We just don't know...

Once upon a time there was a medium-sized church on the outskirts of town. It was close enough to town to be part of the community, yet removed from the hustle and bustle, traffic and busyness that came inside the city limits. It was a cozy house of worship, a place where babes were regularly dedicated to the Lord, believers were baptized often, and the gospel was weekly preached and rejoiced in through song. The congregants were regularly challenged to be the hands and feet of Jesus by applying all that they were learning to their everyday lives.

Meanwhile, down the street from this church lived a lonely man. While the joy of Christ was celebrated each Sunday just across the pasture, this man struggled to make ends meet. His life was anything but a celebration. He worked hard with his hands and toiled just to keep things afloat; he labored like a dog to pay the bills and supply for the needs of his family. Despite his best efforts, it seemed he just couldn't ever quite keep up. He was constantly competing with all kinds of adversity.

His family had experienced death and disease firsthand. Children aren't supposed to outlive their parents, but that wasn't this man's story. His marriage was never the same after their sudden loss. Still he was unaware of how bad it had become. When a stranger came knocking on his door with divorce papers in hand, it caught him completely off-guard. It was as unforeseen as the high fever that took his son's life years before. Overnight his wife was up and gone. He tried his best to care for his parents after they became ill at old age, but their needs were too much. 

The overwhelming amount of disappointments slowly accumulated through the years and minus an outlet, without any glimmer of hope, the man felt trapped to commit the most tragic act of desperation. Alone and isolated, believing he had nowhere to go, no one to which he could turn, he sadly decided to take his own life.

The church was still located down the street. It was still so close that when the wind blew just right on Sunday mornings, the choir could be heard from the man's front porch. People weekly drove from all over the county to participate in the church gatherings. Surely people lived nearby him; certainly people drove past his house on their way to worship. Nevertheless, no one even knew of his demise until it was too late. Not until it hit the paper was anyone aware. Some would give it thought, "Wait, was that the guy who lived at the house on the corner?" Yet many would skip right over it as it blended in with the rest of the "news" - wars, politics, sports, entertainment, and the like. For most, the heavy weight of this reality was missed. For others it was simply realized too late.

This is only a story, but one inspired by events that are all too real. I don't share to be bummer; I have no desire to start the week off sad and in despair. Yet, it is worth asking this. When tragedies like I've described occur, and they most certainly do happen, what are we to do? I mean, we can't roll back the clock to save the day. No, but perhaps we could spend some time in reflection. 

Is the church meant to be a building or a people? We're not supposed to neglect the meeting and gathering together, of course, but aren't we also called to scatter as the church on mission? Aren't we also called to be salt and light? Do you think anyone crosses the paths of those so terribly distraught? Do you figure you and I have passed by them before? Aren't they usually someone's neighbor? Aren't they most likely the relative of another? Maybe a co-worker of a person of faith? The saddest part of this story is that we just don't know.

Matt Fowler
Associate Pastor of Missions & Students
matt@nbchurch.info
@fattmowler