Yesterday I attended a church in another town which I have infrequently visited before. Circumstances allowed me to help lead music as a part of their worship team. After the service I was approached by two different older (60-ish) men. This story is about them.

The First Man

The first man that approached me had given a testimony during the worship service. He was overflowing with contagious joy and appreciation for what God has been doing in his life. While his situation is still not an easy one, he took the time to ask about my family and job, then asked how he could pray for me and proceeded to take my arm and pray right there and then. What an encouragement! As he walked away we both had smiles on our faces and grace in our hearts.

The Second Man

The second man approached me a few minutes later, and after thanking me for my participation, proceeded to tell me that I should be praying for the church. He mentioned his theological training and proceeded to explain how the church would be improved if “they” would “get a vision” for aspects of their ministry that mirrored his. I patiently listened and politely nodded as he went on. When he walked away we both had expressions of concern. His, no doubt, was for that church and its ministries; mine was more for him, who would seemingly look past the good things happening in the church (even that morning!) to “spiritually” complain to a stranger about the church leadership’s vision.

OK, so I lied up in paragraph one. This story isn’t really about them.

As I was thinking over these interactions a day later, the realization hit me like a ton of bricks:

I am the second man.

No, not all the time. And maybe not quite so obviously. But if I think and look back over my past year of on- and off-line interactions, and if I’m honest with myself, I’m the second guy.

I’ve been quick to complain, criticize, and critique. I’ve looked past the good things happening in my own congregation to pick at the nits that I’ve disagreed with. Rather than being thankful for what’s going on, I’ve relied on my “superior” theological knowledge (I am, at best, a well-read amateur) to poke holes too many places where the church didn’t align to “my vision” instead of just helping shore up the walls and foundations that truly might need a little help.

So let this serve as my public apology and repentance. (There are some private ones coming, too.) Where there are still correctives that should be made, may my first reaction always be grace and encouragement, and may I let the correctives wait for the right time and place.

Amen.

(And hey, kick me if you catch me straying from this, eh?)

Clarification, because a couple people have asked: this is a real story, and those were real conversations.