Saved by the Mud

I mentioned that rainy season was about to begin here, and last Sunday that was proven correct in classic style. It was raining hard for the second day in a row with a chilly wind. Rainy days are always low attendance days at church. Who likes to get out of bed to trudge somewhere through the rain and muddy roads? We always hope that our church members have grown enough in grace that mud and chilly wet will mean nothing in comparison to being with believers and submitting themselves once again to hear the Word, but every rainy Sunday is another test.

This Sunday we had especially hoped for good attendance, as we were hoping to try a new tactic in the war for souls. We have several regular visitors who haven't committed to following Christ, so we decided to start a 5-week prospective members class in the Sunday School hour just to target these folks and present salvation, baptism, and our church covenant in a clear manner. We had about ten people lined up for the first class, but our spirits were dampened by their apparent drowned attendance.

Really stuck!

Then the other family (we only have one family besides our own in our church that includes husband, wife, and kids--and a car!) got their truck stuck in the mud on the road to church. It took an hour and a half to extract them. The situation became even stickier, or should I say muddier, when we noticed that they had brought first-time visitors with them on this rare Sunday. They were discouraged to have such a setback on the day their visitors came with them. We were worried to start a new class without all of our beloved prospects attending. And all the men were wet, cold, and muddy when we began the service.

Ita vita African. This truly could be an apt description of normal life in Africa. Some discouraging setbacks just when you were hoping to make a good impression; poor attendance for weeks at a time in the rainy season. But God was working all of those seemingly bad events to ordain a private evangelism meeting between me and one of the children in my Sunday School class.

When Mr. N__ got stuck in the mud and all the men and boys went to help, I (with my kids) was left alone with one sweet neighbor girl who has attended my S.S. class and Seth's neighborhood Bible club all year. As I fiddled around setting up church stuff, she came to me and asked shyly, "How does a person go to Hell or to God?"

Seth's Bible club: they learn verses and the catechism (yellow book). She's the girl in the blue tank top, back row, third from the left.

Because of the rain and the car stuck in the mud, I was given an uninterrupted fifteen minutes to show a tweenage girl The Great Exchange from 2 Corinthians 5:21. I love this verse. In English every word but one has one syllable. Yet it encompasses so much with those little words.

For he hath made Him to be sin for us, Who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him.

Praise the Lamb slain for sinners! Praise the Creator of the rain and mud who kept distractions away from a child He was busy pulling from the filth of a life lived for sin, at the same time as Seth was pulling a truck out of the mud. She seemed to respond to the Word in faith.

Obviously the mud didn't save her. But in one sense, it did. God used it as a means to give this shy child one-on-one time with her teacher so that she could ask a very important question! Last Sunday, a child was saved by the blood, by the mud.

Seth and I also were saved by the mud in a sense. We were saved from discouragement and ingratitude over the lack of optimal conditions that day. We were reminded that God doesn't need dry roads to do His work and that His plans are wiser than ours.

Once I heard a sermon by R.C. Sproul on 2 Samuel 6 when God struck Uzzah dead for touching the Ark of the Covenant so that it wouldn't fall from the oxcart. I've never forgotten how Sproul mentioned that Uzzah's error was in thinking that his hands were cleaner than the dirt. He thought it would be better for him to touch the ark--he, a sinful creature--than for the ark to fall in the dirt. But the dirt was doing what God made it to do. I thought of that Sunday--the mud was doing what God made it to do. I couldn't be mad at the mud or at God for letting it rain on Sunday. He had a plan even for the mud; and it did what He made it to do, even being an instrument in God's plan of redemption for a child.

When Mr. N__ finally arrived at church, embarrassed and a bit careworn, I greeted him happily. "You may think this was a bad day," I said, "but I am glad you got stuck in the mud!"

My S.S. class quoting Psalm 1 for the church. She's first on the left, back row, of the girls' side.

Still happy, even after scrubbing our family's muddy clothes!

I Hated Sundays!

Illustration by: Salvatore Vuono

It all started many years ago. I was a new missionary in Spain. I didn’t speak one word of Spanish, not one. I couldn’t say “hello” or make a simple comment. Zip. Nada. (I learned nada later!)

I’d go to church where not one person besides missionaries spoke English, sit down with an active baby on my lap, and listen. The people filed in and smiled at me, and I smiled back. The Spanish pastor got up and preached. Sometimes, the people would laugh. The pastor was a man who didn’t use much facial expression or hand movements. He was fairly monotone—although maybe I only thought so, since I couldn’t understand anything.

