight, I reveled in having someone to sit next to during the service, feeling less the interloper...until the sermon.

But back to what I heard.

It was at the end, when I thought I could not hold my tears back any longer, and we were praying the Lord's Prayer. I remained silent, but I did not hear the cacophony of voices around me that usually meld into a single, staid voice, dull in tone, rote in sound, even if rich in the fullness of faith. Instead, I heard a single voice, I heard this woman pray the words, not recite them, emphasizing particular points with true passion and what I can only describe as humbleness. She was praying to her Father, to her Redeemer, to her Teacher. The words written thousands of years ago for all humanity were hers and hers alone in that moment. It was a moment, a lesson, I shall savor.

I did flee the moment the service had ended, feeling ashamed that I could not contain my tears and trying to ignore the concern of the residents who noticed my distress as I raced out the door. They wouldn't understand. I do not. I do not understand myself. I do not understand why the peace of Christ is so elusive, why it is so difficult for me to find rest in the One who gives and gives and gives to me, why I cannot pull my eyes away from my circumstances long enough to fix my eyes upon the Author and Perfecter of my faith.

I would like to blame that on the fact that I keep getting bombarded with hurt and struggles and trials. I would like to lay blame anywhere but my own weakness. But that would not be right, eh? How is it that God's strength can be made perfect in my weakness?

I could be wrong, but it looked as if the same security guard who helped me to my car in June was the one who opened the door for me this evening. I wonder if he, too, thinks I should stop trying to come to that service.

SIGH

More from the first evening lecture:

Furthermore, we read Rom. 3, 22-24: There is no difference; for all have sinned and come short of the glory of God, being justified freely by His grace, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus. Again, Eph. 2, 8.9: By grace are ye saved, through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not of works, lest any man should boast. Unconditional promises of grace and salvation--that is what we find in the Gospel. Verily, a precious difference! When the Law has laid us low, we can cheerfully raise our heads again because besides the Law we have another doctrine which proposes to us no demands of any kind. Were we to ask Christ, "What is expected of me in order that I may be saved?" He would answer: No works; I have done all the works that had to be done. You need not drink one drop of the cup that I had to drink."

A person entering fully into the meaning of this fact must be moved to leap for very joy that these glad tidings have been brought to him. A person who in spite of this message continues to be despondent and muses: "I am an abominable man; there is no forgiveness for me," does nothing less than reject the Gospel--reject Christ. Though I had committed the grossest sins and had to say with Paul, "I am the chief of sinners"; though I had committed the sin of Judas or the sin of Cain, nevertheless I am able to accept the Gospel because it demands nothing of us. (11)

So, I have a treasure of righteousness balancing against my sin, even sin so humanly great as that of Cain, of that of Judas. Sin is sin is sin. All is covered without my lifting a finger. Even weakness. Even my weakness.

So great is the Love of God. So sweet is the Objective Grace of Christ.