Many of you know that I didn’t start my working life as a preacher.  Instead, I spent over three decades as a practicing lawyer before leaving the legal world behind to stand in the pulpit.  As a young lawyer just getting started at a firm in Baton Rouge, I soon found out that travel was going to be a part of the job.  Of course, at that level, the word “travel” should not bring to mind images of exotic destinations with exciting things to do and see.  Here are some of my “ports of call” in those early years: New Orleans, Gretna, Marksville, Opelousas, Covington, Slidell.  

On one of these trips to New Orleans or Gretna, I specifically recall thinking that I would take a different route home after completing my work that day.  Rather than taking Interstate 10 back to Baton Rouge, I thought: “Why not go a little out of the way and drive across the famous Lake Pontchartrain Causeway – the longest crossing of a bridge over water on the entire planet?  When else are you going to get a chance to do that?”  And so I took that detour, paid my toll [less than a dollar], and marveled at the engineering of that structure, and at the gorgeous scenes of seemingly unending blue water, all while being escorted by pelicans and seagulls flying in formation over the long miles of concrete.  It was a wonderful drive, and I congratulated myself for taking advantage of a rare opportunity to see and experience something that was not likely to happen again. 

Fast forward a few years.  I found myself working at a law firm located at the very foot of the famous Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, and living in Mandeville – at the other end of The Causeway.  And now, what I described above as a once in a lifetime experience – something to remember and savor in my dreams - had suddenly become simply a twice-a-day commute.  Now, instead of being a tourist enjoying the views, I was just another guy trying to get to work, or trying to get home after work.  Instead of counting the pelicans, I was counting the miles and hoping – hoping that the fog wouldn’t make me late, hoping that there wouldn’t be a wreck that would shut the bridge down and trap me on it, hoping not to get a ticket for speeding, hoping not to have a flat tire, hoping not to fall asleep and careen off into the cold waters and become another statistic to be used for upgrading the bridge and increasing the toll.  All the fun and excitement and adventure of crossing the famous Lake Pontchartrain Causeway had been taken away by familiarity.   

Isn’t it strange that an experience that once was amazing and exciting can become dull and boring and simply routine?  Our guest speaker this past week, Marty Koonce, told me that when his family was working as missionaries in Africa, people from supporting congregations in the USA would occasionally come to visit.  Whenever these visitors would come, they would inevitably request to be taken into the great National Parks for a photo safari.  And, it wasn’t very long before his children were saying things like: “Do we have to go on another safari?”  

What!  Not wanting to go on a safari?  Can you even imagine such a thing?  Can you even picture yourself thinking: “If I ever have to see another lion chasing an antelope; if I ever have to see another gazelle leaping through the savannah; if I ever have to listen to another elephant trumpeting; if I ever have to see another giraffe loping across the plains, etc.? 

 To us, who have never encountered anything like a safari [except on TV], it seems impossible to believe that anyone could ever grow weary of actually, personally, seeing and experiencing such rare and magnificent sights.  Yet, it happens.  

You, perhaps, are the exception.  Perhaps you have never allowed the magic and mystery of a magnificent experience to pass you by without acknowledging the beauty and majesty of the moment, without being grateful and joyful for the blessing that has been granted to you. That is wonderful!  

Perhaps then you will share with us the secret for not missing out on the beauty and majesty of, say – the Communion of the Saints with The Lord Jesus.  You know, those few minutes when we stop and gather around a [symbolic] Table, and join our hearts and our spirits with one another and with The Lord and “recognize The Body” [1 Corinthians 11:29].  

This is a magnificent and holy moment, but [speaking only for myself] I wonder if I truly experience this “as often as we eat the bread and drink the cup” [1 Corinthians 11:26]?  Do I allow my heart and spirit to be overwhelmed by the enormity of this moment?  Do I sense that I am experiencing something that goes beyond a piece of cracker and a sip of juice?  Or have I “been there, done that” so much that it’s just another thing to do?  

And, frankly, the same questions could be asked of every moment of the assembling of the Saints together.  In truth, we are there, each time, in the presence of Jesus Himself  – Matthew 18:20.  There is no more magnificent and holy time.  Yet [speaking again only for myself] do I really get this?  I should be overwhelmed by the enormity of what occurs every week inside our church building, and it has nothing to do with how good the singing or the praying or the preaching is.  Or, has it all become so routine and ordinary that there is no wonder, there is no mystery, there is no amazement, and I am no longer grateful and joyful for this blessing that has been granted to me?

The Church, The Body of Christ, is holy and magnificent beyond what I can understand – not because of what we do, but because of what the Holy Spirit of Christ is doing.  I am so thankful for those of you who have not allowed your sense of wonder and amazement at what God is continuing to do among His people to fade away.  Keep on showing me the way. 

Ambrose Ramsey | Shepherd