I was having a hard time keeping Baby quiet and keeping myself awake. Such a “blessing” going to church! I’d go in, understand nothing, and go home very tired and uninspired. This happened Sunday after Sunday for about a year.

We were in language school. (When you start from zero, you have a lot to learn!) Once in a while, I’d actually understand a word or two the pastor said. (I’m not exaggerating. I would get one word here, another there.) Wonderful! I got a “the” and “friend” and tried to build a whole message on those two words. I still went home Sunday after Sunday, non-blessed. Two services . . . every Sunday.

I started volunteering for nursery duty. The toddlers taught me more words than I gleaned from the message. “Food.” “Play.” “No.” Valuable words.

Back in the services, something started to happen. I could comprehend a few thoughts and themes. I didn’t get but half of the words, but I was half understanding the message—for about thirty minutes. Then, after trying so hard, intensely watching the pastor’s lips, I was bushed! I slept. Every. Single. Service. After a half hour, in every service, Missionary Wife was out for the count.

Did I tell you I hated Sundays?

Somewhere during that first five-year term, I began understanding up to 90% of the pastor’s words. It was wonderful! I got something from the messages. The Word—well, what I understood—ministered to my heart, and I started to like Sundays. What a relief!

By our second missionary term we were fluent in Spanish and had a ministry with young people. By now, we had two little ones to keep quiet in church. Due to an outside influence, the atmosphere in the church had changed, and I confess I just wanted to get out of there. Yep, I was too human, too affected by others’ cloudy moods, and too not relying on the Holy Spirit for my joy. So, I hated Sundays . . . again.

Thankfully, we were almost ready to start our new church. The building took a lot of preparation, but we could see the light at the end of the tunnel. We even started intimate Wednesday prayer meetings in the new, unfinished building. Those were a blessing. But, I still hated Sundays because of the raincloud and poisonous feelings toward foreigners—us.

I loved Sundays again for a while. The new church was growing. It was nice not to have negativity.

Then, several people began to spar verbally . . . every service. We decided to have breakfasts at church, thinking that, if their mouths were busy chewing, it would help the atmosphere. It worked pretty well, and I started liking Sundays again.

Especially if you have children, you’ll understand the saying, “By the time you get to church, you need to be in church.” Make sure everyone is clean, dressed nicely, in the car on time, with Bibles in hand. (It’s not only the children who don’t quite make it!) So, the family is out of sorts, and maybe Missionary Wife, too. If we ever needed sanctification—you guessed it—it’s on Sundays!

When do you and the kids get sick? Saturday night.

When do you feel the lousiest? Sunday morning.

When would you like to just forget the day and crawl right back under the covers? Sunday!

I hated Sundays.

I have some practical advice for those of you who understand the “Sunday problem.” (If you wake up every Sunday with a smile on your face, a spring in your step, anticipation in your heart, and your children in matching clothes, these are not for you.) If you understood the rest of this post, even partially, you might find something useful here:

1. Remember why we go to church—to worship (praise and exalt) God. We don’t go to “get” anything. We go to lift up Jesus in corporate worship. Even if we can’t understand the messenger, we can spend our time in church exalting Him in our hearts, alongside other Christians.
2. Remember not to fixate on people. The Bible tells us to think about: whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things (Philippians 4:8). Instead of letting others affect our joy, we should think about the Lord Himself. He is true, honest, just, pure, lovely, of good report, virtuous, and worthy of your praise. It will change your Sunday!
3. Be aware of the enemy. No one wants you to have a lousy Sunday more than the adversary. Your family will have more spiritual and physical attacks on the weekend than at any other time. Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might. Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places (Ephesians 6:10-12) Make sure you have your spiritual armor on. Spend time in the Word. Spend time with God.
4. Decide to have a positive and Christ-like attitude. By Friday, start praying specifically for the Sunday service(s). Ask God to anoint the messenger and to work in hearts. Ask the Lord to do a work in your own heart so that you can have a joyous countenance. If you have physical issues, ask the Lord to help you with pain levels and to give you the strength you need for Sunday. (Get enough sleep. Eat healthy. Exercise.) Ask God for wisdom in dealing with the ladies and children “sheep” God has given to your flock. Purpose to be an encouragement to your husband and to everyone else. It will make a difference! 

Sunday . . . the Lord’s Day.

I was glad when they said unto me,

Let us go into the house of the LORD.

(Psalm 122:1)

Love Sundays!

Illustration by: mapichai