I did something last week that I had only done one other time in my lifetime; attended a Saturday night mass at a Catholic church in Northeast Iowa. I was on my yearly pilgrimage to the God’s country: turkey hunting, trout fishing, Mississippi River fishing, and mushroom hunting; it is a tradition that my family and I have enjoyed for over 20+ years. It is a trip that I can’t and won’t miss each spring.
This is a different year however; the first year that my dad won’t be making the trip to the cabin with us; he passed away last summer: we buried Dad just over the hill from the cabin in the Catholic cemetery at Wexford; one of the oldest Catholic churches in Iowa. The cemetery has grave stones that date back to the late 1800’s; with family names that I recognize from the community. I visited Dad’s grave for the first time on Saturday night; afterwards I walked to the beautiful old Catholic church and attended their 8 p.m. Saturday night service.
Many of the people who arrived a few minutes before 8 p.m. are my friends; I hunt on their land, and over the years we have grown to love them. I sat and cried as I listened to the “Hail Mary, full of Grace… “ repetition of the congregation. The people were very reverent as they entered the building, crossed themselves, dipped their fingers into Holy Water, then bowed before they sat down in the very uncomfortable pews; the kneeling bench was lowered and they bowed before the shrine of statues and prayed through their beads.
I had no idea what was going on throughout the service; the acoustics were poor, the Father was un-miked, and there was many rituals performed that I had no idea what or why of their actions. Good farm folk were very comfortable with the routine; I felt like a complete stranger who didn’t understand English. I felt very uneasy; but I stood when others stood, sat when they sat; most of the time I turned off my hearing aids, and bowed and prayed silently. But my heart ached as I prayed.
For over 150 years, this little stone church has been the meeting spot for countless families; it was where they were married, their children were baptized, where they participated in the sacraments, and where they were buried. For 150 years, people have attended a church and never understood the good news of salvation through faith alone. “For by grace are you saved, not of works, lest any man should boast.”
I spoke with one of the bachelor farmers on Monday and told him I enjoyed being in church with him on Saturday night. Johnny commented, “I can’t understand that priest. Couldn’t hear or understand a word.” I said, “Me too.” Nearly 80 years old, and not understand a word from the priest.
I attended New Albin Free Church on Sunday morning. There was no grand building to enter; because it was a temporary church, there was no sign out that indicated this was a church; the church was a bank meeting room; a lovely room with limestone walls, no ornaments on the walls, but only a piano, a portable lectern and a stack of hymnals. Coffee was on, cookies were out, and fellowship of believers was taking place. Prior to the service starting, family and friends milled about and visited with each other. There was life in the building.
4 hymns were sung: I knew everyone by heart; I didn’t need to open the hymnal. For the first time in months, I sang. “Tell me the old, old story; His Name is Wonderful, Grace greater that Our Sins, and Jesus, Name above all names” My heart was stirred from the words. The sermon was from the 1st three verses in Hebrews, of the 7 attributes of Jesus…. The one who provided purification from Sin. I understood this message. I understood each aspect of the service; I felt the Spirit of God working among His people as I sat in this room next to the bank on main street of New Albin.
What a difference: a beautiful church surrounded by a beautiful, old cemetery surrounded by beautiful timber and a nearby trout stream, and a main street bank building converted into a church for a short period. The 150+ year old Catholic church had no message, no spirit, no hand of the Lord. The bank building was blessed and anointed with proclaiming the Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. One was a church in name only, the other, the Church that God intended.
