A Different Sunday

A friend of mine pastors a small church in a community some 40 minutes away. I had never been to his church, and decided to visit it on Sunday. I called him on Saturday to confirm the time for the morning service, and told him we would see him the next day.
We were getting ready to go, and a Native lady we know wanted to join us to the church, so we said we would pick her up on the way. Five minutes before we left, a guest of a neighbor, visiting from South Africa, called and said that he wanted to go to church. Would we be willing to take him with us? Of course, we said, "Sure."
We picked up our new friend from South Africa, and then picked up our other ride and were on our way to church. Usually, small talk occupies such initial meetings; but the lady asked about the meaning of the Communion Service. I went into a 20 minute rambling teaching session off the cuff about the meaning of the Communion Service, and soon, we were at the church.
The church was located in a ranching area of British Columbia. We were met by friendly handshakes, and warm smiles. We were 25 minutes early, and as I looked around, I noticed the absence of my friend, the pastor.
I asked where he was and frowns of concern appeared on the foreheads of the people before me. "He isn't here," they said, "he went to the hospital this morning." My friend either had a minor stroke, or some nasty virus that could cause numbness to half his face. Whatever the problem, he wasn't there, and the church was filling up with the faithful.
I joined the church leadership for prayer for the pastor and God's blessing for the worship service. After the prayer, I stepped out on a limb and offered to preach, if they didn't have any other plans for the message. The elder asked, "Do you have a word from the Lord?" I said, "Yes." The elder responded, "Then we would be glad to have you fill the pulpit for our pastor. It would seem to us that you have been directed here today for such a time as this."
The singing was what I would expect for a "Cowboy Church". There were gospel songs 50 years old, and Gaither songs. The people loved to sing and the church was rich with voices praising God.
When it came time to preach, I stepped up to the pulpit and asked, "Who here can recite from memory 2 Corinthians 5:7 ?" The faces of aged saints with white hair tightened as they gripped the challenge and searched their memory.
"I know you know it, you live it every day...let me start it for you, 'for we walk by faith not by sight.'," I said. I had only gotten four words into the verse when you could hear voices joining in, quoting the verse aloud.
I then declared that the following sermon was going to be "walking by faith", too. I didn't have any notes nor any outline. We prayed and asked God for help, and got started.
The sermon went well, actually. Not because I thought so, especially, but because my dear wife, who can be trusted to speak the truth, said so, too. Oh, and guess what? There was a Communion Service that morning, too. Since our Native friend had had a teaching about it prior to the service, she was ready and prepared to participate. (talk about God leading and directing our steps...!)
In the evening, we had sixteen people show up for the Bible Study held in our home. The house never had so many voices lifted up in praise and worship. (I don't know what we are going to do if this group continues to grow.)
So, yesterday was a different Sunday than most. I thought it was kind of funny to note that at the end, I wasn't exhausted, really. Oh, and some of you are still wondering about the ill pastor. He called and said the doctors didn't think it was a stroke, but some virus. He has medication to take and was sent home. Praise the Lord.