church

-by Elizabeth

It’s popular nowadays to bash church. It seems like everybody’s doing it.

But you won’t find me doing it.

And here is the reason why: I love church.

My love for the church of Jesus Christ isn’t blind. People I love have been hurt by church people. I’ve been hurt by church people. I’ve been in church long enough to know ALL about church politics . . . and to have been on the receiving end of those politics. I’ve suffocated in spiritually abusive church environments. I’ve been molested by a church leader.

But I still can’t bash church.

Because church is one of God’s greatest inventions.

Church is where I learned God wants to be part of my everyday life, and where I just.keep.on finding Him in worship.

Church is where I discovered that I love young people. And that serving feels good.

Church is where I’ve learned all sorts of valuable things from these wise women we like to call elders’ wives . . . That a good husband doesn’t oppress his wife, but sacrifices for her. That a ministry wife needs to have thick skin. That even elder’s wives struggle with some of the very same sins I have struggled with.

Church was where I first met a real, live person who had battled an eating disorder, and who prayed for me to be healed from mine.

Church is where families adopted me as a college student. They fed me and let me do my laundry. They picked me up from my dorm to go walking, just to talk to a sad, lonely college student.

The church is who took care of me when I was very sick after Faith’s birth.

The church is who took care of me when my husband had viral meningitis.

Church is where I consistently find compassion and strength and friendship when I face discouragement and confusion and anger.

It was in church where I learned that sometimes I am the one who hurts other people.

So it became the place I learned that I needed grace, and where I learned I didn’t understand grace, and where I learned that other people have difficulty understanding God’s grace too.

It’s a place I’m learning to extend grace to other people, and to receive it myself.

Those things didn’t happen at one individual Perfect Church. Instead, they happened at different churches, over many years, and separated by an ocean. God’s people are like that. They love. On all continents. At all times.

I love the way I feel when I’m with other believers. I love the way we love each other. I love the Person who brings us together. And didn’t Jesus think His Church was a pretty good idea too, since he prayed for it just before he died for it?

I better believe in church. I am, after all, a church planting missionary. I dream of seeing lots and lots of churches full of Khmer believers. I dream of seeing lots of lots of churches full of American believers. All thriving.

And I am here today to proclaim that I love the church.

I love the church.

A scene from the Alsace region

Earlier this week we invited one of Jonathan’s language school friends to our house for dinner. He is a newly ordained French Catholic priest who has been assigned to Cambodia for life. He hails from the Alsace region of France. When Jonathan asked him about the most beautiful place he’s ever been, he answered that it was his own region. His home in Alsace, the place of his roots.

He told us he believes that if you cannot love the place you come from, you cannot love the place you go to. So I dropped out of the dinner conversation for a few minutes to contain my emotion. What a beautiful thing to say. He loves his home, but he has sacrificed living there because of love for his God, and his heart is open to love this place and its people as well.

I am not sure whether it is the French-English language difference, or simply because he comes from a different faith tradition than me, but his words were filled with grace and meaning for me. Tears welled up in my eyes. Yes, I love my home. Yes, I love the people who live there. Yes, I love my God, and yes, I love this place. I fully intend to love the people of this place. I want my heart to be open to love.

Then this Sunday I experienced my first non-English church service. Jonathan had attended non-English services before — in Cambodia and also in Russia and Germany — but I had not. I had not expected it to impact me quite so much (not because I thought I was immune to such things, but because I had not taken the time to think about it, silly me, mother of 4 young children, too busy getting ready for church to stop and think).

John 1:1-5

I could reliably understand only a few words: “thank God,” “Jesus,” “love,” and “hallelujah.” I could not read the Cambodian song books; I did not recognize the melodies. But I worshipped all the same. It was at this service that I finally understood, at my very core, that Jesus does not speak only English. His offer of salvation is for all nations. Oh, of course I “knew” that before, but there, in that small gathering of Cambodian believers, I truly realized that God speaks all languages with the same perfect skill. He understands each Christian across the globe, no matter their language. He does not understand me better than He understands a Khmer Christian — even if I do not understand that same Khmer Christian.

What I said to my kids later was, “Isn’t it neat that everyone can talk to Jesus? Isn’t it neat that Jesus can understand everybody?” I hope they can grow up strongly convicted of what I am just now learning.

I haven’t blogged for a while. I tend to wait until something significant happens, something that really affects me. I had two of those events this week and wanted to share them with you. As always, thank you for praying for our family and for the people whose language we are trying to learn. We want to communicate the Gospel to them in their own words. We want to communicate the Gospel to them with much love. And this week God sent me those two little reminders, much-needed missionary lessons.