Category Archives: Living In The Moment

What happens when you yell at church?

photo-40

Something happened at church. Or perhaps what you need to know is, what didn’t happen.

I pulled up to the church and Max bounced out of the car swinging his favorite vacuum. Several people were unsuspectingly milling around by the front door, exchanging greetings. “Watch out for the people!” I yelled behind Max as I watched his 8-pound Oreck swing like a ten ton wrecking ball. I fully expected to see the crowd part like the Red Sea, people diving into the bushes head first as Max and his vacuum bolted toward them. But instead, they extended their arms for a handshake, or a pat on his back.

Every time I walk through the doors of our church I remember the years we lived in isolation, and the five years of staying home on Sunday mornings when we could not find our place. Autism held us hostage. But it is not a bitter memory; it is the soil from which God grew a victory. When I cross that threshold now with Max, it feels like holy ground. Max comes most Sundays to serve as a greeter, and at the Welcome Center, and as part of the clean up team, otherwise known as the “Grunt Crew.” Max has clearly been given one of the lesser-known spiritual gifts of vacuuming. But what has changed Max’s life is what has changed mine: he is loved. He belongs. He is indispensable. We have been back at church for twelve years now, and none of this has been easy; sitting quietly is not part of Max’s skill set. But it’s as if the whole church is learning to breathe a little deeper, and in that, we find there is enough room for everyone.

After a wonderful and slightly aerobic morning, we could see from our seats at the Welcome Center that Pastor Paul was finishing up the message, or “the talking” as Max calls it. That’s Max’s cue. He flew into the sanctuary and took his position in the back. This is Max’s spot, up several stairs beside the sound booth. He worships there most Sundays, all 190 pounds of him, dancing above the congregation. Most Sundays Max bounces so hard that one would expect him to go right through the wooden platform floor, dunk tank style. But he won’t. Some of the men at church noticed the same risk. They got together one day and reinforced the floor where Max dances. It was months before anyone told me what the men had done. There was no mention of cost or inconvenience; no suggestion that perhaps the sound booth should not be used as a 1960’s GoGo booth. Instead, they just strengthened the floor. Maybe this is what we all want – to find the spot where we belong, and to know that others will hold us up in it. My friend, Pastor Brooks, said to me recently, “We move from a family attending church, to a church that becomes a family.”

Max and I could now see the music team taking their positions on stage. Max started dancing even before the music began, bouncing on his toes as if he were walking on hot sand. He was extra excited this morning, anticipating our church picnic that would follow the service. But when the music started, it wasn’t a dance song at all. Instead, it was slow and piercing, a quiet rhythm that pulled us forward. Everything became still. There was a shift in the room, as if the Spirit was pouring in like a gentle tide, surrounding us, lifting us, washing over our feet. The entire church rose in unison to stand in the deep, with our hearts turned to God. And when the song ended, no one moved.

Well, almost no one.

Max could no longer contain himself. He threw his arms over his head and leapt from the platform. He got some good air and then stuck the landing with the precision of a Russian gymnast. And when he landed, he yelled. Loudly. This was not your average run of the mill shout, or even the kind of noise one might expect when leaping from such a height. No, this was the kind of sound one exerts when instigating a food fight.

“BAR-BE-QUE! Max yelled across the church, his arms still stretched to the sky.

I ducked down to make myself slightly more invisible in the now well-lit church, wishing there were a dressing room curtain I could quickly hide behind.

Through squinting eyes I watched as the church moved in unison once again. But this time every head fell forward, every shoulder curled. It was as if a single rogue wave had crashed over the entire congregation. A moment later those same heads bobbed back up for air with a burst of laughter that filled the sanctuary. And then the most remarkable thing happened. Or perhaps, didn’t happen.

No one stared…or sighed…or scowled. No one even turned around to see where the sound had come from. Instead, every person just wiped the salty spray from their faces and turned to smile at the person beside them. The same sweeping tide that had lifted us to God in worship was drawing us together in love.

Max darted into the crowd and started shaking hands with people as if he were campaigning for office. I just leaned against that reinforced platform, trying to decide if this was completely embarrassing, or achingly beautiful. And then I heard something in the distance. It was a man’s voice, rising above the laughter in the church,

“That’s our Max.”

1 Corinthians 12:18,22  “But in fact God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be…those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable.”

Thank you friends,

Emily Colson

The Privilege of Freedom

Max,Old North Bridge

Max galloped across the quarter-mile field toward the Old North Bridge, one hand holding imaginary reigns and the other hand holding the failing elastic in his shorts. “I’m Paul Revere!” he shouted as he passed by other less enthusiastic visitors. Max loves everything about the Revolutionary War. He loves the facts, dates, soldiers, and he might even go for a pair of wool knickers if they came with more efficient elastic at the waist. But there is something else he loves about visiting the Old North Bridge in Concord, Massachusetts, the very site where the Revolutionary War began.

He loves the freedom.

There are few places where I can let go of Max’s hand, few times when there is not someone within grabbing distance of my fast moving 24 year-old son with autism. It means my everyday life is filled with darting and lifting and intervals of high aerobic activity – like Cross Fit. It is easy to become weary, and yet this journey is a remarkable privilege. God gives me the opportunity to defend, protect, and by even the smallest of gestures, affirm the value of human life. This is the square inch of territory God has asked me to steward.

I watched from a distance as my son ran along the path toward the Old North Bridge, his feet kicking up a whirling circle of dust like the Roadrunner. I finally caught up with him at one of the monuments. Max climbed the stone steps and traced his fingers over the worn letters as he did his best to read each word. Max has gained such independence that I could stand at a distance and, perhaps for the first time, truly listen to the words.

Brittish side of the Old North Bridge, monument

“Here on the 19 of April 1775 was made the first forcible resistance to the British aggression. On the opposite bank stood the American Militia. Here stood the invading army and on this spot the first of the enemy fell in the War of that Revolution which gave Independence to the United States.

In gratitude to God and in the love of Freedom, this monument was erected 1836”

My eyes gazed toward the bridge as I pictured the battle. I imagined the men who stepped forward. “I haven’t a man who’s afraid to go,” Captain Isaac Davis had said of his men who had gathered together to stand against the British soldiers. I brushed my foot against the soil knowing Captain Isaac Davis, along with others, lost their lives on this very ground. Our freedom, our country, was born of this battle.

I stared down at the dusty path and dug my toe into the soil, humbled by the sacrifice of these men. And I wondered,

Am I willing to sacrifice it all for what I believe to be true and right and good?

Will I hold to God’s truth, daring to draw a line in the sand?

And when opposition comes, and it will surely come, will I retreat in fear? Or, by His help, will I steward the one square inch of territory God has given to me?

 Out of the corner of my eye I could see Max starting to gallop toward the bridge again. I glanced at the proximity of the other visitors knowing my son can, at times, move from point A to point B in a style similar to a wrecking ball. I lunged for Max’s hand, but when I saw the unbridled joy on his face, I let him go free. He darted over the bridge with his knees bouncing toward his chin. As he reached the other side, much to the surprise of the other more neutral visitors, Max sounded the alarm.

“The British are coming! The British are coming!”

By Emily Colson

“There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry, Mine!” Abraham Kuyper