Rob Krabbe's Blog: From a Krabbe Desk - Posts Tagged "belief"
From the Tech Booth at the Seneca Presbyterian Church
The people begin to come in. Jovial and loud fellowship, in a sanctuary that has had the echoes of 100 years of the hopeful. A weeklong built up need to connect. Microphones muted and at the ready. Projectors illuminating walls that could not have dreamed such beautiful images would be splashed onto the stark white surfaces. The sound system breathing a wisp no one can hear, but the sound says readiness to roar to life when needed.
The organ begins the welcome, with a pump being manned by volunteers, ghosts of a day before electricity, but now replaced by an outlet and a fan motor, the bellows more consistent, as the spirit of a man from a hundred years before ties up his horse out front on a rail that has been replaced by a paved road and curb.
The spirits of past desires, hopes, dreams, pain, and love become the aroma of the ages that the current group of people breath deeply in this old room. As I hit a mike cue for the pastor, I realize that the voices of sixty pastors and all their dreams and cares join the new pastor as she takes the worship stage, the chancel that has provided a platform at the same weekly hour since 1907.
It occurs to me that the Lord's prayer being said now by this congregation is the same set of words that has been prayed each week, by children and parents for generation after generation of people desperately seeking God's presence. Over five thousand times the words echoing through the room.
I have heard the words of the enlightened who giggle and scoff at even the idea of a god. The sneering of the wise and educated who have long outgrown their need for the "silliness and foolishness of religion," and yet today, I know something I have not known before. As I look at the glowing face of great great grandma Betty, who is old enough to have been at that first service over one hundred years ago. I would trade the smart and mature cynicism of the wise and evolved intellect for the foolish but solid faith and love I see in Betty's eyes, just as I wish it was as easy to still believe in my forty-nine year old heart as it seems to be for the young children who sing Jesus Loves Me during the Sunday School hour.
So as faith is first a choice, I choose to believe and pray to God, just as a scholar once prayed, God help only my unbelief.
The organ begins the welcome, with a pump being manned by volunteers, ghosts of a day before electricity, but now replaced by an outlet and a fan motor, the bellows more consistent, as the spirit of a man from a hundred years before ties up his horse out front on a rail that has been replaced by a paved road and curb.
The spirits of past desires, hopes, dreams, pain, and love become the aroma of the ages that the current group of people breath deeply in this old room. As I hit a mike cue for the pastor, I realize that the voices of sixty pastors and all their dreams and cares join the new pastor as she takes the worship stage, the chancel that has provided a platform at the same weekly hour since 1907.
It occurs to me that the Lord's prayer being said now by this congregation is the same set of words that has been prayed each week, by children and parents for generation after generation of people desperately seeking God's presence. Over five thousand times the words echoing through the room.
I have heard the words of the enlightened who giggle and scoff at even the idea of a god. The sneering of the wise and educated who have long outgrown their need for the "silliness and foolishness of religion," and yet today, I know something I have not known before. As I look at the glowing face of great great grandma Betty, who is old enough to have been at that first service over one hundred years ago. I would trade the smart and mature cynicism of the wise and evolved intellect for the foolish but solid faith and love I see in Betty's eyes, just as I wish it was as easy to still believe in my forty-nine year old heart as it seems to be for the young children who sing Jesus Loves Me during the Sunday School hour.
So as faith is first a choice, I choose to believe and pray to God, just as a scholar once prayed, God help only my unbelief.
From a Krabbe Desk
A thought, now and then, this "blog," and it is more a matter of filtering than writing. It is that scavenging through the thoughts to find one or two that transcend from an inner reality to a deciphe
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