River Side Service

                The clock has been ticking, my friends. We are now entering warp speed, and it will not be long until we are saying our final farewells to all of you here in the States and boarding the plane to our next great adventure.

                Last Friday afternoon I clocked out of my workplace for the last time. When I got home, I began packing a few things for the weekend. As I did so, a few friendly faces entered the apartment, laden with camping gear. A couple of hours later I was sitting in my hammock along the Chauga Narrows near Wahalla, SC. Four of my close friends were with me, napping contentedly in hammocks or tossing sticks onto an open fire.

                I told my wife that we pretty much spent the weekend eating, sleeping, waking up, and repeating the process (which was true), but we did something else, too. The five of us together had spent the last several years working, thinking, weeping, and marveling at the works of the Father. Now we were here, and before the breaking of our fellowship was to take place, we were going to break bread together one more time.

                On Sunday we held a service. There, along the sleepy banks of the river, under the immense pines and in the streaking sunlight, we gathered in reverence and awe before the Shepherd. No clock, no agenda, no labyrinth of details—just the natural rhythm of streams and songbirds, and a perpetual fire in the center of our friendship. And though the realities of life and the world pressed around us, yet by the grace and peace of the Father, we kept the sanctity of the hour.

We’ve gathered here among

Sticks and stones;

A brush of wind—we’re not alone.

His grace, it falls, now

Mercy grows in us who hold onto hope,

Hope of a life beyond mere dreams

Full of fruit and worthy things;

Our hearts within us ring

As the embers discharge heat.

                One played a few light chords on an acoustic guitar, while another lit a gas lamp and placed it on the altar—a cooler covered with a towel—next to a tin pan containing the elements: a piece of wheat bread and a mess kit cup full of water (no, it didn’t get turned into wine).

                We began the service with a reading of Ps. 44, followed by the old song, “The Comforter Has Come.” A few more passages, a few more songs, a few more prayers, and we opened up the blessed word and read from Acts 2. Each of us took a turn standing at the altar to share what words had been laid on our hearts.

                One spoke of “abiding” in Jn. 15, and how that teaching was necessary for the disciples before the events that were to come took place. And so it was, when the hour had come, that the Helper came and breathed upon those who were abiding in him, just as he had promised. This is what the Helper does: he comes and makes us do things.

                Another spoke of the tongues that proclaimed his mighty deeds, and noted the perplexity of those who witnessed these followers of a dead man, a dead man now pronounced resurrected. This is what happens when the Helper moves in us: we look different, and we act in a different way. We do not try to be different. We abide in him, as he commanded, and as he promised, he comes and abides in us, and provokes us to live and act.

                A third wondered what Luke was thinking as he wrote these things down. How would people perceive the things that he spoke of? Would they accept it or deny it? He was writing down what he had seen and heard, and what the disciples had seen and heard. He was no inventor. He was merely retelling the story. What would the world do with it, upon hearing it?

                Indeed, friends: what have we done with it—because of what it has done to us?

                A fourth noted the “great and magnificent day” that Peter spoke of when addressing the crowd of onlookers. This is a picture of what we long for, isn’t it? We long for what they received at Pentecost: the Helper’s coming as a result of promise, and reward as a result of obedience and belief. Oh, that we would long for it all the more!

                Now filled by the word, we tasted again of the goodness of the elements; now enriched by the sound of good news, we sang again of the story and the promise.

                To cap off our time together in the woods, we went down to the river and called out to one another the affirmations of the apostles ’ creed—a creed traditionally used by early believers. Together we remembered the vows we had taken, the oaths we had pronounced, when first we believed and were saved; and in the sight of our Father we entered the water and renewed that vow. This is no mere roadside attraction to our lives. It is our all.

                I usually do not divulge too many of these moments openly; for me they often feel too personal for words, too intimate for expression. But I felt the need to share this moment with you. When such moments come, we ought not to pass over them too quickly; nor ought we to sit in them for long, because there are many outside who have not yet heard the sound we’ve heard. So I end with this charge: when the Helper visits you, by yourself or in the company of fellow brothers and sisters, abide in the visit. As you abide, let the Visitor provoke your soul to action. As you act, reflect upon what he has done to you. And as you reflect, find yourself longing for another visitation of glory.

Sursum corda. Habemus ad Dominum.

-Ryan