Summary: What are willing to do to Receive a blessing from God.
Leaving Without Receiving
Scripture Reference: Genesis 32:24-26 (KJV)
Genesis 32:24 And Jacob was left alone; and there wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day. 25 And when he saw that he prevailed not against him, he touched the hollow of his thigh; and the hollow of Jacob’s thigh was out of joint, as he wrestled with him. 26 And he said, Let me go, for the day breaketh. And he said, I will not let thee go, except thou bless me.
What are we willing to do that we may receive a blessing from God? Is the real reason that so many people are disappointed with the church today because we are leaving without receiving.
I received a story (supposedly true) over the internet the other day and I would like to share it with you.
No Place for Me
By John W. Fountain
Sunday morning arrived, like so many before, with a mix of sunlight and
chirping birds outside my bedroom window and a warm greeting from my tiny
son, lying beside my wife and me. My wife rose quickly, announcing her plan
to jump in the shower and get ready for Sunday school at the Baptist church,
not far from our house in suburban Chicago, that she and our two children
As for me, in what has become my ritual nowadays, I turned over and pulled
the covers up around my head. Soon I overheard my 9-year-old daughter’s
familiar question: "Mommy, is Daddy going to church with us?"
"No-o-o-o," my wife replied. After months of my failure to accompany them,
she has abandoned the excuse that "Daddy has a lot of work to do."
Sunday mornings used to mean something special to me. But I now face them
with dread, with a bittersweet sorrow that tugs at my heart and a
headache-inducing tension that makes me reach for the Advil. I am torn
between my desire to play hooky from church and my Pentecostal
indoctrination that Sunday is the Lord’s day, a day of worship when real men
are supposed to lead their families into the house of God.
Once, that’s what I did. I am the grandson of a pastor and am myself a
licensed minister. I love God and I love the church. I know church-speak and
feel as comfortable shouting hallelujahs and amens and lifting my hands in
the sanctuary as I do putting on my socks. I have danced in the spirit,
spoken in tongues, and proclaimed Jesus Christ as my Lord and savior. I once
arrived faithfully at the door of every prayer meeting and went to nearly
every Bible study and month-long revival. I attended umpteen services, even
the midnight musicals and my church’s annual national meetings, like the one
held two weeks ago in Kansas City.
Yet I now feel disconnected. I am disconnected. Not necessarily from God,
but from the church.
What happened? Probably the same thing that has happened to thousands, if
not tens of thousands, of African American men who now file into coffee
shops or bowling alleys or baseball stadiums on Sundays instead of heading
to church, or who lose themselves in the haze of mowing the lawn or waxing
their cars. Somewhere along the way, for us, for me, the church -- the
collective of black churches of the Christian faith, regardless of