Mission Sunday
When Mission Shows Up and Worships With You
Minutes before worship, a member stopped me in the sanctuary and said, “Pastor April, a gentleman wants to speak to you.”
As I walked down the colonnade, I noticed a pair of worn sneakers with a faded backpack resting between them. My eyes shifted from the man’s shoes to his layers of black clothing, a head wrap and ball cap completing his ensemble. I approached him, extended my hand, and we exchanged names. Then I asked gently, “How can I help you?”
He launched into a non-stop account of his hardships, speaking so quickly that in less than a minute he had listed more struggles than I could take in. His words tumbled out into the small hallway until he finally paused for a breath.
In that moment I told him our service would begin in about five minutes. Without missing a beat, he shifted from sharing his difficulties to making a request. “Could you help me with a place to stay tonight?” He explained that retirement had not turned out as he expected. He walked with a limp, his legs were swollen, and he continued with a long list of ailments. His check would come in a few days, yet, he said, “it never makes ends meet.”
Like most churches, we do not provide funds for motels, yet on this Mission Sunday, I felt a nudge to respond differently. I told him that if he could wait until after worship, I would call the local shelter, and if no bed was available, we would find another way to help. I invited him to stay in the hallway, outside, or join us for worship. He hesitated, then nodded in agreement and said, “Now I am not afraid of the Word.”
He stood, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked with a limp beside me down the colonnade. Just before the sanctuary door, he asked, “Do you really think you can help me?” I looked at him, handed him a bulletin, and said, “Yes, I do believe we can.”
With a single minute to spare, we stepped into the sanctuary together, a man without a home and a pastor without her notes. After grabbing my papers, I turned on my microphone and welcomed the congregation to worship and then glanced toward the gentleman in one of the far back pews and added, “We are grateful for your presence here in the sanctuary, and for those who are joining us online.”
After the announcements, we moved into a time of meditative prayer with candles lit and soft music filling the sanctuary. I walked up to the chancel and sat beside a close friend who was one of the mission speakers, sharing with her about the gentleman and his need. Although her organization did not assist individuals experiencing homelessness, she knew of a local agency that did. I jotted the agency’s name on my worship notes and carried them to my short pew beside the pulpit as I prepared for worship.
While the worship leader spoke passionately about past and future missions, my mind drifted back to the gentleman and the reality that help through organizations often takes time, especially on a Sunday with limited staff. I quickly texted a few members who worship regularly with us online, described our visitor and his request, and asked if they could cover his night’s stay if the local shelter was full.
On any other day, I would not text members during worship, but on this day it felt right. Soon after, I received a message that they would be honored to fulfill the request, which I acknowledged with a simple heart emoji. Throughout the service, that small pink heart reminded me of our scripture focus, Galatians 5:13, where Paul calls brothers and sisters in Christ to freedom. Not just freedom to worship God with our lips, but freedom to live out our worship by serving one another in love.
After the service, I called the shelter, and they referred me to the same number my friend had mentioned during the service. As expected, only an answering machine picked up. Relieved and thankful that the immediate need had already been met through the kindness of our members, I joined the gentleman outside on the front steps where he was speaking with one of our elders. Their conversation ended with words of hope and prayer, and then I walked with him to the church office.
On a phone call to the motel, the manager confirmed that a room was available. The gentleman became nervous, unsure the motel owner would believe him, so he asked me to go with him to secure the night’s stay. As a female pastor, I have always been careful about how I help people in need, often meeting them at a gas station or having others ride along with me to a destination. Although I am sure one of the members would have been glad to come, I sent a text to my husband to let him know the circumstances, then invited the gentleman into the front seat of my Honda CRV.
We drove to a local motel just a street away from the church, where I secured the room with the church card and covered the small incidental fee. Then we stopped at a nearby gas station so he could pick out lunch and dinner. After paying, we stepped outside and prepared to go our separate ways. As we said our goodbyes, I told him it was good to meet him and called him by name. He nodded, then paused and asked, “What was your name again?” I smiled and answered, “Pastor April.” Then I wished him well.
That morning, Mission Sunday felt different. Our church didn’t just hear about serving; we lived it. From members who quietly gave, to a friend who shared resources, to elders and worshipers who greeted our visitor, each act of kindness—often unnoticed by many—became part of God’s larger story being spoken in the sanctuary. In worship, we truly lived out Paul’s words, experiencing a freedom that moves us beyond ourselves and calls us to humbly serve one another in love.
P.S. The next night at dinner, my husband, who had been ushering that morning, mentioned, “He dropped a quarter in the offering plate too.”
Such a special story and opportunity to serve!
Tears!