Stretched Like Rubber

Stretched Like Rubber

It’s Sunday morning in Downtown Baltimore, and a brisk wind and freezing temperatures greet us as we step out the door. We are scheduled to speak at an all black church on the west side of this historic city. We wind our way through streets lined with bare trees and dilapidated, often boarded-up buildings, until we arrive at the stately church. At 7:00 a.m., people are arriving for first service. The women are dressed beautifully, with stylish hats gracing their heads. The men invariably wear suits and long wool overcoats. We are caught off guard by the sign and bright orange cones that reserve parking spaces for the Bishop (the pastor) and the First Lady (his wife).

This church sits one block away from the intersection of five deadly gang territories. For some time now, these gangs have been engaged in a turf war for the west side. This is a tough area; shootings and drug trafficking are common occurrences. It’s still early morning, and I’d estimate we’ve seen at least five cop cars with folks behind bars in the back seats.

As we ascend the weathered stone steps, we are welcomed by two gentlemen wearing white gloves. We are handed a church bulletin adorned with the face of President Obama and the words “Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time.” Those who know my political persuasion can imagine my feelings – not unlike a rubber band being stretched.

As we enter the church doors, we are stopped and asked why we are here. At our response, we are ushered into the Bishop’s office. Dressed in a colorfully accented robe, the Bishop exchanges pleasantries and gives last minute instructions about where we are to be seated. (It turns out that we will sit in the right hand vestibule area of the front row. Imagine the only white faces in the room, front and center!) The Bishop beckons to a deaconess and enlists her to host us. She will sit with us and make sure we understand the proper protocol: when to stand and when to sit, where the song can be found in the song book, and when and how to give our offerings.

Beth is seated for only a moment when another lady brings her an embroidered lap cloth. Women must cover their legs for modesty.

The church is truly stunning, combining the beauty of the past with the comforts of modernity. Wood truss ceilings and stained glass windows overlook padded pews, which seat approximately eight hundred worshippers. Large flat screens line the aisles.

The music signals the beginning of the service. The first song is announced: the Negro National Anthem, “Lift Every Voice and Sing” by James Weldon Johnson. (I must shamefully admit that neither Beth nor I had ever heard a rendition of this song before.) The people stand to their feet. With all the pride they can muster and the gusto of a great choir, young and old herald the lyrics:

Lift every voice and sing, till earth and heaven ring,

Ring with harmonies of liberty;

Let our rejoicing rise, high as the list’ning skies

Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.

Sing a song full of the faith

That the dark past has taught us

Sing a song full of hope

That the present has brought us;

Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,

Let us march on till victory is won.

God of our weary years, God of our silent tears

Thou who has brought us thus far on the way;

Thou who hast by thy might, led into the light,

Keep us forever in the path, we pray.

Lest our feet stray from the places

Our God where we met Thee

Lest our hearts drunk with the wine of the world

We forget Thee;

Shadowed beneath Thy hand

May we forever stand

True to our God

True to our native land.

The church is full, and the balcony open to receive the overflow crowd, as the Bishop offers a warm welcome. He has been praying that a way would open for the church body to evangelize outside the church walls, and says this opportunity to partner with Child Evangelism Fellowship is a gift from God. (When he first met me in Washington D.C. almost 3 weeks ago, he felt the meeting was God-ordained, and he was overjoyed that I had taken the time to follow up with him by phone.) He invites me to the pulpit and embraces me as a brother. From then on, I am recognized as “Brother Bill,” and Beth as my “First Lady.”

I step to the pulpit and share the vision of reaching the boys and girls on the west side. I encourage the church to adopt a public elementary school and to enlist the necessary workers. I am impressed by the echoes of “amen, brother,” as well as by the applause. Knowing I am accepted as a brother in Christ, I step down from the stage. God has used me as His vessel, for this could never happen in my own strength. To God be the glory!

Now it’s time for the offering, after a direct plea and a strong review of biblical tithing. Rhythmic music fills the sanctuary, as people stand and form a rocking “congo” line leading to the front of the church. Three men stand at the base of the podium, holding wicker baskets: the middle one for regular tithing envelopes, and side baskets for a special offering (today, to benefit the disadvantaged children’s chorus that will perform at the church this afternoon). Most people provide funds for the tithe as well as the side offering. Everyone watches as their neighbors give.

The Bishop delivers a remarkable message titled “Armed and Dangerous,” a Biblical call to join the army of God and put on the whole armor of God. He thunders, “It is time we connect with the power of God, the power of the blood, and the power of God’s Word.” Parishioners stand to their feet and encourage the preacher with loud “amens,” while others fan themselves with paper fans, etched with a politically correct slogan. The sermon holds nothing back, and the preacher’s energy often translates into deafening - but spiritually strengthening - shouting words.

After a well orchestrated invitation from the pulpit, deacons, deaconesses, and ushers take their choreographed spots on stage. One stands ready to meet and welcome new Christians, another ushers the converts to sit on the front pew, and another rushes toward the newly-repentant with a clipboard and pen. All are praying, and a box of Kleenex is ever ready at hand.

Now, an excerpt of President Obama’s Inaugural Speech splashes across the flat screens of the sanctuary. If my rubber band was stretched before, now I feel it snap back and slap me. God forges us in the furnace of life, and in this moment He teaches me how easy it is to lose my focus - whether I am blinded by political persuasion or by the myriad of ministry tasks and checklists. God values the heart of the matter: whether children will learn to know, love, honor and serve Him. God gives us grace to overlook the temporal and set our eyes on the eternal, and I am thankful for this gift. I begin to hum the old tune, “This world is not my home, I’m just a passing through… my treasures are laid up way beyond the blue.”

The Bishop offers closing remarks, and once again encourages the people to meet Brother Bill and First Lady Beth, and to seize this important opportunity of serving in the Good News Clubs of West Baltimore. Then he comically draws attention to our race: “By the way, you shouldn’t have any problem finding them.” Voices break out in laughter.

The vestibule fills with people, as all ages and genders crush against each other to reach the sign-up sheets and add their names. When the excitement subsides, we stand in awe of God and His goodness. I count, “one, two… thirty-one, thirty-two… sixty, sixty-one.” Sixty-one have signed up to join the team and become trained to go into local schools. Imagine how many schools this church can reach. Imagine how many children will hear the message of salvation.

God is at work in the tragic, dark places of our society. Hunger, pain, suffering and hopelessness have become the way of life for many in the inner cities. We, the “Armed and Dangerous” ones, must storm the gates with God’s Word, tear down walls with God’s power, and proclaim the message of God’s love demonstrated through Christ’s blood. There is still time! Please continue to pray for us as we seek God’s will for reaching some of the most neglected communities, where a fertile mission field awaits - the children of the inner cities.