-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Blackmon [mailto:mblackmon@theheights.org]
Sent: Monday, June 24, 2002 10:20 PM
To: 3strandswoven (E-mail)
Subject: [3 Strands Woven] Three Strands Relevant: The Mysterious
Working of a Mysterious Go d



Ever have a feeling that you should just do something? Ever get this feeling
that you really ought to do something, but you are hesitant, and just don't
want to? I had one of those moments today.

Robbie told me about The Wreck on I-20 just after it happened. She knew that
Metro Church was only a mile or so from my house, and that I might very well
know some of the folks involved. Metro Church and Reinhardt shared many of
the same members over the four years I was at Reinhardt, with some
travelling each direction (sometimes more than once).

I watched the news updates on wfaa.com all day long, anxious to find out
what was happening. As I was praying for the church and the staff (who I
know, but not real well), I began to sense that God wanted me to go there. I
resisted for quite some time thinking I was not needed, nor would I be able
to offer much help. I did not really know what I could do, and I was a
little nervous about being in that new situation.

Around 4, I was praying again, and I again felt like I should go. But what
could I do? It was not my church. 

So, I started home. Before I knew it, I was at Metro Church.

I have never seen anything quite like the scene before.

There were police cars everywhere as they directed the overwhelming crush of
traffic into the church. I had never seen so many t.v. trucks and media
representatives in my life.

Volunteers from all over the area were there. People had nametags like "I
can drive you to the hospital" "I have an unlimited cell phone" "I am a
nurse" "I am a counselor" "I am a Pastor" "I will pray for you" "I will hug
you".

One teen girl said "I will do whatever you need"

There was enough food to feed an army. Pizza Hut, Outback Steakhouse, Papa
Johns, Spring Creek Barbeque. I do not know how the food got there or who
paid for it, but I have suspicions that it was just sent.

Cokes, desserts, kleenex, anything you can imagine that was needed appeared.

Handmade cards from area children decorated the altar. Flowers arrived by
the dozen.

Senior Adults circulated giving the comfort achieved from only a lifetime of
experience lived on this earth.

The Red Cross was on scene and was conducting a blood drive. I heard they
filled all the slots within 15 minutes. The organized a second drive for
Saturday.

As the kids began to arrive back, it reminded me of the soldiers from Black
Hawk Down. They limped in, most with leg injuries. One girl was still
covered in blood, her hair matted, highlighted by the stitches from the
injuries. There were neck braces, arms in slings, and the famous 1000 yard
stares of people who had been through things too terrible to speak of.

There were screams of anguish and tears of joy. 

From all over the area, pastors and counselors had come to the church. All
of them drawn by the same tugging that I had felt. It was almost eerie--and
you know I am not a "eerie" kind of guy. I directed people traffic for over
an hour with a minister from an assembly of god church--he and I prayed
together in between students.

Baylor Garland had sent their entire team of chaplains. Churches from all
over had sent youth ministers, children's pastors, whoever they could get
there. They did not know who I was, but they recognized The Heights as the
church with the cross.

We prayed with parents, with students, with strangers, with whoever needed
it. Most of the time we just stood there.

At 7, we had a prayer service. 800 people crammed into the worship center.
The pastor Scott Camp read from God's Word with power. The survivors
gathered in small groups, and the church prayed over them, and thanked God
for their protection, while we all hurt for those who had lost their lives.
We sang praises (and it was raucous--Metro Church is more Baptecostal. One
of the elders next to me was praying in tongues. We all raised our hands).
The pastor had all the area church pastors come forward, and we ringed the
altar and prayed for the church with our hands stretched out over the
congregation, asking for God's comfort and His peace. We prayed over the
kids that had been spared, and prayed for the families of those who had not
been.

He preached the gospel. The mother of one of a precious little girl who lost
her life told the pastor to "Keep preaching the gospel. My little girl loved
Jesus, and would not want you to stop telling others about Him." And the
pastor did. He told about how all four of the teens who lost their lives
were Christians, and about how they did their best to live for Him.

He preached the Gospel. He spoke of 1 Thessalonians 5, and the hope of the
Christian. He preached the Gospel.

At the end, he asked everyone attending, including the media, to make a
faith decision for Christ. 









At least eight precious souls trusted Jesus as the atonement for their sins
as their substitutes, and believed in Him by faith.

As I left, so many of the church thanked me for coming. No one asked "Why?"
The knew as did I that it seemed to be the most natural thing in the world
for me to do. What had earlier been fear and hesitation was overcome with a
feeling of God's presence and peace, even in the midst of terrible tragedy.

If just for that moment, the body of Christ transcended denomination, and
ethnicity, and difference. We were not Assemblies of God, Methodist,
Baptist, or any other thing, but Christian. We were the community of the
Spirit-gifted ones, called according to His name for His service.

I do not understand the mysterious workings of our mysterious God, but I
rejoice in the fact that I am part of it.

They are going to have another prayer service tomorrow at 1 pm at Canyon
Creek Baptist Church, just up the rode from The Heights. 

In His Grip,
matt

Matt Blackmon
Educational Associate
The Heights Baptist Church

Permanent Email Address: blackmon@cs.utk.edu

extra ecclesiam nulla salus est
fidelis quaerens intellectum 

"The Word became flesh--and then through theologians it became words again."
Karl Barth. 

"And through the words of theologians, others understand what it means that
The Word became flesh, and what that now means in the lives of those of The
Community."
Matt Blackmon.



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