No Applause Needed
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There was a gracious lady who married a lively preacher and what a gift she was to him. She smiled peacefully, greeted kindly, waited patiently. She cared for home and him. She didn’t think she was more deserving, more special, more privileged because she was the preacher’s wife. She lived it humbly. Beautifully. He preached, she prayed. He taught the Word, she lived it. He was loud and boisterous, she was quiet and aware. He pushed peoples hearts, she held their hands. I owe so much to this dark haired, soft spoken lady.
On a late summer night in 1973, cicadas sang in tall oaks as frogs croaked in the shallow swamp behind the country church at the base of a hillside. The stained glass windows shined with colors…they were most beautiful for anyone outside in the dark. That’s exactly where the little girl wanted to be. She longed to disappear; to fade away in the darkness outside. The preacher had found a way to crawl right into her little heart; no one noticed her shrinking under the weight of his words. But she knew. This 11 year old, chicken legged, warrior hearted little girl knew there was a dark abyss clawing at her…it loomed…and frightened her. The voice in her head had begun lying to her soul several years before, and she had come to believe it. That she was bad. Too bad. She was not good enough to be wanted by God. She had been convinced in silent, lurking ways…she was rejected. No human voice had said this to her. But the voice had found a way…
The good preacher spoke so boldly saying the love of God was true for everyone. But he didn’t know that there was an intruder under the roof. He didn’t know that if she walked up that center aisle and put her scrawny knees on the carpeted step, lightening would burst the pretty windows and all that would remain would be a charred, sooty mess. It would be proof that the words he spoke were true for all…but one. She was weary from the pressure inside her between this Shepherd Jesus and the voice in her head. This little church had watched her grow from baby til now. Every Sunday this had been the air she breathed. She’d said her prayers, carried her picture book Bible, sat at the little tables in Sunday School, and colored inside the lines — carefully. She had memorized the stained glass window behind the place where preachers stood. She loved everything about this little church. The people. The songs. The smell. The faces. But the pressure had been building for weeks and on this terrible night, she knew that if she put her knees on that altar step, everyone of these people, who had thought she was good, would see the truth. She was not. She was bad. She was unwanted and undeserving. Even GOD wouldn’t accept her.
Can you imagine a little girl feeling that way?
How is it that voices inside her mind had convinced her she was utterly unwanted…even by the God who apparently wanted everyone else?
She wanted to run. But beyond the colorful windows was a dark swamp with croaking frogs and slithering snakes. She wanted to disappear. She asked God, “Would you let me dry up and float away?” Nothing happened. The pressure felt like elephants on her chest. The preacher, “Sing one more verse”…the voice in her head, “Don’t you dare go up there, if you do they’ll all know, you are the one person in the world that even God doesn’t want…”
….oh but God……..was making a way.
When she could bear the pressure no more, she stepped out into the aisle. No one walked with her. She would not have let them. She was not walking the 10 mile long church aisle to be saved…she was about to be exposed…as the unwanted one.
She got to the carpeted step. The preacher smiled and kindly asked if she’d like to pray and ask Jesus into her heart. She nodded. He prayed with her, for her, and said amen. “Did you accept Jesus?” Her head nodded in the wrong direction. No. “Let’s pray again.” She bowed her head and prayed God would not hurt anyone else when the lightening struck. “Did you accept Jesus now?” The horizontal nod bewildered him. Again. Prayer. Again. The desperate nod of no.
And then it happened.
While the little girl waited for the lightening, a dark haired woman gently said, “Could I please take her with me? May we go to a private place? Would you come with me dear?”
She, without a doubt, was a modern day Baruch.
Her husband the preacher was like Jeremiah, bringing the words. But he was not able to go the full distance with them. She, the gentle wife, was like Baruch.
When Jeremiah was unable to read the words from the Lord at the temple gate…he sent Baruch who could and did read them. Jeremiah would have been intimidating to the little girl with trembling legs.
Baruch would have felt approachable for her. There was not an expectation in the woman’s face…there was an understanding. A tender wave of “I see your heart, I’ll help you breathe little one.”
Oh I know I’m stretching for this. But I want us, together, to see the wonderful value of the “Baruchs” around us.
I was the little girl.
My dark haired, kind, preacher’s wife, my Baruch — completely changed my life.
For right there in front of everyone, when all eyes were staring at me, wondering, “what’s wrong with her”. She stepped forward and came for me.
She walked with me to a nearby room while the church sang another verse. She asked me to read from her Bible. She guided me to put my name in the verses. “The Lord is my Shepherd”, became “the Lord is Donna’s Shepherd”. “For God so loved the world”, became “for God so loved…Donna…”
…and the lightening did not strike. I wept. She held me. She answered my questions about God. Smiled. Asked if I wanted to invite Jesus in to be with me f-o-r-e-v-e-r. I nodded in the right direction. We prayed. HE MOVED IN. She hugged me and we walked back to the preacher in front of the church with no elephant on my chest and no lightening on the horizon.
Are you a modern day Baruch? Not writing in a scroll or reading words at the temple gate — but instead are you doing the work. Are you behind the scenes? Backstage? Washing what needs to be washed. Cooking what needs to be cooked. Teaching what needs to be taught. Encouraging what needs to be encouraged. Praying what needs to be prayed. Going where you can give, share, hold, hug, read His words to a child who could never share how much they need to be wrapped in a Heaven blanket — are you able to lift invisible elephants off wounded hearts?
Jeremiah wrote two books in the Bible…perhaps Baruch helped him. Baruch lived in the background, served on the fringes, obeyed at every turn, and died. But what he did mattered — immensely.
Are you a modern day Baruch?
He surely felt unknown, unseen. He wanted to know that his obedience mattered. Oh but in last week’s writing, we saw what God had to say about that. When Baruch felt weary and insignificant, the Lord said, “I overthrow….I build… I uproot…I plant…”(paraphrased by me).
To Baruch God says, “Should you seek great things for yourself?…Do….not…seek…them.” (paraphrased by me).
The dark haired wife of the preacher…I never saw her again. She worked a miracle, by God’s hand, in my life. I never even knew her name.
What a “Baruch type person” does is of immeasurable value. They are steady, selfless, attentive, and obedient to the One who is accomplishing what is good, right, excellent, and needed. And if they are mature in their good-work, if they have learned to “not seek great things” for themselves, then they will quietly “disappear” when it is finished. No applause needed or desired. They are oiling the machine of life, watering what needs to grow, clearing away worldly debris, and serving Living Water to the thirsty. They’ll do it all from the sidelines. They work best there.
No applause needed.
