Too Much Of A Good Thing

Untitled part

«Brothers and sisters, let us praise our Lord!» the preacher exclaims, and the congregation's feedback is like a tidal wave, «Hallelujah!». A sea of raised hands starts swaying to a popular praise and worship song. «Thank you, Jesus!» the preacher's amplified voice carries above the worshippers, accompanied by the keyboard and the electric guitar. «You've been so good to us! There's no one like you!»

I'm standing in my usual place, close to the stage, my hands lifted, eyes closed, searching for words to give the Lord all the praise he deserves for his mercy and lovingkindness. Someone nearby starts speaking in tongues loudly. It catches like fire in brushwood, and soon the whole congregation is humming with the sounds of non-earthly languages. The preacher is ecstatic, pacing the stage back and forth, declaiming, «Praise the Lord, all people on earth, praise his glory and might! Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth! Worship the Lord with gladness!! Come before him with joyful songs!!! Know that the Lord is God!!!» Now the music is overwhelming, but it can hardly drown the voices of hundreds of people, all expressing their gratitude to the One who saved them. This goes on for about half an hour. Then, all wet through and trembling with excitement, we are invited to take our seats and listen to some personal testimonies.

The pastor's wife is the first to mount the stage. Nothing new here. Her testimony is more like a sermon with all the proper "shoulds" and "shouldn'ts". We are once again reminded of how deeply spiritual the lady is.

Next comes a scrawny youth with a profoundly moving, if somewhat chaotic, story of his conversion from long-term drug addiction to faith. The congregation responds with enthusiasm—"Praise Jesus!", "Hallelujah!" and "Amen!" echo across the sanctuary at short intervals. In the end, the guy suggests praying for all the lost so that they may be reconciled to the Lord. We pray.

Before the service is over, we learn about a miraculous healing from sinusitis, an answered prayer for job promotion, and a narrow escape from a potentially fatal car accident. We thank Jesus for all these mercies, and are ready for the final blessing prayer. That is when Phil Jacobs asks permission to address the congregation, and I know at once there's going to be trouble.

"Lisa died yesterday," says Phil after an apprehensive pastor has handed him the mic. Some of us know his teenage daughter has (or rather had) cerebral palsy and a whole lot of associated disorders. She had some serious respiratory problems that did not respond to any treatment. No amount of prayer had any effect either. Phil always seemed to have all the faith in the world. Now he looks defeated. The congregation has fallen into almost perfect silence, dumbstruck by something so out of tune with everything that has been going on. The pastor makes an attempt to take the mic back and say something comforting. But Phil is not done yet.

"I know many of us are hurting," he continues in a low voice that sounds like thunder for the dumbfounded audience. "Many are sick, many have been praying for something important and not getting it for years, some have lost their loved ones..." He makes a pause there, collecting his thoughts, then continues, "So, I was standing here today and thinking: Why is there so much talk about good things in our services? Why does the good seem so prevailing within these walls? How realistic are we when we claim that God is good to us?"

At this point the pastor steps forward and snatches the mic away from Phil. "Our precious brother is overwhelmed with grief. It's his pain that is talking now, not him. Let us pray that the Lord may strengthen his faith!"

Everyone bows their head, the pastor prepares to say a prayer, but Phil manages to add just one more thing while it's still quiet, "I'm just saying that maybe we should also speak about bad things that happen to us every day." And then there is nothing to be heard but a loud storm of voices begging the Lord to support brother Phil in his dark hour.

As I walk home, I come to the conclusion that Phil has got it wrong after all. We come to the Lord's house to get a concentrated dose of faith that would then carry us through our daily afflictions. I don't want to hear about all the bad things that happen to good people — I have TV and newspapers for that. I want to be able to believe that God can help me in any trouble. I need to walk by faith, not by sight. There can't possibly be too much of a good thing.