When I was younger, my parents would often go on these things called “Shimbangs” Basically, it’s when the pastor/minister visits church members in their homes to meet with them, build relationship with them, to pray over them and their house, and oftentimes to break bread together. Up until I was old enough to stay home and take care of my siblings, we would often have to pile into our mini-van and all go together.
One summer, I remember my mom was visiting many older seniors’ homes since they sleep too early to meet for dinner (which is when normal shimbangs happened) and it’s uncomfortable for many of them to leave the house. I usually strongly disliked going to these shimbangs in particular because 1) it was scary to see some older grandmothers/grandpas who were sick in bed 2) I was scarred from the sterile smell of hospitals 3) They kept trying to feed me weird things I couldn’t recognize
But that day, we visited a special house I will never forget. We went inside, and for one, it did not smell of a sterilized hospital hallway and thank the Lord, she was not sick in bed. But what I did see, I still remember so clearly that if I didn’t have the artistic skill of a five-year-old, I would try and draw. She was an elderly grandmother in her late 70’s, but she was at her dining table and on the table lay her opened bible, that past Sunday’s bulletin (jooboh) a pen, notebook, and a huge stack of the most joobohs I had ever seen. The stack was so huge, you could see all the different bulletin designs we had gone through in the past couple years. I remember that it was a Thursday afternoon because I couldn’t understand why the Sunday’s jooboh was still lying around.
My mom must have noticed my confusion, because she soon explained to me that this lady sits down every week and meditates on the sermon from that past Sunday, looks over her own notes, and then reorganizes them into her notebook and meditates on the Word all week. I didn’t even know where my jooboh was, probably stuck between Ephesians chapter 4 and 5 where my pastor had spoken on last Sunday. Even now, so many times the notes are good and they go in my notebook. But honestly, the notebook is sometimes counter-effective for me. I write down all the 3 main bullet points, want to remember it, but it’s rare that I actually go back to read through it.
I recently thought back on this memory because I have just recently started the practice of meditating on the word, particularly, the sermons that I hear. I realize that they are just seeds planted when you hear them, but it’s only through meditation that those seeds are given the chance to sprout and grow. And in a world of podcasts where I can listen through my iPod, on my computer, through my phone (maybe not now…but when the iPhone comes!), and in my car..what’s keeping me from meditating on it again and again?
What’s the point of a notebook full of awesome sermon notes if there is no meditation upon them…. I want my seeds to grow.
