“More Different” Small Town Sunday

Inspired by KLerch’s “Small Town Sunday” posts, I’ve decided to follow suit with one (or maybe more to come) of my own, since I’ve recently moved to small town Monument, up the road 17 miles from Colorado Springs.

For years I’ve been actively involved in a contemporary community—a majority of whom are twentysomethings—which meets on Sunday nights. While I plan to remain committed there, I think it’s beneficial to experience something different once in a while.

My venture today brought me to Saint Matthias Episcopal Church, a small brick building with a red door and windows overlooking Pikes Peak. (I would have taken pictures, but I can’t find my camera’s battery charger!)I chose this one because of its location, only half a mile from the house, and a desire to experience more of a liturgical tradition. But this morning as I started to get ready, I hesitated, started talking myself out of it.

“There are a lot of other things I could be doing,” I reasoned in my head. Really, I was a little nervous. What should I wear? What will this place be like? Will I stick out? Will people stare at me and treat me like an outsider?

It takes a lot of courage, I realized, to walk into a new church by yourself. Because I felt afraid was all the more reason to go. And as I walked to the church (how fun is that, to not have to drive?), the sun shining down on a beautiful day, I started to get excited for this new experience.

I was greeted at the door with a smile and a 16-page bulletin/program/whatchacallit.
I sat down on the wooden pew and observed my surroundings. The walls made of rich-looking wood, each stained glass window featuring a saint. Joining me on the pew, a white-haired man who held his bulletin/program/whatchacallit right in front of his face, next to his nose, so he could read it. Half-a-dozen other elderly couples, and just as many middle-aged, some teenagers, and a gaggle of children.

Today happened to be children’s Sunday, so the Reverend sported a brightly colored sash, and invited the kiddos up for an interactive sermon about rules and rewards.
He asked, “Who makes the rules?”One enthusiastic child piped up, “Our teachers, our mothers, and Jesus!” The colorful Rev. told the children there are lots and lots of rules in the Bible and they agreed, “Sometimes they don’t seem very fun.”

Referencing our reading from Deuteronomy 30:9-14, “For the LORD will again take delight in prospering you…when you obey the Lord your God by observing his commandments,” the Rev. said there are rewards to following the rules.

Another reward, referring to Luke 10:25-37, he said, is eternal life. “But you little people don’t worry about that. You don’t think about that until you’re 50.”

He added that Jesus said there are too many rules, so many we can’t keep track of them all, and the greatest command is to love God with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind; and the second like it, love your neighbor.

Love God and love people—seems simple enough. Though adult life introduces many complexities of living out the God-glorifying life, I would probably be better off if I could keep that top-of-mind as a personal mission.

There was no other sermon to the congregation. The service proceeded with liturgy—recitation of the Nicene Creed, prayers of the people (including 44 by name) hymns, a prayer of confession, offering, and communion.

There’s something about that kind of ordered service that draws me into worship that a contemporary service doesn’t. There’s a sense of reverential awe. The organ playing and the congregation singing “Be Thou My Vision” almost sent me to tears, as did reading out loud Psalm 25:6: “Remember not the sins of my youth and my transgressions.”

God is the same amazing Savior in this church as He is in all the other churches I’ve been in. He’s the same yesterday, today, and forever. He is God whether I acknowledge and obey Him, or not. And yet, because He is God, I want His rules and give thanks for His rewards.