A Sunday Offering

The doors of the Church are open

photo source Black Archives

“You may come by letter
Christian experience 
Candidate for baptism” 

This was the invitation each Sunday at the church I grew up in. As a child, I did not understand all that the invitation was expressing but I would witness people, moved, and in testimony from what they just experienced during service. Enough to offer themselves to God, to the church. To be vulnerable amongst the crowd, to lay burdens down, to find refuge amidst their circumstance. Church and I have had an interesting, on and off, relationship throughout life. What remains true is that it is a part of my root system and as many times as I’ve pulled away, it pulls me back. It remains a place of comfort, of refuge. Especially in times of confusion.

A door recently closed in my life. I’ve learned enough times that when one door closes another one opens, if you ask and make yourself available to it’s entrance. God wants your open heart and open mind, your trust that you will be carried through whatever your current circumstance is.

Do not fear rejection. You are being protected and redirected. 

But what happens during that middle passage? The space between the two doors. The long dark hallway until you see the Light. What comforts you in times of transition?

This time around the comforts that previously helped were not working. Not phoning a friend, not watching my favorite film or podcast, not finding more information, not talking about the issue. Nothing. I had to return to my roots for refuge. My ancestors were church people, praying people. Deep hymnal people. My grandma has been returning to me in my dreams. She was a stubborn woman and if you wanted to see her you had to go to her. You could always find her in the church. So there I went. I returned to the pews, to the choir stand, the church hall. I returned to scripture. I returned to the hymns that she and many ancestors sang each Sunday and the days following. Humming through the horrors that surrounded them. Trusting that each day would bring them closer to God, to peace. When you ask how they are doing they respond “I can’t complain”. 

I have a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food in the fridge. I won’t complain. 

Whatever your worry is, I invite you to surrender it. To trust that the right doors will open to you, there is no need to force. When a door closes, be it financial, relational, or otherwise, thank it for allowing you to be a guest and keep walking forward towards the next. Knock and the door will be opened to you.

Until next time. Thank you for being Here.