I'm Still Up

It's 1:41 on Saturday morning as I begin this post. But I'm not suffering from insomnia.

I'm in the church fellowship hall right now for the Good Friday-Holy Saturday prayer vigil here at Saint Matthew. During the vigil, individuals come in for half-hour stints to pray in the sanctuary. They pray for the world, community, congregation, and the many prayer concerns we pray about regularly. It's a time of concerted, focused prayer.

I've done overnight prayer vigils at all three parishes I've served as a pastor these past twenty-five years, as well as at the congregation where I did my pastoral internship before that. Every time I've offered prayer vigils, they've turned out to be meaningful for all participants.

This year, between the evening Good Friday worship at Saint Matthew and the start of the vigil, I told my wife that every time I do one, I can't help thinking of Martha Schneider.

Martha, a member of our home church in Columbus, was in her sixties when I first knew her. She was a deeply devoted Christian and a very real person. For reasons that probably only God can explain, she and I hit it off in spite of a forty-some year age difference. Martha took me under her wing, encouraging and challenging me as God called me from my former atheism to a relationship with Him through Christ.

Maybe what most impressed me about Martha is that she exhibited a deep serenity and a winsome sense of humor born of her faith. She was one of the wisest people I've ever known. Once, when I was complaining about something I didn't like in my life, she said, "You know, Mark, it's not something we can't pray about." To this day, I try to remember that.

She was always deeply affirming. Whenever I taught or preached at our home church during my seminary years or after, Martha would walk up to me beaming, lean over to my ear and say quietly, "I'm so proud of you." Or, "I love you." (Her husband, Eddie, was also a deeply affirming person, but not as verbal. After I'd preached my first sermon at our church, he walked up to me after nearly everyone was gone and said, "I wanted to tell you in the narthex, Mark, how gr..." But Eddie couldn't go on. He choked up and I just hugged him.)

One Sunday after worship, Martha approached me. "I have an idea for a prayer vigil," she told me. "Would you do it with me?"

I was in my mid-twenties, a new Christian, and had no idea what a prayer vigil was. But because the person asking me was Martha, I said, "Yes" immediately. It too was held overnight on a Good Friday and Holy Saturday. We had something like thirteen people show up and it was one of the most exciting things I've ever done, proof that if we will be still and wait on the Lord, allowing Him and His grace to get a place in the midst of our often noisy, bustling lives, He will meet us.

Martha did the vigils for several years after that, ultimately until I was called to serve my first parish in northwestern Ohio. I've been hooked ever since.

My wife always said that Martha was the only woman with whom she'd let me stay out all night. And I was always glad to have done so.

Martha died a few years ago. She's now in the presence of God in eternity. So, too, here on earth in the Saint Matthew sanctuary, are people participating in the prayer vigil, taking advantage of an inspired idea championed by a woman they've never met, but whose commitment to Christ is nonetheless touching them and strengthening their faith even as they pray for others.