It is good before Thy saints.

June 10, 2018

Why boastest thou thyself in mischief, O mighty man? the goodness of God endureth continually.

Lo, this is the man that made not God his strength; but trusted in the abundance of his riches and strengthened himself in his wickedness.

But I am like a green olive tree in the house of God: I trust in the mercy of God forever and ever.

I will praise Thee forever, because Thou hast done it: and I will wait on Thy name; for it is good before Thy saints. Psalm 52

I know that folks out there are quietly curious about my choice of Christian fellowship these days, with my brothers and sisters of Prince Chapel African American Methodist Episcopalian Church.

And the call is deeper than the fact that I noticed a small sign announcing Wednesday night Bible studies at the church just down the street from my sweet downtown studio. There was not a moment’s hesitation that it was the Spirit prodding me into climbing up the wobbly trailer steps to the pastor’s office.

And I found a place where not a single soul knew a thing about Christy Coverdale Voelkel, which is fairly remarkable considering that the sprawling metropolis of Tucson is still a small town at heart with forty-five years of connections which all seem frightfully awkward and uncomfortable at this particular moment in time. Although, of course this sorry actuality does testify to the racial divisions which slice the body of Christ into crippled isolated limbs. But, it helps me corral my self-centered thoughts and turn them to joyously focusing on Him in worship. Led through the gates of praise by a spine-tingling, hand-clapping, foot-stopping gospel choir.

Where the first week I was the “white lady,” but after that everyone thought of me as the “neighbor lady.”

And the cross-cultural experience helps me experience Christ and His Church and His word in a big new perspective of Truth, when I was absolutely rock-bottom in hurt and weariness from His name-bearers’ wounding and the way things have always been done. And brokenhearted on-my-face repentance for the white evangelical me.

 A soul satisfying part of it the profoundly healthy balance of love of the Holy Scriptures, love of the triune God, and love of one’s neighbor as oneself in justice, mercy and humility. And the multigenerational weaving together of the beautiful rooted liturgy. And while it was impressive that I knew all the old hymns and my red-lettered King James Bible upside down and backwards, in the big scheme of church order, I am a mere toddler in understanding and depth of the “Prince Chapel Way,” and big-eyed watching and listening and lots of stumbling and handholding.

Coming as a child has been huge this year; paying attention at last to a narrative that I have I ignored in all but the most superficial ways. A story of hope and faithfulness in the day-to-day and month-by-month and year-for-year and generation-upon-generation injustices, cruelties and hatred committed under a guise of Christian values.

And it is this solid rock foundation to which I cling now, surrounded by His saints who totally get it. Who forgive before the other asks forgiveness, who trust in the face of blaring headlines and daily humiliations, who wait with courage and perseverance, who praise God for simply another day of life and absolutely mean it. And who embrace me deeply into their collective warm breast.

And every Sunday we say the Call to Worship responsively: For better is one day in Your courts than a thousand elsewhere. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked.

A doorkeeper with snapped white polyester gloves.

Thank You, Prince Chapel.