Last night at our church, SierraVista Presbyterian, we had a "Solemn Assembly" of prayer and repentance. A church that has been around for 20 some years, started in a living room, bought some property with a ranch house on it and turn the living room into a meeting room for worship, built a new sanctuary that seats 300, replaced an old upright with a beautiful baby grand, picked up those who left other churches, grew during the Promise Keepers events and flattened out afterwards, founding pastor resigns and goes back to seminary for his doctorate and the church panics and goes through some loss and misdirection, calls an interim pastor who's heart is open to the spirit, new elders, no youth pastor, great parking lot, and I love playing that piano...
Anyway last night we had a time of prayer and repentance. It was wonderful to see the room mostly filled with people who had grey hair and walked with canes, choir people, my mom's age and faithfulness. There was a some 40-50s, very few 25-40s and lightly powdered with youth.
But the elderly were there to worship and repent. There was a heart of quiet faithfulness that was glacierally moving. Deep, slow, not much show on the outside but their prayers were familiar because they have been in it for a long time. I was repentant on my view towards them in the past. These were the ones who invested in the church before the dividend paid off. These were the ones who wanted a place for their grandchildren to hear the stories of Jesus, these are the ones when called showed up. I learned something last night.
They are the foundation of the faith. We should not be post-foundation but cherish their stories, encourage conversations that let them talk rather than sit by and let us have our turns. Old men need to dream...
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