One eye blinks open and rolls around searching for the source of the obnoxious noise. It quickly settles on the culprit: the alarm clock. The eye closes, and my brain wills itself to realize that the clock, far from being an enemy, is actually performing its job dutifully.
But where did the night go? And why do I feel like I just ran a marathon?
Memories of yesterday start flooding back into my mind. Great crowd, amazing spirit. I can still remember every note as the new choir soloist (Another Dana. We have three now. Unusual, that) absolutely knocks a grand slam, belting out the words to “I Stand Redeemed.”
I remember the faces of the visitors as I came around to greet them, and I remember the satisfaction of having to wait in line behind church members who were already doing so.
I reach for the night stand and read my Bible for a while. Then I pray for each and every member by name, as I go through them one by one on my handy iPhone prayer list.
Finally, I am up and shuffling about, along with the rest of the family. We make a quick trip to the gym, bench-press day for me, and someone is already on my favorite bench. I change things up; one must be flexible. Incline bench, decline bench, dumbbell presses, done.
Not long after, we all arrive at church and realize that Sunday leaves quite a mark on Monday.
The rows of interlocking chairs are no longer straight enough for my OCD. In fact, they are all downright crooked. There are crumbs here and there, spillage from some of my sweet church kiddies, who need a snack when they need it, not later. Some of the hymnals are in the racks; some of them are in the seats; one or two are under the seats.
My office? Disaster. I have a horseshoe crab upside down on my desk (don’t ask) and slightly muddy footprints on the floor. Every corner of the desk not covered in horseshoe crab looks like an explosion in a paper factory.
My wife is my secretary and her office next door has fared no better. Ditto for the treasurer’s room one door down. I can now hear the custodians as they arrive to begin to make sense of the madness. I think I just heard someone mention the Richter scale, preceded by a large number.
This is not odd; it is normal. It is also not bad, but good. Proverbs 14:4 says, “Where no oxen are, the crib is clean: but much increase is by the strength of the ox.” People make messes. If you don’t want a mess, you might not ever want to have a Sunday service. But as pastors across the land read this and reflect on their own marvelous Sundays that cause such messy Mondays, they would no doubt tell you the same thing I am about to say.
It is worth it.
You can have a clean crib (church) or a messy one. But there is much increase by the strength of the ox. Yes, people make messes, but they also bring visitors to hear the gospel and form youth choirs and adult choirs and sing specials and support missions and gather around the altar to pray for one another.
Those crumb crunchers leaving such a trail will one day be our deacons and Sunday school teachers, maybe even the pastor if my plans to live to be 100 do not work out.
The papers on the desk represent lessons, and prayer requests and messages and crayon-drawn pictures of, well, I think it may be a horse, given as a gift to the pastor.
The horseshoe crab? Like I said, don’t ask.
Welcome to Monday at church.
Bo Wagner is pastor of the Cornerstone Baptist Church of Mooresboro, N.C., and the author of several books available at www.wordofhismouth.com. Contact him at 2knowhim@cbc-web.org.