A Neighbor to Love

"I have not forgotten the Way, but a little,
the way to the Way.
the trees keep whispering peace, peace,
and the birds in the shallows are full of the
bodies of small fish and are content.
They open their wings so easily, and fly.
So. It is still possible."
-Mary Oliver

Normally I don't start my writings with a poem (because it seems melodramatic and cliché), but I broke that rule to introduce the poet whose writings touched me today at a Presbyterian service at Knox Church in Dunedin, New Zealand. 

I have been to many different services in many different churches of varying faiths, but never have I felt more welcomed than I did at this one tonight.

The service commenced in a fairly standard way, with music and prayer and readings. But the moment the priest looked at my friends and me, sitting quietly in our pew in the back, and smiled, I knew this would be different. He kindly explained how they conducted their services and what we were expected to do, even showing us how we could communicate to him that we would not partake of communion but would still like a blessing. We stood in a circle and shook hands, wishing the peace of Christ upon eachother. 

Beside me on the pew sat a disabled man. He clutched the paper detailing the service program in his right hand, which curved at the wrist toward his chest. He shifted constantly, his long, bowed legs uncomfortable on the small wooden bench. His eyes were wide and inquisitive behind the telescope lenses of his glasses, and his shirt was tucked haphazardly into his pants. But the moment he stretched his curved hand toward me with a crooked smile and a mumbled prayer of peace, I could feel how much he loved being there and worshipping. 

The moment the service ended, members of the congregation gathered us together with them for tea and biscuits (delicious ginger cookies that pair delightfully with peppermint herbal tea). We chatted amiably about where we are from and why we were there, of course, but when we brought up that we were members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, our companions nodded knowingly. 

"Oh we knew you were Mormons," one woman said in a lilting Irish accent. 

"Oh really? What gave it away?" 

She shrugged. "I can just tell."

But the smile on her face told me it was a good thing. She asked us insightful questions, offered her sage advice, told us incredible stories, and then made sure we made it back to our professor in time for our meeting by driving us to the University.

Sure, we're not members of the same faith, but she recognized in us the same love of Christ, so that didn't really matter. 

The important part to them isn't convincing people they've got it right. 

Really, it didn't matter that we were not going to be converted. 

The important part was that they helped bring someone closer to God today.

Which is really the point of life itself, isn't it? No matter who you are, where you come from, or which God you worship, we're here to become better, holier people. 

The kind people of Knox Church welcomed me into their service and into their hearts. I am eternally grateful for that experience.


Dunedin, New Zealand

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