January 25, 2024

 “I sing a song of the saints of God faithful their whole lives through, who bravely labored, lived, and died for the God they loved and knew.” I Sing a Song of the Saints of God NCH #295

Earlier this week I attended the funeral of my childhood (Pre-K/ kindergarten) Sunday School teacher, Mrs. Stock, which was held in my childhood UCC church building. In true small church style, this Godly woman taught alongside her sister-in-law in my class and her mother-in-law would later become my elementary school aged Sunday school teacher (her mother-in-law was also my father’s Sunday School teacher. At the time she was my teacher, she was old- Moses old.) She and I weren’t close, per se, but I admired and appreciated her and invited her to my ordination service. Believe it or not- she showed up. She got a shout out from the pulpit- not only to highlight her presence that day, but for the way in which she represented Christ to me.

This woman, outside of church, was a farm wife who gardened and practiced the art of presence. She was the surrogate grandmother for many and one of those church women that worked steadily and quietly. Would someone be available to open the church for a repairman, etc.? Mrs. Stock would. She was the official dishwasher at church events and canned enough food to have for her family and gave the rest away for others. She didn’t speak ill of others, but she certainly could see through your less than Godly behavior. Once, after a tense encounter with another parishioner, the pastor sided up to her and made a comment about praying for the person’s spouse. “You should make that a daily prayer, Pastor,” she replied.

I spend a lot of time in the presence of people who profess to know and love God. Some parade their knowledge and their piety around like a fine robe. I wish them no ill will, but when the chips are down, I’ll take the Mrs. Stocks of the world. They wear their faith like a faded cotton dress with a fraying hem. It certainly has seen better days and is a bit worse for the wear due to the travesties of a challenging life. It makes no effort to impress and serves its purpose well. It holds up amidst the passage of time.

When I have the good fortune to sing the hymn, “I Sing a Song of the Saints of God,” I am reminded of the good folks that worked for the church out of deep love for God and community. The dishwashers and soup makers, the boiler fixers and early risers who ensured that the church was warm on cold days. Even the widowers who showed up and did more talking than working- because they were worried the woman pastor might be all alone. This is the heart of Christ to me. A steady beat of resilience and presence through turmoil and triumph. I pray that one day I could aspire to be the same, as captured by the last line of the hymn, “You can meet them in school, on the road, or at sea, in a church, in a train, in a shop, or at tea; for the saints are folk like you and like me, and I mean to be one too.”