A Prayer for the Church

On my way there I saw the church sign which pointed toward a church off the main road and down a neighborhood street.  On the way back from there, I pulled into the parking lot with intentions of going in the sanctuary to sit a spell.  The door was unlocked, the office was empty, and the voices heard carried me to a side room where a small group of ladies gathered.  I introduced myself, asked if I could sit in the sanctuary, and then made my way to the space where those women and folks like them worshiped each Sunday.  

I noticed from markers on the outside of the door that Methodists had met there since 1947.  The sanctuary was small and not a pretentious place by any standards, but it was a place filled with memories of spiritual moments I could not know, but only imagine.  From the looks of things its more vibrant years had passed and it was one of those too often seen places which was hanging on and hoping for a better day.  An old church bulletin, a discarded newsletter on the pews, and the order within a sanctuary often tell stories not every one is hearing.  

No one will ever take note that I was there for a time of just sitting and praying.  I prayed about the things on my heart and some of the people whose paths have crossed mine.  I prayed, too, for this church I will likely never enter again.  It is like many I have known over the years. It is a place where folks have memories and even present experiences of God being at work in their lives. Like the folks who have the memories and the present fresh encounters, I prayed that the church's past will not overshadow its future.