This past weekend, Eddie went to the Special Olympics. I know this because he showed up on Sunday and he couldn’t wait to show off his gold medal for volleyball. Eddie is almost sixty years old, which is pretty advanced for someone with down syndrome. During our worship service, I had him come up and tell us all about it. He told us how much fun he’d had and how he won and got the medal.
There was a man I used to look up to in youth ministry named Mike Yaconelli. In the heyday of the megachurch, Mike used to brag about his church that had never grown in numbers over sixty. He described a church where people often spoke up and asked questions in the middle of sermons…where several people with down syndrome were members and felt right at home in the little church. His great pride for his church and his description of the atmosphere there seemed incongurent to me at the time. People who didn’t know how to sit still or who interrupted the preacher hardly seemed to fit into my idea of excellence and honoring God. I realized on Sunday, how my perspective has changed. I was as proud of Eddie as he was of his gold medal. I am delighted in our church service of twenty-five people. I love the fact that we can move the chairs to face eachother if it benefits our conversation. I love cancelling the normal program every few weeks so we can just have breakfast together. I don’t even mind when Eddie’s friend, Travis visits and yells “scrotum” in the middle of the service.
I think we are honoring God with excellence. I think coming before God and allowing him to shed light on our quirks and inadequacies gives him great joy because that’s where he loves to be—in the place of redemption—in the place of bridging the gap between our fallenness and his perfection. I love our church.
Eddie got a gold medal, but it somehow belongs to all of us.
