I Stand Amazed
I stand amazed in the presence of Jesus the Nazarene,
And wonder how He could love me,
A sinner condemned, unclean.
How marvelous! How wonderful!
And my song shall ever be:
How marvelous! How wonderful!
Is my Savior’s love for me!
Charles Hutchinson Gabriel (1856-1932)
It is one of my earliest memories; running through a field, Ann holding my left hand, Kathy holding my right. I am somewhere between two and three. It is almost night; the sun low behind the white farmhouse ahead of us. Golden light glows from the glass pane in the front door and from the two windows on either side. We are running. We are laughing. If my memory was a movie, we would jump cut to me snuggled deep in a bed in that farmhouse. The room is dark. I imagine my grandmother has just pulled the covers up to my chin, bending deep to whisper something into my ear; I watch her in silhouette as she disappears through the doorway and into the dim lights from the adjoining room.
These two flashes of memory are the only things I know of my grandparent’s house that sat on acres of rolling pastureland where cows grazed and my grandfather and his sons woke long before dawn to milk the cows and deliver the milk. My grandmother killed and plucked and fried the chicken and fixed the biscuits and gravy to be ready for the men’s return. They would be hungry.
This was the last story my mother ever told me. She leaned back on the upholstered chaise next to the kitchen – her favorite place in my house – as I fixed supper. She told of the attic bedroom that was always filled with boys – her five brothers and always a few neighborhood boys staying overnight so they could wake at 4:30 and walk down to the barn to work. She laughed, amused as she remembered. It was her last story. Her stroke would come within the hour as we put supper on the outdoor table. I think her last vision was seeing beyond my back yard to that farmhouse with her Momma waiting to meet her there.
This Sunday I walked that path again. It was a slightly different path. The field is now filled with apartments, so we must take the side road that was dirt when I was a child. Instead of my older sisters accompanying me, my younger sister walked by my side.
It was unusually cold for a September morning but the sun was shining. We walked under the spreading branches of newer oak trees that protected the place where the farmhouse once stood. A large church sanctuary stands there now. Passing through asphalt parking lots and arriving cars - doors swing open; teenagers and small children wrapped in blankets spill out. Older couples walk behind us carrying lawn chairs, their faces partially obscured by masks. It is the Pandemic. It is the debate of masks and the suggestion of social distancing. And outdoor gatherings.
We walk through what is now a well-appointed soccer field; well-sown grass on a level playing field, stadium lights soaring above a wall of evergreen trees, bench seating set into a slight earthen hill that cups one side of the field. We find a seat on the top row; slightly above and behind us, backed in SUV's open their tailgates as moms arrange blankets for their little ones. In front of us, the field fills with easy chatter as families set up their lawn chairs and greet friends. A guitar introduces the first hymn. The pastor teaches from the parables of Jesus. Prayer and birdsong. The wind blows.
I sit amazed with the knowledge that no other here knows. I imagine my mother as a young girl running through this now field, then pasture. The grass is longer, wilder. My mother reaches down to pick up a stick to herd the cows. The second before the moment her hand grasps it, she pulls back; it is a snake, not a stick. Her sister Doris is running beside her; Doris with two long scars on her calf from falling on glass perhaps the summer before. I am the only one who knows these things; two young farmgirls running through this field another century ago. The oldest daughters of Lucy Mitchell Cunningham.
Would my grandmother be surprised to find two of her granddaughters sitting in the once was pasture singing hymns?
I look into the near distance to my right. There it stands against the sky, peeking above the trees; the white steeple of the church that my grandparents, my mother, her brothers, and her sisters had attended. It was established early in the 1900s, I suppose, built on the land my great-grandfather Cunningham had given. There seems to be a pattern here. Two family farms became two churches. East North Church (originally named Rock Hill Baptist Church) stands on the once-was Cunningham land. Mitchell Road Presbyterian Church stands here on the once-was dairy farm where Pinkney Dorrah and his wife Lucy raised their eight sons and daughters. I find it comforting that long after my ancestors have come and gone, strangers are standing on the land singing songs of amazement and wonder and humility.
I stand amazed in the presence of Jesus the Nazarene,
And wonder how He could love me,
A sinner condemned, unclean.
How marvelous! How wonderful!
And my song shall ever be:
How marvelous! How wonderful!
Is my Savior’s love for me!
It is a hymn I grew up singing inside the simple sanctuary of the church on the other side of the tree line, and here it is this morning, floating of the air as I worship with the fine folks of Mitchell Road Church. I stand amazed at the presence of Jesus the Nazarene. It is joyous. It is comforting. It is truth set to melody. It is a familiar feeling – like being home.
I realize it is more than the familiarity of home – it is holy. Remember how when Moses stood before God’s burning bush in the wilderness, God instructed him to remove his sandals? He was standing on holy ground. Whenever we meet with God, it is holy ground. It doesn’t have to be a sanctuary; it can be a pasture or a soccer field – if God is there, His holiness fills the land and the people.
This is my encouragement to you. This is my encouragement to myself. Do not give up meeting together as some are prone to do. Seek the presence of the Nazarene. There is no substitute for joining hearts together to worship our God. Don't stay at home. Stand on the strong foundation. Sing His praises; let His joy fill your spirit and reach up to fill the heavens.
God will meet you there.
Go find Holy ground.
Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching. Hebrews 10:22-25 NIV
Bart Millard, Christy Nockles - I Stand Amazed