I've just returned from a vacation
trip to Yellowstone
National Park. It's very
difficult for me to stay in motels or in other people's homes, so my husband
and I travel in a 29-year-old campervan. The campervan makes travel possible,
but not completely easy. Taking a trip always involves unavoidable chemical
exposures, but most of the time the benefits of getting away make it worth the
physical cost.
I've been to Yellowstone
before, and my soul was as fed by the vast unspoiled beauty this time as it was
on my previous visit. This trip had an added bonus, though. This time I was
able to attend an outdoor worship service. Actually, I got to attend two: one
Sunday morning and another one later that evening. The evening service was a
bit problematic because of bug repellant, which many people applied at the same
time and in close proximity to me. I moved away from the group, but was able to
stay for the service, and was grateful for that.
Fortunately, the chemical exposures
were very low for the morning worship gathering. There was a lot going on
in my head and heart during that service and I found myself getting very
emotional. Primarily I felt gratitude and joy for the opportunity to worship
with others, since it's a very rare privilege for me these days.
As I sat in the midst of strangers
from all over the country who had come together because of a common love for
Jesus, I kept thinking of a line from an old Twila Paris song: "How
beautiful is the body of Christ." Yellowstone is full of natural beauty, but I had to
agree, looking around at the other worship participants representing parts of
Christ's body on this earth, that they were beautiful, too.
There were also a lot of memories
coming to the surface that morning. The summer after my freshman year in
college I served as a summer missionary in a tourist area, and one of the
things I did was to lead worship services in a number of campgrounds. The
morning service at Yellowstone was led by a
college girl, and when I looked at her I saw a younger me.
I began to wonder what I would tell
the younger me, if I could. I wasn't naïve or untouched by life's challenges at
that age. My mother died when I was 13, so I already knew that life could be
hard. I never imagined MCS, though. I never imagined being shut out of church.
I think what I would tell my younger
self is that corporate worship is a valuable treasure that shouldn't be taken
for granted. I would say that providing worship services in unconventional
settings is an important ministry and well worth the effort. I would thank the younger me for
being part of providing worship opportunities for all sorts of people, some of
whom might, like the current me, have no other options.
Would the younger me listen to the
current me if I told her to value and store up in her heart every element of
every worship service she was able to attend?
Probably not. At the time, the ability to freely worship with others
seemed to be a "given" rather than the privilege it really is. Now I
understand. Now, when I'm able to worship with others I soak up all the moments
of corporate grace and I treasure them. I truly treasure them.