Consider the wonder of a local church for a moment — not an exceptional church, but an ordinarily faithful one, one that’s led by godly leaders, with the Word preached, Christ adored, and that’s remarkably average and occasionally frustrating.
Consider the work that goes into a single gathering. The preacher has likely studied Scripture for years. That week, the preacher’s spent hours meditating, praying, and writing. The preacher stands not as a guest lecturer but as someone who loves the church, who wants to bring glory to God, and who wants to be helpful to the people. Sitting down when the sermon is done, that preacher will probably sense how the sermon has fallen short of what it was supposed to be, but will probably whisper a quiet prayer asking God to use it anyway.
Consider those who serve, especially the ones that you don’t notice. Consider the volunteer who came in midweek to mop the floor, the young adult who prepared the slides, the preschool teacher who spent some time praying that morning for the children who would attend. Think about the couple in the kitchen preparing communion, carefully pouring into small glass cups, praying for the people who will take that cup and some bread later that morning. Think about the person who will walk through the building after everyone’s gone, picking up paper towels that have been left on the ground, turning off all the lights.
And then think about those who attend: the senior lady who can hardly hear, but who comes with a smile; the new mother who barely slept the night before; the newcomer who pulled into the parking lot and almost decided to go back home instead of coming through those doors. Picture the college student who is doubting her faith; the senior man who doesn’t say much but never misses an opportunity to serve. Notice the person in the third row on the left who silently prays for the pastor as the sermon is about to begin.
Don’t forget to take note of the building, too. Someone went looking for that property once. People prayed because they knew that the church needed somewhere to meet. Families gave to make it possible — not rich families, but families just scraping by. Think of those who, this week, have worked to make it a space where people feel welcomed and loved.
Take note of the quiet acts of service: the rides offered home, the meals delivered to the sick, the cards and texts of encouragement sent between members each week. Pay attention to the shut-in who’s never figured out how to give online, but still manages to walk to the mailbox to send in offerings each week.
What’s so remarkable is not just that all of this happens, but that it happens in so many places. I can think of hundreds of churches like these: churches, churches that have kept at it with good and less-than-good pastors, in times of plenty and in times of recession, when the cultural winds are favorable and when the headwinds are turned against the church.
Consider the wonder of a local church. It often looks so ordinary that we fail to see how remarkable it is. When you find an ordinary, faithful local church, you’ve found something that’s precious to Jesus, bought by his own blood. You’ve found an entity that makes proclaims God’s wisdom in heavenly places. You’ve found something amazing.
Don’t let its ordinariness fool you. Never lose sight of the beauty and the wonder of the local church.
