Knowing that on our way back from Maine we would be visiting a church Karyn and I attended at the beginning of our marriage, I was prepared for a wave of nostalgia. I was not prepared, however, for a new (or perhaps “renewed” would be better) glimpse of God’s Kingdom alive and well.

Twenty-six years ago I came to St. Michael’s Episcopal Church in Wayne, New Jersey, through the back door, literally. OK, everyone comes in there through the back door (it’s closest to the parking lot).

While still in high school, my future wife Karyn had become involved with The Sign of the Fish, a coffee house ministry to youth that met at that church. In the ’70s Christian coffee houses were all the rage in the New York metro area. Many of them existed mostly as outreach ministries, sponsoring events and concerts. While The Fish did a lot of that, it’s identity evolved into more of a Christian community of both hard-core regulars and those who wandered in and out over the years. After our marriage, Karyn and I became part of the leadership team of that ministry for the two years we remained in New Jersey.

But the story I want to tell here today is not so much about coffee house ministry in the ’70s as it is about God displaying his faithfulness and glory in humble, unexpected places. And that brings me back to this past weekend’s journey to the past.

A few weeks ago some friends of ours from those Sign of the Fish days had sent us an invitation to a retirement “roast.” The celebration was in honor of John Levy who, at age 70, was ending seven years as the minister of music for St. Michael’s. Our personal connection with him went much further back, however. John and his wife Jackie were the founders and guiding lights of The Sign of the Fish coffee house. More than that, they became like spiritual parents to dozens and dozens of young people…Karyn and I among them. So, even though we never knew the “music minister” John Levy, there was no way we could miss being at this event in his honor. Best of all, our coming was to be a complete surprise to the Levys.

As I said above, I was prepared for waves of nostalgia and plenty of reminiscing about those “crazy old days,” but little more. When we arrived at the church on Saturday afternoon, the stage seemed set for just that. Very little had changed about St. Michael’s in the quarter century since we’d left. Sure the parish hall had been painted a new color, and there is now a handicapped toilet where the coat closet used to be, but almost everything else looked as if we’d only been away a week. Not surprisingly, we didn’t know most of the people setting up, but eventually a couple of people who had been there “back in the day” happened by and we did the usual “so where are your kids now?” stuff.

The true wonder of this weekend began, though, when John and Jackie entered the parish hall. Here they were in this room crammed full of people, every one of them there to see and celebrate them…but within seconds John had spotted Karyn and me, and it was like no one else was there. This dear little 70-year-0ld man, who is every bit as spry and quick-witted as he was at 45, dashed through that entire crowd to throw his arms around us. And in that moment, all the unconditional, gracious, Christ-like love that he had poured out to us 25 years before came flooding back.

After the requisite pot luck dinner, the crowd adjourned to the sanctuary for the “roast” portion of the evening. This consisted mostly of a series of skits lampooning John’s life story and ministry style at St. Michael’s. Of course, it was textbook amateur night corn from beginning to end. People forgot their lines, talked over each other, the perfectionist drama director messed up the tape recorder, the pastor’s “brief remarks” went 35 minutes…all the usual. And in all my pride and pseudo-sophistication, I was so tempted to see it all as just hokey corn. But my mental criticisms were shouted down by the overwhelming shout of love that was ringing through that sanctuary. I realized I was in the presence of people who truly knew how to love one another.

We heard the story of how the church had been left without a choir director. Knowing that John played guitar and loved to sing, they asked him to fill in “temporarily.” And temporary became seven years. It didn’t take much discernment, listening to the skits and speeches, to get the idea that some in the choir had as much difficulty adjusting to John as he had fitting into the job. John has no musical training, bangs away at every song with the same strum, and all his favorite praise choruses are at least fifteen years old. But there can’t be anyone on this earth who sings with more joy and conviction than John Levy. And it was obvious beyond any doubt that he had brought true worship to this congregation…and that they loved him for it.

Now the evening would have been enough, more than enough, to remind me of the joy that comes from humble people simply loving as God has taught them. But God was not finished with the lesson.

The next morning we attended our first St. Michael’s service since we had left New Jersey twenty-five years ago. Once again, there was so much in the service that I could have judged and critiqued from an intellecutal, aesthetic, or even doctrinal stance. But gosh darn it…these people just wouldn’t quit overflowing with the love and joy of Christ! The service, at times, was a sort of holy chaos; it lurched, sometimes a little awkwardly, from tradtional liturgy to charismatic praise-fest to gospel circus…but it was all somehow beautiful. During the sermon, people answered the priest’s rhetorical questions out loud (in an Episcopal church?!?). People laughed and clapped at the funny parts. There were three baptisms scheduled, but one baby’s christening gown had not arrived yet…no problem; we slid her baptism into the beginning of the communion liturgy! When the priest was afraid that the children wouldn’t be able to see the baptisms, he invited them to sit on the floor up front. At the sharing of the peace, people traveled all around the pews to hug and greet everyone they could get to…I thought the service was over! And unlike most churches I’d been to, people hung around long after the service to chat, greet visitors, and pray for those in need.

At St. Michael’s you won’t find many of the proud and mighty, the movers and shakers. You won’t find a people who can dot every doctrinal “i” and cross every theological “t.” But you will see the love of Christ, rich and free. It was a humbling and powerful reminder to this proud “sage.”

This entry was posted on Monday, April 19th, 2004 at 9:18 am and is filed under Christian Community, It`s All About Me. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.