There are moments in life when the question quietly rises up in the heart: What is our church supposed to be doing? Not in doctrine or in words spoken from a pulpit, but in the ordinary, sacred intersections of real life. Isn’t a church meant to be helpful?
Not just in theory, but in motion. In casseroles delivered without fanfare. In rides offered. In prayers that come with hands and feet attached. In noticing when someone is carrying more than they can bear and stepping in, even when no one asked.
Recently, I found myself standing in one of those in-between places. The kind where you know something needs to be done, and there’s that quiet nudge inside that says, You might be the one to get the ball rolling. Times like that are not always convenient. They rarely are.
But when a friend needs to travel halfway across the country to be with her Mom, especially for something as precious as a 91st birthday, convenience felt small in comparison. Ninety-one is not just a number. It’s a milestone, a testimony, and a gathering of years that deserve to be honored in person, not just in thought. Some moments are simply not meant to be missed.
And so the question becomes not should someone help, but how?
This is where the beauty of a church reveals itself, not as a building, but as a living body. Because once that first step is taken, once someone says, “Let’s see what we can do,” something begins to move. One person talks to another. A plan starts to form. Resources appear. Willing hearts gather. Suddenly, what felt overwhelming becomes possible.
That’s exactly what happened. Quietly, the church stepped in, not for recognition, but simply because that’s what love does. It shows up. It makes a way. It carries one another when the distance is too far and the burden too heavy.
There were discussions which quickly became a resounding yes, let’s ge that girl the ticket! Make it happen. The last thing was a phone call to let her know. I was planning to do that yesterday, but, HHH and I needed some groceries and Ice Cream. We finished shopping, and then found the Ice Cream Parlor was closed. Just our luck, we’d need to go back to the grocery store to hit the freezer sections.
In we went.
There. Standing at the end of the aisle as if she was waiting for us, was our friend. The traveler-to-be. The woman I was planning to call within the hour.
God had other plans. I wasn’t supposed to call at all. I was to look her in the eyes and tell her to pack her bags. Tears flowed as we had the best hug. Just the best thing ever. God does have the sweetest sense of humor. If the Ice Cream Parlor had been open, we’d have missed the best hug, ever.
In the end, it’s not just about a trip, but about presence. About a daughter being able to sit beside her mother and sisters, while celebrating a life well-lived and sharing laughter and memories that can’t be postponed. This was about not missing what matters most.
Maybe that’s the answer to the question after all.
Of course a church should be helpful. But more than that, it should be attentive, willin, and ready to move when the need arises. Brave enough to begin, even if it doesn’t yet know how everything will come together.
Sometimes all it takes is one person to light the lantern.
And then, together, the way becomes clear.
More tomorrow.