I grew up the fourth generation of Swedish Baptists on my mother's side. This was during the 70's when Judgment Day seemed to be just around the corner and Sunday morning sermons jarringly pulled you, like a rollercoaster abruptly bearing sideways along the iron rails, towards the preacher's fists pounding on the dilapidated wooden pulpit - one time I thought he would shatter it like scenes from the Kung Fu reruns me and my brother watched.
I remember the first time that I attended a different church. It is as clear in mind as today. I was 10 years-old. It was a cool, spring morning. It had rained the night before. The air had this drenched, wet feel, and it took the concentration of a chess player to avoid the puddles along the worn gray sidewalk.
We walked up to a gorgeous, ornate, brick-laden building, I looked to my right and noticed a rugged sign with fading white paint: St. Peter's Church. I quickly recognized the name Peter from numerous Sunday School lessons. The guy who walked momentarily on water and later refused any association with Jesus on that dark night of his trial.
Entering the sanctuary seemed like entering an entirely unfamiliar world. I noticed the breathtaking, engrossing paintings on the windows. I also viewed people doing something very unordinary to me as they arrived at their chosen row. They knelt and whispered a few words before sitting down on the creaking wooden pews.
I had never knelt before in a church or anywhere else for that matter, but I did then.
Kneeling is such a singular posture. Think about your day. You stood. Sat. Laid Down. But knelt?
I watched a sermon the other day where the pastor repeated this measurement of 20 inches. Where is he going with this? I thought. Nearly 40 minutes later, he explained. 20 inches is the measurement between our knees and the bottom of our feet. Instead of standing in dependence of our competence and capability, take 20 inches, kneel and pray, demonstrating that we are utterly powerless and in need of God.
That thought of 20 inches brought me to that memory of that church. I then recalled other times when I knelt in prayer: my kids' births. 9/11. Before long road trips.
And now with this raging, horrific virus.
I'm reminded of a small verse tucked away in the Bible written when families were being shredded and ripped apart by a plague; a seemingly unstoppable force that mowed down people and their homes and villages like a tsunami. God then told them if they humbled themselves, sought him, and prayed, he would heal their land.
Is there a better expression of humility than kneeling? Join me this week to take a moment each day to kneel and ask God to bring healing to our land.
It takes only 20 inches.
#covid-19
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