Kneeling

I couldn’t have been more than 7 years old. I looked out the window and saw a man kneeling in the grass on one side of our neighbor’s newly built home. There was something familiar about him. His white hair was covered in a hat, or I might have recognized sooner that the man mixing mortar and readying a stack of bricks to build a chimney was my pastor.

“What is Landis doing at the Currier’s?” I asked.

My mother explained that they had hired him to build their chimney and I watched from inside the house. Partly because I have always been fascinated by the process of building, but partly because this was such a different view of my pastor.

I had seen him kneeling quite often. Sometimes in front of the pew, where he and his wife Marie sat right in front of us every Sunday morning and evening. Sometimes I saw him kneeling on the stage, near the pulpit, while the congregation prayed or worshiped.

My dad showed me the shoes that he was given after Landis died, the top of the toes were worn on every pair where they had been rubbed against the floor as Landis kneeled to pray.

Seeing him working outside seemed much more humble somehow. As if the ground, and the dirt, and even the effort were less worthy than the man who bent low and layered brick after brick, clean, straight, and even.

I have never shared that memory until now.

It’s always been interesting to me how little snapshots of childhood linger in the mind. How we see things over and over again that we don’t remember at all, but one out-of-context view from the front window and the picture remains in full color. Why did this one stay? And why does it make me slightly uncomfortable? I’ve never asked myself, and I hadn’t pulled it out to look over for years, but it resurfaced recently.

I’ve tried to look as closely as I can. The picture changes as I rebuild it from such a long time in my attic. He is denim clad, comfortable, and singing. He was singing as he worked, just as he did at church. And I’m realizing I was the only one uncomfortable seeing him this way. He knew that all work done unto the Lord is worthwhile, and no brick laid upon another, would suffer a crooked fate because he thought he deserved a better platform than my neighbor’s lawn.

It isn’t often I am made uncomfortable by another person’s humility. It isn’t often I see humility displayed so easily. It isn’t often I hear a preacher sing as he lays bricks, or tills a garden, or fixes a car.

Over the last few months our church has been looking for a new pastor. My mind’s pictures of Landis (this is only one of many), have been prevalent as I pray for God’s man to be revealed. I am hopeful, confident even, that God has been preparing someone. Not only someone who can handle a large staff, and fill a big room, though that’s important too. Rather, someone willing to get his hands a little messy working with his neighbors. I’m praying for a man willing to lean low and see himself as a minister, no matter how ordinary the platform. A man who addresses little children and visiting performers with equal dignity and respect. Someone who isn’t uncomfortable with humility.

I’m praying on my knees, for a man who is familiar with his.