Pick a Seat

Us church goers are pretty particular about where we sit each week in church. Once we find a spot we like we pretty much sit there forever.  I'm not sure how others choose their spots but I can tell you how I have picked mine.

At my home church, because I'm short, I have to be close enough to see. And because my attention span is that of a gnat, I can only have a few rows of people in front of me in order to I stay focused on the speaker and not distracted by the crowd.  I also need to be positioned for quick exit in case my wonky back starts to hurt and I need to leave. My favorite location is an aisle seat among the first few rows and I've been sitting there for years. I can pretty much tell you who is going to be in front of me and behind me. I know where to look to find my friends, because they are in the seats they usually sit in. It's like a little neighborhood among the rows. Even the pastor knows where to find most of us. I remember the Sunday we all decided to switch seats just to mess with him. The look on his face proved that he too was used to where we all usually sat.

The same is true for when I go to the tabernacle at camp. Here, there is a whole new set of criteria for picking a seat. First, one must avoid the dreaded vertical white beams that hold up the roof. If you get behind one of those you will see nothing for the whole service. Also, the ceiling fans must be considered. You are either a person who wants to be under a fan or who does not. The ancient pews are surely the most uncomfortable seating ever constructed. I think that may be an intentional anti-snooze design. But if you plan on bringing a cushion of some sort you have to find a place that doesn’t already have one. And finally, you have to be far enough away from that older woman who is tone deaf and will make your ears bleed during worship with her attempt at singing. Oh wait…that's me.

While that is all true, when I think of "my seat" in the tabernacle I think of the one I sat in for an evening service during Family Camp in 1993. That time, I chose based on a very different criteria. I wanted to be a spectator not a participant. Most of all, I wanted a huge distance between me and the altar. I was far from Jesus yet my heart ached for the faith I had learned about yet could never achieve. I had made many trips to the alter over the years. I had the best of intentions and in those moments my heart truly believed that life with Jesus was possible. But it always ended the same, with failure. I could not do it and I was tired of trying. I determined that I would admire Christianity from the end of a stiff arm and never allow myself to fall for an emotional altar call again.

So on this day, I took my seat way in the back. I wanted the space between me and the altar to be so daunting that I would have time to rethink any notion of walking to it. I don't remember the service. And although I carried my Bible with me, it remained under my uncomfortable pew. The end of the service played out exactly the way I expected. 432 verses of "Just As I Am" and an altar flooded with people committing to something that was unattainable to me. I just sat there… for a long time. I wondered how many of them could carry through on this commitment and how many of them would fail like me. I was glad that I wasn’t close to the altar, but I was also was sad because I had finally given up.

After about 20 minutes, the vast room was almost empty. I was still sitting, still watching. That's when my uncle Carl Schmidt, who is also a pastor, spotted me. He walked over and asked "what are you doing back here?" I was honest. My years of performing had exhausted me and left me empty so I told him what I was thinking. Carl explained that the whole point of the Gospel is that we can't achieve goodness or ever perform faith well enough. To prove his point, he read Romans 7:15-25, verses that I now affectionately refer to as "The Do Do Passage". (read it and you will understand)  I was astonished to hear my struggle so accurately described. I thought I was alone. I didn't believe him and I actually said "I don't think that's in my Bible". That sounds so ridiculous now but I was that convinced that I was excluded from the Christian neighborhood. Carl of course showed me that my Bible too held those precious words.  I didn't go to the altar that night, Uncle Carl brought the altar to me. I met Jesus in a different way and my life was changed.

It is now decades later and I'm at family camp again. I have chosen a seat that accommodates me and my cushion  and affords me a good view.  But every time I leave the tabernacle, I glance to the back corner where I sat that night years ago. That will always be my seat.

Wherever you are, I pray you get to the altar-whatever that looks like. I pray you meet Jesus for the first time or for the one hundredth. I pray you find the perfect seat. And, I'll be careful not to sing too loud.