When the body hurts

From time to time on this so-called blog I have reflected on the church. I have lived the last four years of my life trying to figure out what the church is, what part I have in it, and how to plant one in a culture that doesn't really want me to do that. I've started several "series" of posts on the church and managed to finish zero. Oh well.

This weekend, I learned something important about the church as "the body." In 1 Corinthians 12, Paul says that "if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it. Now you are Christ's body, and individually members of it (26-27). We are parts of a body, the church. And when one part hurts, all of it hurts. It doesn't matter whether I'm a foot or a finger, when I hurt, all the body hurts.

Friday night, my buddy Jeff Mathews died. Jeff and his wife, Sylvia, and their little boy, Levi, are part of Smyrna Baptist Church in Chapel Hill, Tennessee, where I was a deacon, a youth worker, a music minister, and then pastor. Jeff and I were ordained together as deacons, sang in the choir together, and even played a little music as part of the much-celebrated "Four Amigos" of Annual Church Picnic fame. He was only a couple of years older than me, but was full of joy and wisdom and kindness and all the things you want as a member of the body. When this young buck pastor stepped over his bounds, Jeff had the amazing gift of bringing together older deacons and younger members. His smile and easy manner could bring peace to a tense situation. Everybody loved Jeff Mathews.

Then, four years ago, we left Smyrna Baptist Church of Chapel Hill, Tennessee, to come to France. Jeff and I have probably talked a couple of times since then for maybe half an hour total. But when we got the news about him Saturday morning, our hearts broke. Even after four years away, we hurt like we were there, and because we weren't there. Right now, as I'm writing this, they're having Jeff's funeral near Smyrna Baptist Church in Chapel Hill, Tennessee, then he'll be buried in the cemetery right out the front driveway, down the road to the right, and down about a quarter mile from Smyrna Baptist Church of Chapel Hill, Tennessee. Many of my friends are gathered together, probably pretty crowded in the chapel, where they're singing and remembering.

And I'm thousands of miles away. When one member suffers, all the members suffer with it.

Here in Paris, France, I got out my Ivan Parker southern gospel CD and listened to "Gone" and "Beulah Land" and "Because He Lives." I read 1 Corinthians 12 and Psalm 23 and some other passages that comfort me. And I remembered, too.

Because the body is the body, and we are its members. That's the church.