Yesterday morning I attended a Men’s Breakfast.
It takes a lot of dedication and sacrifice to be at the church at 7:00 AM for something like this. The people who do so are part of the church core; the pillars of the assembly; the very salt of the earth. As the sun is breaking over the hills — or over the lake depending on the time of year — the people who show up for early morning events like this are the best of the best. Without wishing to induce pride, this is the spiritual bedrock of the church.
Fortunately for me however, this event begins at 8:30.
It’s a much more humane hour, and basically all the guys show up. A good half, anyway. Specifically, there were eleven of us. It’s a small town. It’s a small church.
I was telling my wife who was there, and then I asked her if she had any ideas for this morning’s blog post.
“You can’t get a blog post out of that;” she replied taking the two subject as somehow linked.
Oh really? I took that as a dare.
Here we go: Bob, Ken (who runs the meetings), Harry, Jeff (the Pastor), Jean-Claude (not to be confused with Jean-Luc, the former Star Trek captain), Peter, Randy (who spoke), Gary (who arrived by bicycle), Mike, Roger (who was late), and myself.
(Should have placed a bet with her.)
That gives you a picture of what it looked like…
I grew up megachurch. The men’s meetings were held monthly on Monday nights and attracted about 200 guys.
Somehow this is more meaningful.
(I’ll save what Randy spoke about for a future post, as I want to be able to share it well.)