Diary of a Church Plant, Part One

I don't know exactly when I thought of church planting as an option. It may have something to do with that day in New York. We had just come back from England where we had served a military church for four years. We had been assigned a church in upstate New York and were excited to know there were already seasoned Christians there in the congregation ready to work with us. We settled in and took in the land around us. It was cold and depressed. An Army base nearby held inside its gates desperate war-torn soldiers in need of respite. We longed to cater to them. Crack was the drug of choice on the streets and there was no shortage of recovering addicts in our altars. My husband was quick to forgive them and quicker to trust them. He had a gift for great compassion with everyone God sent us. Their relapses always shocked him a little. Shook him to his core eventually. That's why when "David" walked through our doors on that Sunday we couldn't believe our eyes. He was well known for his substance abuse and now he was in our church. In from the cold, he stamped his feet at the door to knock off the snow and found a seat in the back. There were whispers and pointed fingers. Was it really him? After all of Rob's invitations - he finally showed up? We embraced him, told him how happy we were that he was there and while the rush of the morning service started around us I wondered....how hard was it for him to walk through our doors? Had he been up all night drinking? Was he hungover, stoned, or both? Had he reached a breaking point? How many angels fought how many demons to get him through our church doors?
How much courage did it take to get out of the car and go through with it?
He had joked that if he came to our church, the walls would fall down on him.
"I promise, they won't," my husband assured.
And so there he was. In all his filth and wretchedness, he sat, poised to hear some Good News. He was a beautiful sight.
That's when it happened. Religion crept in and collided with "David" ... with disastrous results. Our elder, appointed before we arrived, approached him and demanded that he remove his hat in the sanctuary. I watched from afar....trying to read lips...wondering what was transpiring. I saw David's face, looking ashamed and embarrassed. He pulled his hat from his head and looked down at it in his lap for the rest of the service. He left early. We lost him. Over a hat. No wonder people hate going to church.
My husband would recount the story to family and mentors, each time with despair and disbelief. The weight of having him in our grasp and losing him to such nonsense was unbearable.
That's when I knew that if we were ever going to be any good at all - if we were going to make any difference, any where - ever - we had to change the way churched people thought about church. Would it be difficult to persuade the congregation to embrace the foul, unlovable visitors that traipsed in and out of our door? We tried. Some were on board, some were not. How could it be this hard to convince Christians to love?
"It would almost be easier to start from scratch than to undo all this religious wiring...," my husband declared. I agreed.
Little did we know, God was positioning us to do just that. While starting a church from scratch seemed impossible then, God had already started the work in our hearts. He had opened our eyes to a problem. What did He want us to do about it? We'd soon find out.

To Be Continued....