“Um Hi”, he began hesitantly. “Does this church have anything to do with the old First Covenant Church downtown?” he asked like a lost traveler seeking map directions.

     “Yes” I answered. “We are First Covenant. Our official paperwork with the state has us as listed, First Covenant doing business as The Gathering House. We turn 133 years old this weekend” I happily chirped.

      He fell back against the door frame of my office like he’d been slapped. “Do you have a moment?” he asked. Sensing this was important, I got up and escorted him into our little lounge and we both settled down on comfortable couches for a talk.

     “I used to be on the board here.” he began. “Back in the late eighties we were a dying church and tried to do everything we could to bring it back to life. We prayed, fought, and struggled, and finally I couldn’t take it anymore and had to just leave. I left the church, in fact any church for many years after that. I stayed in touch with some friends, and I knew the next guy to become the pastor also tried to do everything he could to save the church too. I remember they even called in denominational leaders to help retool and reinvent the church, but to no avail. They tried everything” he finished like an exhausted hiker who had packed too much weight for way too many miles. 

     I was familiar with the stories he was talking about because I knew both of my pastoral predecessors going back to the eighties. I had come in 2008 to help reinvigorate a desperate situation at a hopeless church in an impossible location. It wasn’t my dream job. In my first year, I went back through old Annual Meeting minutes to discover the church started talking about closing in 1971 and the topic had remained active for almost 40 years. 

    “A few years back my wife and I decided to go to church again” he continued, “But the one we attend is going too political and too far right-wing for our taste. I talked with a friend over in Seattle who told me we had a couple of Evangelical Covenant Churches in Spokane, and I should come back to my old denominational roots. He suggested I try one called The Gathering House. I watched a service online and then found it was a coffee shop during the week, so I decided to drop by. When I came in, I thought I recognized the tables, but the coffee bar was a dead ringer for the old pulpit downtown. When I walked down this hallway and saw the pictures of the previous church buildings on the wall, I knew there was a connection” he finished. Then he added, “This really is First Covenant?” he asked in the tone of a man being told his cancer was cured. “You’re sure?” 

    We had made our café tables out of the old pews and the barista bar is indeed the old pulpit. “Yeah, we’re First Covenant alright”, I said. He put his head in hands and began to softly cry.

    I couldn’t tell whether he was crying because he was impressed or because he’d given up and walked away. Something he was sure was dead turned out to be alive after all. Was this relief and joy, or sorrow and shame? To an outside observer both joy and deep sorrow seemed to be evenly mixed with his tears. 

    I sat quietly not disturbing his moment. I sensed, but didn’t know for sure, that he was crying over all the lost hopes, dreams, and memories that changed for him when he left. I thought about how much it takes for a person to walk away from a God who seems distant, silent, uncaring, and indifferent to all our efforts, our works, our tears, and prayers. Sometimes it feels exhausting when it seems God simply won’t answer us and we can’t figure out why. We’ve all stood at the edge of that cliff at one point. Even if a person like that comes back to church, something underneath the surface can stay painful when touched.

    I suppose he walked away from church somewhere around 1990, certain that God was indifferent, his own efforts were worthless, and his faith was insignificant. I guess he left with a certainty that God didn’t care much. And now, thirty years later to discover his prayers had been answered, the dream was still alive and although he quit, Jesus didn’t. 

What I’ve seen before is that leaving church for years is often due to some underlying hostility to God. A person can be full of unspoken disappointment from unanswered prayers that you knew were in line with God’s word and his will, but still came up short. What would it be like to discover that underlying hurt and anger was actually - wrong? As in, not factual. As he cried, it was like a piece of him was being healed through tears of sorrow, joy, regret, and hope all mixed together. I sat there silently. I’ve been in that spot too. Finally, he was spent. He wiped away his tears asking for forgiveness for what he supposed was an unseemly display. 

     I leaned forward, “I would like to thank you” I spoke softly. “I know those years were brutal and frustrating. They were hard and disappointing. But because you tried, and on your watch, you laid down a groundwork of prayer and faith, hope had a place to stand. We wouldn’t be here at all if your generation didn’t pray for a better future. God answered your prayers and even though our name has changed, we’re still standing. On behalf of all of us in our church, thank you for the work you did.” 

     We spoke a little bit longer and he left shortly thereafter, muttering to himself repeatedly in unbelief, “This . . . is . . . First Covenant”. I didn’t see him for several week. But then he started coming to Sunday services regularly. 

Answered prayers. How was God supposed to tell him that a key piece of his future and the answers to his prayers in 1988 was a long-haired guy in a military trench coat who was, at that likely moment buying a milkshake across the street from First Covenant at Dick’s Burgers? I can’t imagine God pointing out to him that slightly rebellious young musician, in a luxurious mullet, getting a burger while he was on his way out of town and having God say, “There stands your answer”? Who would’ve believed it?

     In 1988 I had sold off everything I owned, packed up only a single duffle bag and two guitars and was heading out of town with a vow never to return to Spokane. If God would’ve pointed out to me that dirty brown, old brick church across the street covered in overgrown juniper bushes and knee-high weeds, and said to me “There’s your future son” would I have followed? I doubt it. Some prayers are best left unanswered until the time is right.

     So, we keep praying, we keep hoping, we keep trusting. At the right time. Jesus has all the answers. And they all make perfect sense. Even if it takes 30 years.