I view my church attendance as if it was an academic class in my spiritual education. I'm a student of Christ, a scholar of the Bible, a pupil in God's lecture hall. I like sermons and I like lectures. I have a much more mature mindset now than I ever had when I was a real student, however. I take notes (yes, during church), I listen closely to the pastor, and I make as many connections with the sermon as possible. My Bible is highlighted in pink and yellow and its margins annotated with black ink scribbles. Pastors who enjoy talking enthrall me, but the hymns and videos aren't quite my cup of tea. The pastor if my family's church tells stories about hunting, fishing, and sports, and he has the audacity to deliver well-timed and delivered jokes; he references various books of the Bible as he preaches instead of limiting himself to just one passage. He gives practical advice in his sermons and makes the purposes of scripture attainable for us. I can leave each sermon with a slew of connections in my mind and heart.
During church, I'm actually rather quiet and reserved. I don't like to talk and I only sing when it's a familiar song. Church is an emotional experience for me each week. I can't explain why, but standing at prayer, hearing the pastor or the deacon or whomever speak aloud to God opens my heart. I get into this strange mood where if I were to try to talk I might be overcome with tears. I feel my own connection to God. I accept Him. I search for His forgiveness. Many times, however, I don't think I can find it. I feel like my hands are still to busy grasping at seashells on the beach.
This morning, the associate pastor made an analogy connecting our neglect of the sabbath with people collecting seashells on the beach. These people had their hands so full of shells that when they came across a starfish -- a discovery so much more prized than the shells -- one said to the other, "Quick, let's get that starfish before it washes out with the tide." The other told the first, "I can't -- my hands are too full with the shells."
I feel like my hands are filled with too many shells as I pursue that starfish God has placed in front of me. I feel like I'm so busy in life that I can't break from other commitments and obligations in order to stop and grasp at something unique and magnificent. There's school, wrestling, and the new house. There are the countless issues arising from each of these, as well as the unrelated problems (an injured hand, a dog with an ear infection, or an overdue library book).
The moral of the associate pastor's story was to illustrate the paradox of his sermon: saying "no" so that we can say "yes." I wonder how much of a choice it really is to say "yes" or "no" to the obligations of everyday life. Obligations are the endless hordes and masses banging down the doors in our lives. Time is as valuable as gold, and as rare. The pastor says to just grab a couple shells -- the prettiest, the most unique, the ones closest to our hearts -- so that when we come across that starfish, we have the ability to say no to the other shells we come across and can take the time to say yes to that starfish.
