Tomorrow will mark a year
since my mom left this life to go home.
In the last few years of her life, my mom’s memory, especially her
ability to recall new things, got very weak.
So, more and more, we found ourselves talking about old times and very
good times. One of the subjects she enjoyed most was recalling her service as director of
several dramas presented at our home church.
She talked the most about the church’s presentation of Earnest Emurian’s
“The Last Supper.” My
Mom, with the persuasiveness of a salesman and the persistence of General
Patton, enlisted sixteen men from our small church to play a part, to dress up
in a costume, wear a beard, by growth or glue, wear knee-high hose so their white feet wouldn't shine, and, each in his turn, recite a
page-long monologue as one of Jesus’ disciples. Here is her finished product. 
What Mom remembered and cherished most about that
experience was the difference that brief time on stage made in the lives of
those men. Several of them had been part-time
long-time pew fillers, present in worship but doing little else in the
church. But, she said, with great joy
and satisfaction,
“When we got them to play a part
in that drama, they never went back to the back pew. They became leaders and servants. They became the heart of our church.”
If I dare paraphrase my Mom, the director, when these men
experienced the joy of loving God with more of themselves, putting more of
their hearts and souls and minds and strength to work in God’s service, they
never again wanted to offer God the minimum payment. They loved God with more and more of who they
were and tasted the truly abundant Christian life. So can we.
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