A custodian entered the chapel cautiously. “You alright, mister. I was going to clean up in here, but I can come back later if you are talking to the Lord. Don’t want to disturb that. No sir.”
Urk looked up. “No, you come right ahead. I think I’m done praying right now.” Then he looked at the custodian, remembering his encounter. “Are you a Christian?” Urk asked.
“I try to be,” the custodian said. “Not a very good one, but the Lord seems to choose imperfect people to do God’s work. Can I help you with something?”
“If God were trying to speak to you about how the Gospel challenges racism in the world, what do you think God would say?”
The custodian looked at him. “I don’t know you, mister, and I don’t want to cause any trouble, but I think Jesus would be mighty disappointed in how the church seems to be afraid of telling the world what Jesus is saying to us.”
“I’m Urk Alred. I’m a pastor. I’ve got some deep thinking to do. Can I come back and talk to you later? Maybe in a few days.”
“Sure, Mister. No harm in talking.”
So Urk left, in sort of a daze. Not sure what had just taken place. Had God spoke to him in that chapel? Was God really calling him? If so, what was he supposed to do?
He stumbled through his visitation, and then he returned to his church. It was a modest size church. Hardly one to lead a transformation of the faith. Yet the Bible was clear that God rarely chose to work through the powerful. God seemed to prefer the unimportant and even the imperfect sinner. He fit both of those categories. But now what should he do?
Later in the day, he was talking to one of his elders. He didn’t tell him about his experience in the chapel, but he did decide to raise the issue of how the church should respond to the racial tensions in the society.
“Urk, I know you are a man of faith. I also know that racism is a contradiction of the Gospel that calls us to love our neighbor. But I don’t know what this church could do that would make any difference. Some pastors have tried in other churches, and it just ended up in conflict. Most of these people don’t even know what they believe when it comes to issues like that. Leave it alone, that’s what I recommend. People just want to be comforted by the faith, not stirred up. “
“But shouldn’t the faith lead us? Shouldn’t the church be different from the rest of the world? Shouldn’t we trust God to guide us?”
“If I knew what to do and knew for certain that God wanted us to do something, I might give it a try. But I don’t, and I don’t want any trouble. We have a nice church here, and I want to keep it that way.”
Urk dropped the conversation and talked about other things, but he couldn’t ignore what had happened to him.
All his life he’d had to deal with that crazy name. In Junior High kids thought they were clever in teasing him by saying, “Here comes Urk the Jerk.” He wasn’t that popular anyway. Like any good introvert, he learned to carry his burden inside of him, and he just avoided talking about the origin of his name. He didn’t even ask his parents.
He didn’t want to develop some eerie religious idea, but he did begin to wonder whether God had some idea for him from the beginning. Yet, how was that even possible? He wasn’t some important person with special skills that could change the world. He was doing good just to hold his church together.
Later in the week, he had lunch with some of his clergy friends. There had been an incident earlier in the month that had ramped up the racial tensions in the city. Roy, a Black clergyman, was really angry about what was happening not only in the city but around the country. “I say that any good Christian should be out in the streets demanding justice.”
“I agree that racism is a major sin destroying our ability to trust and build community,” said Floyd. “What I don’t know is what we can do about it. My church is tense as it is with all the distrust in society. If I tried to get them to come into the street, they’d probably tell me I can go into the street but to keep on going. Don’t come back.”
Urk toyed with his French Fries and then took a drink of his iced tea. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this,” he said. “I confess I don’t know what my members really think about their faith and how it invites us to act.” “What are you talking about,” Jennifer asked. “Who knows what they believe? I even have some doubts myself.”
Story continued in next Blog
