Unexpected Tenderness

We had a guest accompanist at church today. Dr. Landrum is on faculty at Roberts, a professor of Piano, Piano Literature, and Film studies. I have heard him play at a number of campus events, and always found his playing sensitive and perfectly fitting. I was delightedly surprised when in answer to my query for an accompanist, fully expecting him to refer me to one of his students, he responded that he would come.

He had an impeccable sense of the service, asking questions about various aspects so that he would be able to "go with the flow" smoothly. But there was one surprise I had not seen coming. The pastor selected a sung response to communion - something I had not encountered there. Fortunately, Dr. Landrum caught it in time, had a brief conference with the pastor, and handled it with grace and aplomb.

Somehow the service seemed unusually filled with the presence of God. Maybe because I am so overjoyed at the good report about my health and no cancer. Maybe because it was a beautiful fall day and I had spent time being uplifted by nature, re-experiencing the grandeur and glory of God's creation. Or maybe it was just God reaching out as He sometimes does. His Spirit seemed almost palpable.

Throughout the sermon, the Scripture readings, the choir's anthem (A Communion Prayer - based on the hymn Jesus I Adore You) I had such a sense of peace and calmness, such a deep sense that God was present in the service. It is the type of time when you just want to keep staying there, enjoying the peace, enjoying the sense of well being.

Then we were served communion. Since I stay on the platform, I was one of the first ones served. As Dr. Landrum played so many wonderful hymns during the partaking by the congregation (they come forward to the altar), I looked out over the sea of faces, watching as they came forward to receive the elements. Suddenly I was struck by how much God loved each one of these, His children.

Some came with a deep reverence and spent time at the prayer altar. Some stood impatiently, just wanting to get back to their seats. You could tell that some had their minds on other things - maybe dinner or the game upcoming. Some were in obvious pain, others looked exhausted. Some were smiling, some just going through the motions - what a variety of states they were in.

It was as if I could hear God say, "I love this woman - she has been coming here faithfully for half a century. I love this young child - she will grow up and remain true in her belief of Me. I love this elderly gentleman, he has worked hard all his life." I was overwhelmed with the sense of how much God loved each one of them individually. Regardless of where they were in their walk with Him. Regardless of how much they were paying attention to Him at that precise moment. Regardless of whether they were actively pursuing Him or not. He loved them. Deeply and without reservation. It was so sweet and tender that I was afraid I was going to cry.

"This is silly," I thought. "I've only been here a few weeks. I hardly know these people. Why am I feeling all choked up about them? Where is this tender caring coming from?" For a brief moment in time, the veil between heaven and earth had thinned enough for me to hear the heart of Christ. Words cannot describe the emotion, the effect. I wanted to love them as much as God loved them, even though I will never fully know them.

The pastor closed the service with a benediction, and I sat to listen to the postlude, grateful to have a few moments to reflect on what had just transpired. Though I no longer felt the sweetness of the moment, it had made an impression on my heart. I would like to know how to love people like that. I'm not sure I know how. Perhaps its as easy as just seeing others through the eyes of God. Perhaps.