It's an odd matter how things play out. When one begins a day, where that day will lead remains completely unknown. Hopefully, it will lead down a prosperous road of experiences that will enrich the individual, that will guide him along his journey, and aid him in learning new truths he seeks.
For myself, today was one of quiet success. I thought it necessary to attend - or try to attend - a church in Kuttawa where my ancestors may have attended' a century earlier. While I was never certain as to the particular denomination, my own family springs from the Baptist tradition. I speculated it would either be a Baptist or Methodist church, and I presumed the church would be the one moved from the flooded area of old Kuttawa. I decided to take a wild shot in the dark, a logical assumption that "First" would mean first, the first Baptist Church, meaning the earliest.
I was wrong. The church that was moved was the Methodist church a few blocks away; and the Baptist church my ancestors attended, it was also off the mark as well. They attended the Macedonia Baptist Church of Kuttawa. How I know that, I will explain in a few moments. First I would like to comment on my attendance for the morning services at the First Baptist Church of Kuttawa.
My church going history is varied. Growing up, like my family, I attended Baptist churches when a child. As I grew a little older, I began attending a Methodist church in town - simply because it was the only church in town. I fell away from any church attendance through my high school years, and then began attending an Assembly of God church once my college experiment ended. It was my home church for a number years until I decided to move to Florida. In Florida is where I began my foray into non-denominational churches, which is where I ended my church involvement in January of 2006, volleying back and forth between them and the original Assembly of God church I once attended with a vigor.
I had not attended a church service since that time up to when I attended with my aunt in Missouri the Sunday before today. Why? A myriad of answers exist. The most prominent would undoubtedly be my lack of feeling like I belonged.
There is a need to approach this topic with tender and careful gloves, as the people I met were good, solid people. I do not wish to disparage anyone with complaints of bitterness and hurt. The people I knew were good people made better through their involvement in these churches. I believe as much without any doubt. Yet for myself, there was always something missing, something I needed to exist to connect me with any of these people in a meaningful way.
I would read the Bible. I would believe unswervingly what I read. I would not see it within the congregation, within the services. One example I still remember today is moving to Florida. When I opened the phone book, searching for a church, twelve pages of church listings confronted me. Twelve pages! That community should have been the most righteous and God-fearing group of believers around! The devil should have had his red tail between his legs and scampering out of town with a whine.
And yet, that community was not that all different from any other.
So I grew in my questions, I wondered about things; I lost interest when the curiosities became more curios; and I dropped out. Who needs religion when one is searching to find faith on the earth?
I attended church with my aunt last Sunday because she is family - and I remember not attending things with my mother when I was a stupid teenager. I sat down in a chair at First Baptist in Kuttawa. My mind was on nothing more than trying to record the experience as best as I could for my documentation of my travels. I expected nothing more than a typical church service of three-songs, a-sermon, and out-the-door for the best seats at the restaurants.
I was greeted by more people; I was welcomed by more friendly faces; I was helped by more interested souls simply because I mentioned who I was and why I was there in casual conversation.
To me, my visit to First Baptist of Kuttawa this morning was a present to me of what a church should be. It was precisely how Jesus would behave. It is how all of His followers should respond to the stranger within their midst. These people didn't know me; they didn't owe me a thing - and yet they could not have been better examples of mankind, the hope God sees in us, the potential He knows is within.
Now, back to the other church, the church my ancestors attended. How did I learn it was their church? Simple, one of the First Baptist church members drove me to it - and there before me was William Henry Sexton, the brother to James Sexton, who brought his family west into Kansas.
I have no idea how the events of the day may have changed if I had chosen the Macedonia Church to attend rather than the First Baptist. I could choose to speculate one way or the other. Yet it is faith which tells me, First Baptist is precisely where God sought for me to attend. The day was His gift, and I am thankful.
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