Like many ecclesias, ours meets in rented quarters while we work on building our own hall. Our rental facility has been problem-free until the events of one recent Sunday — which came straight from a speaker’s worst nightmare.
In the middle of a stirring exhortation on the life of David, we were interrupted by the raucous buzzing and flashing light of the fire alarm right in our meeting room. There were more than a few startled gasps, and all of the mothers could be seen quickly scanning the room to reassure themselves their offspring were both safe and not responsible for the racket. It was quickly determined a false alarm, and we were under no greater danger than from a curious and too-nimble toddler without a proper cry room. It would still be 50 minutes, however, before local fire authorities would find keys and turn off the alarm.
The exhorting brother was determined it would take more than a misdirected fire alarm to halt our worship, and the ecclesia gamely continued the service. Our singing was perhaps a little more fervent as we strove to drone out the incessant clamor, and each prayer included a special request to help us focus and concentrate on the reason we came together.
Still, as we approached the emblems, I wondered if we had been better to take the presider’s tentative suggestion to postpone the memorial service until it could be conducted in silence and solemnity. Surely God did not intend for us to try to remember His Son’s sacrifice with the noise of an alarm system ringing in our ears. The congregation, however, immediately rejected the suggestion.
Even as I considered this my mind wandered to other believers, and the sounds that they might have heard as they contemplated God’s great gift. How many services were held with an ear cocked for the sound of soldiers’ feet in a time when just gathering together could endanger believers’ lives? How often did our first-century brothers and sisters remember our Lord to dripping water in the catacombs, or the coarser sounds inside a Roman prison? Later there were the “Protesters,” eating bread and drinking wine in secret, perhaps trying to make no sound at all. And I thought of the little ecclesia in Poland whose service was interrupted by a vengeful Catholic priest threatening and screaming. Even in our own time, how many believers meet without the luxury of sitting in comfort and silence? And what of the twelve apostles? Was there a hushed expectancy as they ate and drank that first time? There certainly wasn’t a few hours later! It may be that our peaceful, quiet services are the exception rather than the norm for Christ’s brethren through the ages.
Sitting there with the drone of the fire alarm still buzzing through my head, I felt a small sense of fellowship with those beleaguered disciples of other times and other places. Unless the Lord sees fit to change our circumstances in these last days, we may never really comprehend what they went through, let alone experience anything like it. Yet we certainly can remember less privileged believers and take courage from their examples.
As we remember our Lord in whatever circumstance we find ourselves, we fellowship with them just as much as with our modern-day brothers and sisters. One day, Lord willing, we will meet this “great cloud of witnesses,” until then we can gain a little of their strength, faith and determination to help get us through whatever sights and sounds assail us along the way.
The Origin of the Organic World – Part One