Once in a Lifetime

As I crank over the car and start backing out of the garage on the short trip to Southwood, the radio comes to life at an interesting point in an old song:

You may ask yourself, “Well, how did I get here?”

Indeed.

I have a much better idea how the Southwood residents got there than how I did. Or, maybe not. Maybe our stories are all variations on a theme.

I’ve been a Lutheran since the early 1970s; I was confirmed in 1972. I went to church pretty regularly, too, and was very active in mission work, until a personal tragedy left me unable to attend church. And I mean, “unable to attend church.” Literally unable to keep from bursting into tears long enough to make it through a service. Like Hagar, I ended up in the wilderness, outside of the organized religion world for a long time. And then, one day after thinking about it for a few years and checking out various Lutheran congregations for a while, it was time to start making my way out of the desert and back into spiritual civilization.

The Orange County motel situation had been bothering me for a long time, ever since I’d done some therapy work with a little girl who lived in a motel and had seen, through her eyes, what motel life was like. I would drive by motels and think of that girl. As I said, I’d been checking out Lutheran congregations in the area, reading newsletters online, and one congregation, Lamb of God, not only had a motel ministry, but was recruiting people to work in it. I had chosen my victim.

I was expecting to attend a service, sit in the back row, and leave quietly afterward. Best laid plans and all that aside, I was quite pleasantly mobbed by friendly and hospitable people who insisted I stay for coffee and were not the least put off by my heresy (Lutherans’ nearly worshipful love of coffee is legendary) when I had a Diet Coke instead. Of course, the question was raised, “What brought you here to Lamb of God?” and when I answered that, in addition to my car, the motel ministry had helped bring me to church, I was immediately put in touch with Angela. And so, on a bright Saturday morning many months later, I’m off to meet God, disguised as the residents of a rundown motel, and all of us there will be transformed in some way by that meeting.