Five Years at The Table
In January 2020, a mere two months before COVID-19 would change so much for all of us, Shauna and I visited you for the first time. AFA was praying, interviewing, and hoping to find a new pastor. Shauna and I were seeking God's direction and weren't necessarily looking to move from our current church.
I remember much about that particular weekend; there was too much to write about in one post. But, as I reflect five years later, two things strike me the most: (1) the sermon I preached from Luke 15 and (2) the clear direction Shauna and I felt after receiving the affirming membership vote. Both of these relate to each other.
Luke 15 tells three stories: the lost son, the lost coin, and the lost sheep. Traditionally, these are the names of the stories, and they are familiar to most church folks. I preach every year on the story of the lost sheep in a message titled, The Table. It isn't an original message. A few of my friends use the same passage and the metaphor (a dinner table) in their sermons. What makes the sermon so compelling for me is that it presents an unmistakable picture of how I see my pastoral vocation and the church: we are hyper-focused on the people who are not yet a part of the church, the kingdom of God, the people of Jesus.
You can search our church's videos and find The Table sermon every year. I will preach it again this year on January 26. It is needed because, without great intention, we churches can forget that we are (I think) the only organization (people group) on the planet that exists for those who are not yet in it. We are wildly obedient to Jesus's word to GO and make disciples. I often argue that genuine Pentecostalism is rooted in this value of making disciples-- fanatical, even, so much so that we believe the Holy Spirit enables us with language that isn't our own. It's all quite remarkable, and I get excited when I talk about it.
I preached this message on January 19, 2020, as a candidate to be the next pastor of AFA. That evening, in a special called business meeting, the membership affirmed the board's decision and invited me and Shauna to move from Baltimore to Albemarle and become the pastor of (now) our church. We accepted. I grew up in Albemarle. It was a homecoming moment I really didn't expect to happen.
Some folks didn't like the sermon. A few of them confronted me immediately afterward, questioning my preaching and the willingness to pastor a church that would welcome sinners around "The Table." With a bit of arrogance (I have since repented), I smiled and confidently assured these folks that I am exactly that kind of pastor, that the church I've been called to pastor will be welcome and invite all the people whom Jesus loves. It can get messy, and that's ok.
Even now, some AFA members roll their eyes when they arrive at church and learn I will preach this message "again." That's ok, too. I get it. I probably need to update the metaphor. But this sermon makes the church's mission so clear-- I love it.
Back to 2020: Shauna and I sensed God's confirmation after the vote, but we also sensed his assignment. Every pastoral assignment is rooted in specificity, and we knew, deep in our bones, that our assignment in Albemarle was tied to this sermon-- to pastor a church in Albemarle that will willingly love and welcome those who are often unwelcome in the church in Albemarle.
Pastoring a church isn't for the weak. A pastor's family often feels much of the same tension and pressure that a pastor feels. And this would be no different. In fact, with the arrival of Covid, it was exacerbated. Our church has transformed into this Table over the past five years. I can feel it. I can see it. And I couldn't be more proud.
As God grows our Table, I encourage you to keep looking around. When you ask, "What is this church all about?" Remember The Table. Notice who moves from the "guest" seat to the "new Christian seat." It's exciting. It's bearing the image of Christ, reckless in its giving of love.