The Psalmist said, “Behold how good and pleasant it is when people dwell together in unity.” Easier said than done, I say. When it’s not happening, it has a kind of 1950’s veneer of superficiality in the sound of it. But – when it does happen, it catches your breath in mid-inhale, John Wesley’s “strangely-warmed heart” grabs your chest, and the flush of it overflows through your cloudy eyes.
It happened yesterday -- right in the living room of our “church house.” Twenty people gathered for a noon prayer service for the effects of the current anti-immigration legislation. Now, for many, twenty people may not sound like a lot. But, with only three of us representing our own church (including my husband and I as pastors) 17 or so from the community is an astounding number. But – of course, numbers don’t matter. Which is very true – but, they feel darn good.
The more meaningful effect was that these people were almost all from other small churches in the community. It’s a tiny sign. A seed of hope. Our community is divided by diversities of race, economic levels, theologies, background. It can be a poor and violent place, but one can walk to the next block and find new, lavish homes and golf courses behind coded gates. It’s becoming impossible not to rub elbows with each other, and the churches with the more adventurous pastors and people are beginning to sense that whispering call of the Spirit.
Evidently the word passed from a few emailed invitations, and other church folks came. Not ours, but others. Not our predominant color, but others. Not our theology, but others. Not our predominant economic status, but others. And together we sang, and most of us stumbled through Spanish – the language of the current immigrants – and we prayed together. And, I believe, we all found our hearts strangely warmed.
