Once upon a time in the south, in Somerset, Kentucky, I was painting a rich man’s new home before he and his wife took possession. He was an older gentleman and she a few years younger. One afternoon, as the hardwood floor was being laid, she and I struck up a conversation. “What are the local churches like?", she wondered.

She enjoyed singing, was already committed to the Baptist faith, and wanted a place where she felt at home. “Is there a good choir?". I remember her as a lovely person.

Since then I’ve wondered why we choose the church we will attend or join. And I’ve asked myself what our choices might reveal about our understanding of faith, church, family, discipleship, missions, and the cross of Christ.

(Given my recent experiences, coupled with the past, we face the same kind of questions when choosing a new pastor.)

I believe we live in a special time, a serious time of “last things", an era of salvation history that should prod us beyond the usual, past the ordinary considerations of personal taste and pleasure in our life of faith with God and others.

Just as the soul of Christ was stirred to deeper depths as he approached “the hour" of his suffering at Calvary, those who long to live in union with him will feel the same movements of the Spirit, the same call to sacrifice, the same concern that our spirits might be overcome by our natural desire for self-protection and happiness at any cost to those near me.

I’ve found, I still find, it requires moving to a higher plane of prayer, a closer look at my motives, and a longer study of who Jesus means me to be in this world of “sin and death". Identifying with him in mind, spirit, and body, allowing his life to pervade my own, embracing his spirit of self-sacrifice for the sake of others—these are matters of my soul that I cannot dismiss or neglect except at the peril of my soul itself.

Authentic living is rare. It has always been so, yet, today as never before the superficial, the trivial, the banal and mediocre, have replaced the extraordinary as many Christians succumb to unbelief and worldliness. The choir of humans sounds less and less like the choir of angels.

The Age of Reason long ago supplanted the life of faith, turning the promised “enlightenment" into grey shadow and blackness. Life is going bump in the night. Nor is this a surprise to the student of Scripture.

God warned us of this in the Book of Revelation, in the messages to the Seven Churches. Jesus bore and still bears the testimony given him by his Father.

The apocalyptic prophecies of Daniel and Revelation foretold and foretell the great epochs of salvation history. Time passes into eternity revealing the guiding hand of our Master Designer, the Father of Lights, and Author of Life. He has shown, is showing, and will show us the way. He does so through his Word.

Are we listening? Are we reading? Do we know what time it is?

The time is long since past (if it ever existed) when our interest in church choirs, pet politics, just the right Sabbath School for our kids, the perfect pastor and church janitor, or the new potluck team rotations should take the place of prayer, bible study, and sharing our faith with a love for Christ not to be denied.

The simple means of grace so freely at hand, and so powerful when used, are left aside, not because they fail us, but exactly because they work. I am convinced that many leave off prayer and listening to God speak in his Word, not because they do not “work" but because they do. They do, in fact, bring us into the presence of a holy…holy loving…God who sees the sin we cherish, knows we love pleasure more than him, and have counseled with our fears until faith has failed, yet again. We come to Calvary and suddenly life becomes more real. Sin matters. We matter. God is there. It is not the absence of God we fear so much as his presence. God forbid he calls us to himself! Who can endure the change?

And God does interrupt us at the oddest times. Just when our teams offense (God apparently love sports) is about to destroy the dreams of the enemy, or our favorite soap opera bubbles with suspense, or the good guy is about to bloody the bad, or our sexual fantasy is at full throttle—right at that moment, as if a miracle, we hear the whisper of a “still small voice" coming from the cross, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do".

“A blood-bought, free reward", penned William Cowper, recovering from mental illness. Could it be, such grace for me?

One of the greatest fears we have is not that God is dead, gone, or never existed, but that he is very, very real indeed. We plunge on top of life, sliding along the slipper surface, rather than diving into the deep where “unseen things" are not only explored, but will explore our own souls.

Revelation is just that, a revelation of things once hidden, of things uncovered. We hear in it the “holy, holy, holy" (Rev. 4&5) of angelic choirs, a sweet and swelling melody far surpassing anything this earth offers. No roar of idolatrous super fans compares. Images of lust and greed shatter as the anthem of angelic praise swelled, reverberating over the sea of glass and across the earth. We hear. We see. We see the vision of the prophet, standing, listening, wondering, and by grace, rising from our prostrate swoon of death in the presence of his glory. He touches us with his “right hand" and assures us of his authority to give life to him he will. What grace! What mercy!

In a little while we are going home. Not there yet, we are yet to be all that God has for us. By faith we will rise. By grace we will conqueror. In hope we must live.