As many of you may know, just before Easter this year, my family walked through a very scary health situation with my dad.  On the first Sunday of spring break, my wife and I were grocery shopping when my mom called.  As soon as she said my name, I knew.  "Geoff, it's not good...he's not breathing," was all I could hear.  We ran from the store, jumped into the car, and shot across town--joining the ambulance en route to Mayo Hospital.  Once we were there, the situation seemed to go from bad to worse with somber-faced doctors describing my dad's situation in bleak terms--giving him just a 10% chance of recovery.  

We stood helpless, breathless, and praying around the perimeter of the room as doctors and nurses took drastic measures to save my dad and we were forced to recognize the prospect of saying "goodbye".  An eternity passed in the span of a few minutes when one of the orderlies approached and said, "There are some folks in the lobby and they were hoping to hear about your father."  I went into the teeming ER lobby but it was so packed, I had no idea who I was looking for.  "Excuse me," I said with a raised voice, "I'm Geoff Brown.  Who were the folks that were wondering about my dad?"  That next moment will forever be etched within my recollection:  every hand in that crowded emergency room lobby went up.  It was utterly surreal:  I was suddenly surrounded by dozens of people, the anguish on each of their faces seemingly as profound as my own.  Though there were a few sparks of recognition that pulled me from my shock, I was encompassed on every side by compassionate strangers who practiced a divine alchemy, turning the few leaden words I then spoke into the precious metal of prayers with unrivaled fervency.

My parents attend Shiloh Community Church where they are actively engaged and serving.  On that Sunday afternoon, in a place where none of us ever plans to be, Shiloh Community Church was there.  They rallied around mom and hedged her with hope.  At her side, they were quiet when they needed to be, offered encouragement when it was needed, and they prayed all the while.  I have counted myself as a Christ follower ever since a decision I made when I was in middle school, but in all those years I don't know that I have ever seen Him as clearly as I did reflected in the faces of strangers from Shiloh.

These several weeks later, I fully recognize that it was the Lord who ultimately restored my dad to health, and I am deeply grateful to Him for His grace and to compassionate strangers for their many graces.  But, I cannot help but wonder what this moment may have looked like if that emergency room lobby had been empty.  What would it have felt like if my new friends from Shiloh had not been there?  How often would my mom have felt alone?  In those moments when she was frightened, would she have had the strength to fend off fears?

Please forgive my directness here but I have one additional anxiety as well.  Although we are a "covenant Christian education community"--a school that "requires" its families to be involved in church--I am worried that for some of our families--families that have yet to make that "requirement" a "reality" within their homes--the emergency room lobby would be empty.  It is for this reason that we are using this summer's reading--our annual "Crusaders Charge into Summer Reading" tradition--to emphasize the priority of the local church.  As you will read below, we are going to enjoy the Psalms this summer as a school family.  In the process, we intend to challenge our community to consider their current place within a church--with sincerest hopes that your own emergency room lobby will never be empty.