Since you came, Mr. Murphey, our church has lost some of its dignity,” Florence said as she served me tea from a silver tea service. “We had such—such quiet dignity before you came. Now, I don’t want to hurt your feelings in telling you all of this. But you call those children to the front for the children’s sermon. And they’re so noisy. It absolutely disturbs the sanctity of the whole worship hour.” She smiled angelically as she offered me a cookie from a silver plate.
“Florence, I’m sorry you feel that way. For me, children are important, I want them to feel part of the worship. Church isn’t just for older people.”
“Yes,” she said. Her lips smiled, but her eyes didn’t. “But they also need to learn to be reverent in God’s house. Why, they whisper as they go forward. And when you ask questions, they all yell out answers and.…”
Florence had other observations to make. She summed up the conversation by saying, “Now, we realize you’ve only been in the church for a short time, Mr. Murphey, but I wanted you to know how I felt about things.”
“Thanks, Florence, for being so open. I’m sorry you can’t enjoy the children’s sermons. As I said, the children are important to me. I intend to treat them as children and not as miniature adults.”
I was depressed as I walked away. Was Florence right? Had I been too harsh? Too judgmental toward her attitude? “Lord, help me to be more loving toward Florence. Toward people who disagree with me.” And I am learning. It’s not always easy. Some of the people who disagree with me never come around to my way of thinking. Or I never quite accept their position.
At one point in my life that seemed to me like an unacceptable solution. As a zealous Christian, I felt that people who disagreed had to work at a situation until they resolved it. I’ve learned that life isn’t always so neat.
I first understood this when I talked to one of my seminary professors who had influenced me during my student days. “Every church has at least one,” he said.
“And if you don’t get enough there, you’ll have them as neighbors or relatives.”
He called them “grace builders.” “God has a wonderful purpose in sending certain people your way. They force you to pray intensely, read your Bible more faithfully, and teach you dozens of lessons about patience and longsuffering. Those folks do more to help you grow in spiritual grace than any others.” My former professor had just listened to twenty minutes of complaining about two people in my congregation who were really upsetting me. “And, Cec, those people seem to have a major function—to help you grow as rapidly as possible. In the long run, they do more for you than all the sweet folks in the church.”
“I’d rather grow a little more slowly then,” I replied.
“Oh, no, it doesn’t work that way. God sends you enough grace builders to stop you from getting either proud or comfortable. He sends you enough of the sweet ones to keep you encouraged.”
Over the years I’ve had my share of grace builders. Besides Florence, the next one I think of is Oliver.
He really helped me grow. The rotund chairman of the finance committee never missed a meeting, shouted louder when you tried to reason with him, and usually got the decisions he wanted. For days before any big decision came up to the church board, Oliver visited other board members. He called them on the phone. He arrived at meetings at least half an hour early and pulled officers to the side for a private caucus. People listened to Oliver because he worked hard for the church. He loved God and seemed convinced that his positions were right. Want any kind of job done from mopping up rain leaks to patching a roof? Oliver would do it.
When I think of Oliver the words overbearing, insensitive, dogmatic, and domineering come to mind.
Oliver made me pray more often. Our differences caused me to examine my motives constantly. Perhaps I ought to thank him for his help in my spiritual growth. He was a real grace builder. And there have been others.
We all have our grace builders. Not only ministers. All of us. The grace builders round us out, help us mature. We need these people to keep us moving forward, sometimes to keep us praying.
I don’t like the grace builders in my life. I try to avoid some of them; with others, I grit my teeth and face them. Without them I could accomplish more and feel better about life. Or could I?
When some of these people dominate a portion of my life I find great comfort in these words: “It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons; for what son is there whom his father does not discipline? If you are left without discipline, in which all have participated, then you are illegitimate children.… For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant; later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it” (Heb. 12:7–8, 11).
In my more reflective moments, I know I’m seeing only a one-dimensional picture of these people. Oliver was the one who pushed the board to give me a raise at a time when finances were critical. When he found out that we liked pecans, he brought a large bag of them that he had gathered from his own tree. His wife stood beside him, holding a freshly baked pecan pie.
In my struggles with grace builders, several things have become apparent to me. First, I can’t resolve all the conflicts. Life has a way of heaping one problem on another. And that’s when we grow.
I can’t expect everyone to like me. And second, I don’t love everybody else. That was hard for me to admit. After all, a Christian should love everyone. Jesus said, “Love as I have loved you.” “This is my commandment that you love one another.” “Love never fails.” Even with those verses in my ears, I can admit without guilty feelings that I don’t love everybody. Some people I tolerate. Others I accept. I don’t even know how to love everybody. And that includes some of the grace builders in my life. Accepting them is one thing. But I am humanly incapable of loving everyone. However, maybe that’s why Jesus sends them to me—to teach me to love more.
There’s no way I can fully and equally love hundreds of people in the congregation I serve. At times I care more for one family than another. In the midst of grief, I am close to the bereaved. Or I share the joys of a new marriage relationship, or a new baby’s arrival. But my relationship doesn’t stay constant with each member.
Finally, these grace builders have their own grace builders in life. In fact, my suspicion is that I’m the grace builder for several of them.—CECIL B. MURPHEY, pastor, Riverdale Presbyterian Church, Riverdale, Georgia.
