Virginia Memorial Park- 11490 Forest Road, Forest, VA

Church #177 continues to take me outside of the traditional sanctuary and into what I have started thinking of as the community sanctuary, and maybe after more than three years on this journey, God is still teaching me that some of the most powerful church services happen when there is no order of worship.

Sometimes the sermon is simply the life happening right in front of us and the choice we make about how we are going to love people through it.

This Sunday morning started in the sweetest and perhaps most appropriate way possible, with my daughter rescuing a turtle from the middle of the road on my way to work. I could not help but smile because before we had preached one word, love had already gone into action.

Something vulnerable was in danger, someone noticed, someone stopped, and someone cared enough to help it get safely to the other side. Maybe I am looking for sermons everywhere these days, but I think there was one right there in the road: love notices. Love stops. Love helps.

I also brought my sweet Cupcake to work with me today. At fifteen years old, her health has continued to decline, and I am trying very hard not to allow the fear of what is eventually coming to steal the gift of having her with me right now.

That is easier to write than it is to live. I know what grief feels like now in a way I never did before losing my mom, and there is a part of my heart that wants to brace itself against another goodbye before that goodbye ever arrives.

But I am learning that anticipating grief can rob us of today’s love if we let it, and I do not want to do that. Today I could hold Cupcake, talk to her, watch her rest beside me, and thank God for another day with this precious little life that has loved our family so faithfully for so many years.

My family also joined me at the office for a little while this morning, and that time together was beautiful. Nothing elaborate had to happen. We were simply together, and lately I have become much more aware of what a gift that word really is: together. Life changes quickly. People we love do not stay forever. Children grow. Dogs grow old. Seasons turn into memories while we are still busy making plans for next week. I am learning to stop treating ordinary time with the people I love as though it is ordinary at all.

And then the second half of my day brought the sermon full circle.

I had the honor of caring for a family and a community who had lost someone they loved, and I cannot adequately explain what a privilege I consider that to be. My favorite part of my role is giving the hug. It is listening to the story. It is offering comfort. It is looking someone in the eyes when their world has changed and letting them know, even without saying many words, you are not alone in this moment.

Today embodied what being the church means to me. And the sermon that has been burning in my heart through so much of this journey came back again…

Love one another.

But today I want to add something to it.

Really love one another.

Really love people. Love them when their hearts are shattered. Love them when they cannot give anything back. Love them when they are grieving. Love them when they are scared. Love them when they need somebody to sit beside them more than they need somebody to explain anything to them.

Jesus said in John 13:34-35, “Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” He went on to say that this is how people would know we are His disciples, by our love.

That message has followed me throughout this entire journey, but I think I understand it differently now.

Jesus did not say people would know we belong to Him because of the church building we attend. He did not say they would recognize us because we know the right Christian phrases, because we can quote the most Scripture, because we have perfect lives, or because we never struggle.

He said they would know us by our love.

And Jesus showed us what that love looks like.

He stopped for people everyone else walked past. He touched people others were afraid to touch. He sat with people society had rejected. He wept with grieving people. When Lazarus died, Jesus knew resurrection was coming, and yet John 11:35 gives us those two incredibly powerful words: “Jesus wept.”

Jesus knew what He was about to do, but He still entered their grief.

He did not walk up to Mary and Martha and tell them to stop crying because everything was going to be fine. He did not shame their sorrow. He stood in the pain with them and wept.

There is a sermon in that for all of us.

Sometimes loving grieving people means we stop trying to find the perfect thing to say. Sometimes there is no perfect thing to say. Sometimes love is a hug. Sometimes love is sitting quietly. Sometimes love is listening to someone tell the same story about their loved one again because they need to tell it. Sometimes love is crying with them. Sometimes love is simply saying, “I am here.”

Romans 12:15 tells us to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep. I think we sometimes become uncomfortable with that second part because we desperately want to fix pain. But grief is not a problem we can fix for someone. Love does not require us to have the answer. Love asks us to be present. I know that more personally now.

Grief is no longer something I understand only from the outside. I know what it feels like when the rest of the world keeps moving while part of yours feels like it stopped. I know what it feels like when memories suddenly hurt and comfort at the same time. I know how strange it feels to realize someone who has always existed in your world is suddenly no longer physically here.

And perhaps God is using even the broken places in my own heart to make me more tender with someone else’s. I would never have chosen grief as my teacher, but grief has taught me to slow down. It has taught me that people matter more than schedules. It has taught me that tomorrow is not promised.

Most importantly, grief has taught me how desperately we need Jesus.

Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” I have held onto that promise myself, and today I thought about it while serving this family. We cannot remove another person’s grief, but we can remind them through our presence that they do not have to walk through it alone. We can be gentle. We can be compassionate. We can carry a tiny corner of the burden for a little while. Galatians 6:2 tells us to bear one another’s burdens, and sometimes that is exactly what ministry looks like.

That is church.

The turtle in the road taught me that love notices.

My aging Cupcake reminded me that love cherishes while there is still time.

My family reminded me that love makes time to be together.

And a grieving family reminded me that love stays when hearts are breaking.

Maybe that was the whole sermon.

Love notices. Love cherishes. Love makes time. Love stays.

And isn’t that exactly what Jesus has done for me?

Through every twist and turn of these past few years, through grief, exhaustion, worry, caregiving, uncertainty, changed schedules, hard days, and prayers I am still waiting to see answered, Jesus has stayed.

When worry has gotten the better of me, and I have had to lay the same burden at His feet for the hundredth time, He has loved me.

When grief has made me feel like I could barely put one foot in front of the other, He has loved me.

He has never required me to be at my best before He gives me His best.

That is the kind of love I want to give other people.

So if someone asks me where I went to church for Church #177, I suppose my answer is that I went to the community sanctuary. The service began with a turtle in the road, continued with an old dog I am cherishing with everything in me, included precious time with my family, and ended by standing alongside people whose hearts were grieving.

After 177 churches, perhaps one of the greatest sermons God continues to preach to my heart is still one of the simplest commands Jesus ever gave us,

Love one another.

I can’t wait to see where the Holy Spirit leads next week.

Love you all so much,

Annie Stewart Lambert