At the Altar

Dear Pastor

Dear Pastor,

I was a guest at your church at the beginning of this month. My family was invited to your church by our neighbors. I didn't want to come. I honestly wanted to stay home. But the only way I could hang out with my friends was to come along. Why would I want to sit around while some self righteous guy just seeking people's cash spouted nonsense about a God he could even prove was real?

You didn't prove to be anything special at first. Sure, you had more fire in your voice. You were entertaining enough to listen to.  I guessed that was an accomplishment by the time I left. It at least made you a bit different from all of those boring old guys I was used to.

It wasn't until I was leaving that you actually grabbed my interest. Your church wasn't huge like those on television, but it was pretty big.  At least a couple hundred people if I had to guess. Yet as I walked past, you made sure to stop me.  You shook my hand.  You were a big guy, yet your grip was so gentle. You asked my name.  I told you.  I didn't figure you would remember it.

But it had never happened before. To everyone else I was just a random kid walking through their doors. To you I was an individual person.

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D

ear Pastor,

I had to come the next week. Same reason as the first time.  I guess we came earlier because you were actually at the door greeting your church members. You shook hands with my parents. Just smiled and asked how things were going.  I really did try to tune you out, but I just couldn't. I wanted to think that it was just because you had a loud voice, but I knew it was because you had gotten my hopes up.

When my parents walked on, you stopped me.  That gentle hand just tapped my shoulder. And then you said my name.  If you hadn't i may have walked on.  As it was, I was too astounded.  I stopped and looked at you.  Maybe my face showed how I felt because you almost looked amused. You took my hand again. You shook it.  Then you asked me how I was adjusting to the move.

I didn't say the real story.  Just shrugged, said it was going okay.  Was so sure you would buy it just like everyone else. What reason did you have otherwise? If my very parents couldn't see past the lies, surely you wouldn't either.

I can't say whether or not you believed me.  But you said that was good.  Then you blessed me.  Told me you hoped I enjoyed the service.

You used my name again as I left. As if you wanted me to know you knew it.  And trust me, I took note of it.  Because you were the first person in a while to make me feel like more than just part of the crowd.

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Dear Pastor,

How did you do it?

I didn't tell you.  I even wrote the other parts just to make sure.  Not once did I mention what I was going through. I didn't mention the bullying. I didn't mention the anger.  I didn't mention the pain building inside or the dark thoughts I have been having.

So how did you do it?

You stood up there on that platform of yours and spoke whatever lesson you had.  Something about giving it all to God.  Then you just stopped.  Stopped and looked at every one of those faces gazing up at you.  Then you paused on me.  I may have been able to convince myself you were making everything up if not for that.  You looked right at me out of those couple hundred faces and you knew. 

Then you started to speak. Speak of how someone felt all of the things I did.  It was insane.  Every dark emotion I had been feeling out right before all of the people there. My parents didn't even look at me.  They looked at all those other faces to find who would react.

You called for the person to come up.  Said God would take it all.

How did you make me cry? How did you make me move? I didn't even entirely believe in God a few weeks ago.  So how did you make me so strongly need all of this? Need this guy in the sky?

How, Pastor? How did you do this?

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Dear Jesus,

I've heard you name before.  Everyone has.  I mean, we can't even get through Christmas without someone reiterating it's for you.

I sent my pastors those questions. I wanted to get his answers before I actually walked up.  Before I even thought of "getting saved."

He told me he didn't do any of it.

He told me everything he knew was only because of a voice speaking within him.  A voice that said there was a young soul being lost within the dark. A voice that said somebody needed help, and that He needed someone to speak, because that young soul could not hear the voice.

The pastor says You're the one who told him everything. That it was you who pointed him to me.  Then he told me of all the wonderful things you've done.  About how You died for me before I was even thought of.

I gave my life to you right there.  In the pastor's house. Not that you don't already know this.

But I want to thank you. Thank you so much for making me hear Your voice, even if it was through someone else. The pain.  The anger. The hatred. It's all.

It never would have happened without You. I was lost. And yet somehow You still found me.