The Local Church We All Need
I stood in the doorway of the tiny church, wishing I could stay forever while also knowing I would have to leave this haven behind.
When I went into preterm labor with my twins, I was flown to a city three hours away where I had to stay for six weeks for monitoring. Those weeks were spent sleeping, playing the same few card games, and watching Netflix—all the while, shifting between numbness, sadness, and fearfulness.
Yet in the midst of this, one place became a haven to me: A local community of believers at a Presbyterian church. For the first time in my life, I sat in a congregation that sang Psalms only acapella (including Psalms of lament), preached the Bible from a Reformed perspective, and baptized infants. The people in that community welcomed us and sought to help us in whatever way they could. It was a gift from God amidst much pain.
About three or four years ago, my family changed our stance on baptism. As we studied Scripture, listened to those who knew more than us, and read many books on the subject, we stepped away from the view of believer’s baptism and embraced Presbyterian infant baptism. This change came slowly and with much humility, especially to us two adults who had scoffed at the doctrine for years.
Yet with this change came complications, the major one being that the closest Presbyterian church was a three hour drive away. While we continued to remain members at our current church, I began contacting a few of the Presbyterian churches in that city. One pastor showed us much kindness and sympathy. He even offered to give us a special kind of membership that if we came once a month (while attending a solid local church the rest of the time), we could have our children baptized there. This pastor was from the same church we stayed at in the city during my preterm labor.
However, I knew our family couldn’t do that. We couldn’t afford the gas and mileage on our vehicle. Not only that, I knew that a church three hours away from us that we only attended on a month basis would never be the community our family needed. As that Presbyterian pastor began to email with us, part of the purpose of baptizing a child before the church family is that together we vow to disciple this child together towards Christlikeness. This church wouldn’t be able to offer us such a community. We would not be able to be there for one another when in need or exhort and encourage one another during the week. I knew it was a waste of effort, though still such a gracious offer to us.
While I struggled with grief over the realization that I’d likely never be able to be a part of a church where my children could be baptized, God lifted my eyes to see the community he did provide for us not only to guide us in the gospel, but also our children.
One Sunday, I stood at the end of a row of chairs with my small family: my husband, our four-year-old son, and our twin two-year-old boys. Three little boys are busy, and difficult to entertain in a setting where you must stay within such a small space for so long with few toys. Twin 1 found a small pencil and an old offering envelope on one of the chairs and tried to draw on it. When I glanced over to check on him (that the pencil was staying on the small piece of paper and not on anything else) I saw the woman next to us, who we barely knew, take a sheet of paper from her purse and lay it down on the seat for my son. She gently took his pencil and showed him how he could draw on her paper. I couldn’t hold back my smile.
Later in the service, a boy behind us whose parents were involved in the service, sat alone with his arms crossed and lips turned down. That same woman crept around the seats and sat down next to him, opening up the book he held and talking about it with him.
This is simply one of many stories like this. I can tell you of the Sunday school teacher who came and found my son when he didn’t come down for Sunday school (after only a month of attending the church), or about our pastor, who met with us personally to learn about our particular giftings and how we can best use them in the church. I can write about the many people who have greeted us on Sunday mornings and asked our names, about our jobs, and put in a real effort to make our little ones happy and comfortable. And I can’t forget the little girls who often sit in the same row as us and lug my twin boys around the sanctuary.
I love this church, and I’m more than grateful to call it home. In my ingratitude, God provided an unexpected and undeserved gift to us and answered our prayers, and reminded me that I will never outgrow the need for a local church.
Perhaps you’re in a similar situation that we were in—you feel like a theological nomad longing for a church home where you agree with the major and minor doctrines while also having a flourishing, welcoming community. You’re longing, and God still hasn’t answered that particular prayer. God is teaching me that he can work through his people anywhere, and our children can be raised in the faith with the supportive hands of a church made up of people who are saved by Jesus, not just people who agree with me in all doctrines.
Living in such a small community that you have limited choices for churches. What we mustn’t forget is that God is sovereign even over those details of our lives, and he placed us in our particular communities for a reason and still calls us to be a part of a local church. There was once a day when we didn’t have so many choices available to us for churches, and the one people had to choose was the one within walking distance—perhaps there was a goodness in that. People had to learn to be okay with differences if they wanted to be a part of a community of Christ followers who would support them and help raise up their family. God’s work isn’t limited to communities where we agree.
We can sulk and be discontent with where God has put us, constantly picking apart the service for every incongruence with our theology. Or we can open our eyes to see how God is at work here and why he decided to plant us in this place.
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