Sleeping in Church...

I admit it – I have fallen asleep in church.  Never during one of my own sermons, thank God.  Almost all of my sleeping in church was done before the age of six.

 Back then, Baptists had church on Sunday night.  We thought it made us more godly than the Methodists and Presbyterians who only had church on Sunday morning.  For some unknown reason, we had Training Union (sort of a second Sunday School) at 6:00 PM and worship at 7:00.  My bedtime was at 7:30 PM so you can see the time did not work in my favor, especially because Baptist preachers never finish at the appointed time.  About twenty till eight, my eyes would get heavy, and I would lay down on the pew and put my head in my mother’s lap.  There was something hypnotic about the preacher’s voice; I would doze off about as he said, “Secondly…”

 I have memories of being carried to the car and my brother Steve whining about not going out to eat at Knight’s restaurant.  Mama didn’t even make me take a bath but put me to sleep in the bottom bunk bed.

 My Uncle Bud once fell asleep one Sunday night at church.  Being four, he sometimes wet the bed at night.  The pews in the old Venus church were slatted, and Granny noticed an unwelcomed stream of yellow liquid rolling toward the altar.  I wonder if the preacher was preaching “Let justice roll down like a mighty stream…”

 I stopped falling asleep in church around first grade, but there were times as a young adult I was tempted to nod off.  The summer I dated Miss Hardee County meant several late Saturday nights (not what you think: the nearest movie theater was an hour away).  Our pastor spoke in a loud monotone.  I was in the choir one Sunday after a glorious Saturday night date and my eyes would not stay open. I resorted to an age-old trick for choir members: I bowed my head and held my hand up to my forehead as if praying intently.  I was drifting in and out of consciousness when Elmo Roberts, two seats down, clearly his sinuses.  In my state of semi-sleep, I thought I had snored and jolted awake.  People in congregation probably thought I had a revelation from the Spirit.

 Not too long ago, my wife and I were at Duke Chapel, to hear a preacher we greatly admired.  The sermon was direct and held my attention.  But in front of me, a great lesson was unfolding.  On the pew was a family: Mom, Dad, two boys, and a girl.  I guess the girl was about five.  The boys were well-behaved, drawing on the bulletin.  But during the sermon, the girl started to get sleepy.  She crawled onto her Daddy’s lap, turned toward him, and rested her head on his shoulder.  She caught me looking at her and she smiled at me.  Then, with a sigh of deep contentment, she went to sleep. 

 On her face was a smile, something I had never seen on the countenance of a sleeping person.  Everything about her was a picture of trust.  She felt secure, safe in the arms of her Father.

 Yes, the message that day was wonderful, the music was out of this world.  But the best message of the day was that little girl, asleep in her Daddy’s arms.  It was a picture of Deuteronomy 33:27a: “The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.”

 When we talk about God being our refuge, it doesn’t mean a place to hide from our enemies.  It means no matter what threatens us, no matter what frightens us, his arms hold us.  The old song said, “Leaning, leaning, safe and secure from all alarms; leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms.”

 Who is holding you today?