A Shoulder to Cry On
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The worship service had already started when I slipped in. I'd been helping in the church kitchen, cleaning up after the meal we always serve right before the Friday-night service. Looking at the pile of dishes in the sink, I thought about skipping the service completely. Still, it was Good Friday. They were serving Communion, and I knew I should be there.
The sanctuary was crowded. I spied my husband and saw he'd saved me a seat. When I sat down, I turned to the woman beside me and smiled hello. She was by herself, and I'd never seen her before, so I leaned over and whispered, "Are you with one of the other churches visiting tonight?"
"No," she answered. "I haven't been to church in a long time."
I nodded my head and said I'd traveled that road myself for a few years. We talked for a few minutes during the music. I answered her questions about the church, even leaving the sanctuary to find a brochure for her to take with her.
Once the music ended, they started the Lord's Supper. Row by row, we made our way to the front, where our pastor and another church leader were holding a loaf of bread and a cup of juice. We would tear off a piece of bread and dip it into the cup as we passed by. It was a solemn, meaningful experience, especially walking by the cross that they'd placed on the stage just for this service.
The woman sitting beside me didn't take Communion, remaining in her seat instead. When I returned to my seat, something led me to reach out and pat her hand. We sat in silence in the darkened sanctuary for a moment, while the rest of the congregation filed past the front of the church.
After a moment, the woman leaned over and said, "I didn't take Communion because I don't think God wants me to. I've done so many things wrong, he could never forgive me."
Don't do this to me, God, I thought. I'm not the person to handle this. Where are our prayer warriors? Where are the women in the church who have mentored me and encouraged me so many times? They'll know what to say. But then something reminded me that God didn't place her beside one of those women. He had placed her beside me. This was meant for me.
"God must have sent you"
Instinctively I put my arm around her. All I knew to say were the words that I'd want someone to say to me. I reassured her that she was a child of God, and no matter what she had done, God could never quit loving her. I pointed out the empty cross on the stage and reminded her that Jesus had done that for her, so that she could be free and let go of her shame. And then this stranger, this person whom I'd known for 15 minutes, laid her head on my shoulder and cried. And I cried right along with her, just telling her over and over, "God loves you. God loves you."
I don't know how long this went on—maybe 5 minutes, maybe 10. I felt my husband's reassuring hand on my shoulder, but other than that, she and I seemed to be all alone. Gradually she calmed down. We sat in silence through the rest of the service. Just before it ended, she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.
Related Topics:
Acceptance, Community, Discernment, Discipleship, Growth, spiritual, Listening
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Average User Rating:
Connie
Beautiful story. It blessed my heart picturing the scene. No doubt the visitor's life was changed that night and the love of Jesus displayed to her will never be forgotten.
Annemarie
Thank you for these wonderful words of encouragement, Betsi! They are a great reminder of how even serving God is a matter of grace.
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