When Grace Wore a Beard and a Lions Jersey

You'd think after all these years I’d be accustomed to grace; familiar with the unearned favor of another. You'd think I'd have become acquainted with mercy that comes undeserved.

Holding a ministry degree doesn’t guarantee aptitude in the things of mercy. Neither does an ordination certificate secure my comfort with the loving acceptance of others. 

Inevitably, however, it’s in the unexpected moments I come face to face with grace that I find the God who knows me best and loves me most.

And this past Sunday grace found me again, when I least expected it and didn’t deserve it.

Our family was sitting in the balcony of a local Methodist church. A place we’d claimed as space for healing and respite this last year as we’d stepped away from ministry. This congregation doesn’t really know us. We haven’t really given them the chance. We’ve held back. We’ve stayed in the background. We’ve slipped in for worship, shaken hands during the greeting, and left without fanfare after the conclusion of the organ postlude.

Why? Because we were tired. We were roughed up. Weary. And trying to figure what life should look like now that we weren’t doing the only job we’d ever known.

We had nothing to give to this congregation. We had nothing to offer except our presence on sporadic Sundays and join our voices with others in the Gloria Patri and Lord’s Prayer. We have never placed a cent in the offering plate. We have never offered a single hour of time to this congregation’s efforts to serve the community. We would just show up irregularly on Sunday mornings, keep our heads down, fill a pew, and hoped we wouldn’t get anyone’s hopes up. 

For the last 11 months, our family has done all the taking in this relationship with this UMC congregation. There was no reciprocal benefit between us. Only we received. We’ve only drawn from the well of compassionate souls we encountered there. We’ve been the sole recipients, soaking in the life-affirming words of the two pastors whose leadership is inspiring and whose use of language leaves this logophile feeling challenged and nurtured.

Perhaps it was our emptiness that helped set the stage for grace to be on display this last Sunday. Our lack of contribution should seem to say we hadn’t earned a thing from this congregation. Our unreliability, our unavailability, our own lack should suggest that we expect nothing from these people from whom we have only received. We don’t deserve another thing from this place. We haven’t qualified for any blessing from them or their leaders.

But this last Sunday, grace found me again, when I least expected it and definitely didn’t deserve it.

The congregation was directed to stand and open the hymnal for the closing song. I found the correct hymn and that’s when I saw him climbing the stairs. Pastor Jeremy was making his way up to the balcony. I hadn’t remembered him ever doing that before, but I surmised this unusual ascent had something to do with his current sermon series that was using the world of sports as sermon illustrations. That was, after all, the reason he had traded his traditional robe for a powder blue Detroit Lions jersey. As he approached the top of the steps, he looked at us and smiled, obviously happy to see us. 

“That’s nice of him,” I thought. He certainly didn’t have to seem interested in us, but he had always proven to be a gentle and aware sort of spirit. Over the summer, Paul and I had become Facebook friends with Jeremy Peters. A step which granted mutual permission to enter into one another’s lives, at least virtually. Paul had even met Jeremy for coffee and shared some of our story. This man, with bearded chin and kind eyes, had slowly become a teacher and friend to us, whether he knew it or not.

Pastor Jeremy reached the top of the stairs, walked along in front of us and then turned to walk up the aisle steps to where our family stood. He held out his hand to Paul in greeting. I stood unsure of what was transpiring. Uncertain as to why the pastor had left his place on the platform to come meet us where we had positioned ourselves for worship that day. As Paul and Jeremy shook hands, he asked if, after the hymn, we would come down so the church could pray for us. While the congregation sang to the organ accompaniment, Jeremy told Paul and I that he knew we’d given 18 years to ministry to the city. He knew we are preparing to uproot our lives for a move to South Dakota. And he desired for this congregation to surround us in prayer as we moved ahead.

Paul and I agreed to come forward, but as Jeremy walked away, I remember feeling overwhelmed with emotion. Mostly shock. And inadequacy. I felt like a fraud. Who are we to be called out for prayer? We, who had stayed reserved and aloof, as we sought respite through corporate worship. We, who had given nothing to this people. We, who had only taken the breathing room offered in this place.

The hymn ended and Jeremy invited us to the front. We stood shoulder to shoulder with a man who had consistently met us where we were over the last year. A man who probably didn’t know how much he had ministered to our aching souls, because well, we hadn’t told him. Shoulder to shoulder with a faith brother who accepted where we were, broken and empty, and he still poured out more for us. 

Shoulder to shoulder, we faced the congregation and Jeremy spoke words of affirmation for us. Words that celebrated our ministry. A ministry, that honestly, we had sometimes questioned in the throes of doubt. He invited the people to surround us as he prayed for us and our next steps in ministry.

We were surrounded by a congregation of people from whom we had only received. A church that had gotten nothing from us. We certainly hadn’t earned a place at the front of the altar. We hadn’t merited a special time of prayer. As faces moved toward us, everything within me wanted to rebuff. To rebuke the blessing being offered because I didn’t deserve it. I hadn’t worked for the love being poured out. “Stop it,” my heart cried. “Stop it. I’m not worthy. I have done nothing to warrant your attention. I’m lacking, insufficient, and undeserving of this moment.”

And then I heard it. The still, small, and undeniable voice of God. “This is grace. This is not about what you have earned. It’s about who I am and what I want to give you.” 

Face to face with grace. I was showing up empty-handed to a feast.I was standing at buffet spread of undeserved and unconditional love. Surrounded by people who were giving to me and my family just because they could, not because of what I had done.

When I had least expected, and definitely not earned it, grace caught me by surprise again. Ushered into the presence of mercy by no merit of my own. No catch. No strings attached. Just grace.

You'd think after all these years I’d be accustomed to grace. But I’m not. Grace always seems to catch me by surprise.  And grace always leaves me feeling found, accepted, and seen by the God who knows me best and loves me most. 

This last week, grace donned a Lions jersey and was found among a circle of strangers who gave (again) with no expectations. 

The last Sunday grace found me yet again. 

I am humbled and grateful.