When I was in college, I traveled out to the "hood" in Brooklyn, NYC a handful of times. There was a mentoring program that was seeing such unprecedented success in raising attendance, grades, and test scores, at a particular high school that the superintendent of the school district contacted the ministry I was volunteering for, and asked that we connect with every one of the 10,000 high school students in the district to invite them to be a part of the mentoring/tutoring program. In the summertime we'd literally go out door to door and tell families about the mentoring program. During the school year, we were invited to come into the schools and share for a few minutes in each classroom, and even have all-school assemblies for the 8th graders preparing for high school. It was incredible. I was immersed in a culture and socio-economic demographic so different than the world I knew.
We slept on the pews of a church in the neighborhood, and we showered down the block at the Salvation Army. The church was called "Heaven on Earth", and on Sundays we were invited to their worship service. The music was loud and upbeat, the ladies were dressed to the nines, the men in colorful suits and shiny shoes, and the children sat obediently through the four hour church service. I remember my first time attending church there: a total of four offerings were taken. My (Caucasian) group was clearly conspicuous in this all African American church, and we had been welcomed heartily. We all sat near the front of the small sanctuary. The room was too warm, ceiling felt low, and there were no windows - just a ocillating fan hanging from the corner of the room so the pastor could get some air while preaching and pacing up front. When it was time for the offering, the pastor called all the men forward to pray. An old lady sat at the piano and began to play a merry tune and everybody started singing an upbeat song about being thankful to bring their harvest to the Lord. Then we were ushered row by row to parade past a basket set on a table in front of the altar. People would put money in the basket while walking (or dancing) by, or if they had no money they would touch the basket with their hand as if to "bless" the offering.
I think I put a $10 bill in the basket as I awkwardly walked/skipped past the front of the altar. My friends and I smiled and commented that it was a cool way to rejoice together over offering money to God for His use. And the service continued. But several minutes later, a man came up to the pastor during his sermon and whispered in his ear. The pastor stopped his message and declared that the money had been counted and it wasn't enough. So we all were ushered again row by row to walk past the basket as the lady played the piano and the congregation sang about joyful giving. This happened two more times. Each time it was announced that the church believed God had more money He wanted released for His work in the community, and each time the parishioners obliged. My friends and I joked that we wish we knew we were supposed to pace ourselves with our offering so we'd have enough to give each time. And I remember looking at my watch (back in the day when I wore one), and hoping this would all wrap up soon so we could be on our way to Manhattan for some sight-seeing.
But I was thinking about it this morning. Now that Dave and I have been in urban ministry for 10 years, and have befriended pastors just like the one at "Heaven on Earth" Church. We know they work long hours, and scrape by to pay electricity bills and put gas in the church van so the volunteers can pick up kids for after school programs, etc. We know their passion for their neighborhoods and their dreams of having enough resources to meet needs and conduct outreaches.
This morning I was thinking about that loooong church service in Brooklyn all those years ago, and the four times the pastor called his congregation to give sacrificially - and I finally got it.
That kind of desperateness is what I'm feeling as we step out on a limb and ask people to file forward, row by row, and give, and give again, so that my brother can have this life-changing surgery.
And I believe God has more money He wants to release for His work.
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