Paul Prather: A meditation on 2nd (and 40th) chances and God’s faithfulness
Last Sunday we had a guest speaker at Bethesda Church, Amy, an old friend who now lives in Oklahoma, where she’s in the process of becoming a Presbyterian minister.
My wife Liz introduced me to Amy about 15 years ago. The two of them were partying buddies. Liz was reeling from a divorce and her defection from the church of her youth. Amy, who lived in Morehead, was dealing with issues of her own, including the struggle to raise an autistic son.
At the time, Liz and I had only recently begun dating. I won’t say any more about her or Amy’s lives back then, because those aren’t my tales to tell. But I can say I was at the lowest ebb of my life (so far).
My first wife’s death from cancer had left me unmoored. A long-time pastor, I didn’t know if I believed in God anymore, or even cared. Multiple layers of fallout from my wife’s illness had carried over into our church and extended families. Bethesda lost so many members I thought it might close.
I wanted to run away—to California, maybe, or Texas—but my dad was ailing and depended on me, my son was at a crucial point of his own, having lost his mom, plus I’d stupidly bought 20 apartments I couldn’t unload and couldn’t afford to leave.
It seemed every day was a new exercise in despair. I told somebody that every time I thought I’d fallen through the kitchen floor into the basement, that basement, too, would collapse and I’d face plant into another level even lower than the previous one.
It was just awful. As John Prine would have put it, there was pressure on the left, pressure on the right, pressure in the middle of the hole.
When Amy stepped into the pulpit at Bethesda this past Sunday my mind went back to those early days of our acquaintance, when I wouldn’t have given you a quarter for any of our spiritual futures: mine, hers or Liz’s.
Amy spoke about Jonah and his shortcomings, and his seeming inability to understand that God is always a God of second chances … and, for that matter, 52nd chances.
As she talked, I thought about how her life, and my life, and Liz’s life are all living proof of that. There’s a scripture, one of my favorites, that says even when we are faithless, the Lord remains faithful. I’ve come to believe it.
There was Amy, sober and smart, proclaiming the goodness of God at Bethesda Church, which a few years ago I didn’t even think would exist by now. And there was Amy’s husband, Tim, an accomplished bluegrass musician, traveling alongside her.
In the same congregation sat Liz and I, married for a decade, happily, as well as soberly and sanely, both of us whispering amens, much healed of our respective wounds. (And divested of all those apartments.)
Again, I can’t speak for the others, but I can tell you that in my case, no credit for the mercy I’ve received or whatever progress I’ve made goes to me. It’s all about the goodness and power of God.
This coming Sunday, we at Bethesda Church will celebrate our 25th anniversary as a congregation. When in 1996 we merged two smaller churches into one, it looked like we’d taken the Christian world—well, at least our little niche in Kentucky—by storm.
Early on, the place was so packed with worshipers we’d run out of seats and people would have to stand around the walls or sit on the floor. We built an addition to our sanctuary to accommodate the crowds and built it debt-free. Money flowed in by the bucketsful. Anything seemed impossible.
I thought the only direction we could go was up, up, up.
It’s gone nothing like that. In the past 25 years, we’ve endured the deaths of beloved key leaders. We’ve faced trials of doctrine and finances. We’ve weathered a pandemic that shut our doors for a year. As the saying goes, the only constant has been change. Not all that change has been pleasant.
Yet here we are, smaller but standing firm. Encouraged. Joyful. Looking forward to Sundays because we like getting together so much. I don’t understand how this could be true, but it is.
My faith has long since rebounded, come back stronger than before and, I hope, more subtle, refined and merciful.
It’s amazing how faithful God is. He is, as Amy said, a God of second chances. And 40th chances. And 100th chances. You and I will faint along the way, because we’re frail and this world is harsh.
But God always revives us, always brings us back.
Paul Prather is pastor of Bethesda Church near Mount Sterling. You can email him at pratpd@yahoo.com.