What I Prayed for You This Morning

The thing I miss most that COVID-19 has taken from me is my Sunday mornings in the parking lots of my church. I miss my teammates. I miss the parishioners we greet. I miss the other servers who are equally excited to pour into their roles. I feel something when my shoes are on that asphalt, on that gravel, on that grass. Something refills and refuels me through that connection, those connections. The rest of my world fades to blurry peripheral when I’m out there.

So, during our cultural quarantine, I’ve made a liturgical practice of watching the live stream of our Sunday services in my serving gear while in the parking lots where God so often does business with me.

This morning, I was prompted to walk around to the various lots of our church and pray specifically for the distinct populations that fill them. For those of you who attend Blue Ridge, here is what I prayed for you in each of these spots. For those who don’t attend my church, here’s a peek into why the parking lot ministry is so critical to the mission of Jesus.

ONE

I started in the grass. My church doesn’t have membership. If it did, this is where members would park. It’s our server parking area. I work in this lot from 5:45 until 7:15 most Sundays, and I get energized by the contagious fervor of those who leave their cars here. Among other things, I prayed that God would lead their hearts—our hearts—to serve where we are and how we can right now. I asked for us to be led to places and moments of impact.

TWO

This is the back row that we need only for the 10:30 service (usually after the service has already started). It’s the last area we park on the asphalt before going to an overflow lot. These folks are generally in a hurry, trying to get to the service but stuck in the traffic up at the highway intersection. They want an experience but are in a rush. I asked Jesus for this forced slowdown to reach their souls. My soul. In losing the rush, may we finally hear the Holy Spirit’s whispers we’ve been missing.

THREE

From 8:00 until 10:00 most Sundays, this is the truck lot. This is where tradesman park their pickups with ladder racks. It’s where business owners park their Suburbans and Expeditions. (It’s also where large families park their long vans.) I asked that Jesus would help them provide for their employees, but I sat down in a part I needed. “God, help them to learn they aren’t independent, that we aren’t self sufficient. Grow us to recognize and accept our dependence on you.”

FOUR

This is the hill. On high-volume Sundays, this sloped field is our overflow valve for the 10:30 service. It’s typically filled with people outside the Blue Ridge family. Many are college students who have a church family back home. Some are probably consumers and explorers, checking out Jesus from a distance. I prayed that Jesus would bring a supernatural encounter to them, since they are the least likely to participate in online broadcasts or virtual small groups.

FIVE

This back road has made our traffic patterns safer and faster. After we installed it, exit times for our busiest service dropped an average of nine minutes. That’s ironic, because it requires drivers to travel further from the road to get back to it. It dips down below the grade of the church. You can’t even see the building from back there. I talked to Jesus about how COVID-19 is making us take the long way, the seemingly-inconvenient way around normal routines. He knows what he’s doing, and we need to trust in his heart like I ask parishioners to trust us.

SIX

This is where I serve after the 8:30 service lets out. I greet the folks who spill out the rear exits in the ten minutes before we start parking the early inbound traffic for the next service. I prayed for the temptation to turn off the livestream like a Netflix show and walk away quickly. I asked that he’d help us—help me—engage with the content, to ruminate over the moment, to meditate on the revelation.

SEVEN

This is where people on missions trips leave their vehicles so that they don’t interfere with the grounds crew mowing or our Sunday parking systems. Many of these trips have or will be canceled. Privileged Americans will not be confronted with their misappropriated agency, their limited view of the church, the diversity of how Jesus works in different contexts. I asked that these folks would find local missions, shorter sorties to people different from them. May they have the same empathy but leveraged in a different assignment of equally-worthy souls.

EIGHT

These spots are reserved for new or expectant mothers. Man, I can only imagine their worry right now! I probably will never understand how much pregnancy and hormones exacerbate both the current cultural anxiety and their evergreen motherly instincts. I asked Jesus to provide his promised supernatural peace to their hearts, to anchor their souls to the hope inherent in pending and new lives. Protection, too.

NINE

This is where many of our senior parishioners park. We don’t have signs for that goal. We just try to get the word out to those who walk slower or would be challenged by a longer walk. These folks are on real lockdown now. They’re probably more isolated than the rest of us, especially than those of us with social media and FaceTime on the quick-draw. I asked Jesus to replace their fear with purpose. I hope their physical vulnerability leads them to be emotionally vulnerable with their loved ones and that their loved ones step up.

TEN

This is where employees (by our request) park the church’s vans, trucks, and trailers. None of them have any markings as church vehicles—just plain white and tan paint in various levels of gloss or lack thereof. I prayed for my church’s leadership—the elders, management team, and pastors—to have a clear vision and sovereign direction in how and where they lead us. Across the board, they think this shutdown will make our church stronger, and I need Jesus to give me that optimism.

ELEVEN

Whew. This is where I had to pray for my own heart. These 14 spots are filled every Sunday by regulars who’ve figured out how they can bypass our system to park close to the building and away from the crowds. Quick in, quick out. They’ve found the loophole, and we don’t push back. As my college administrators could tell you, I’m the king of loopholes. This pause in assembly is a chance for us all to check out of church. We can say, “I don’t do YouTube or Facebook church. That’s not church. I don’t have to engage.” I prayed for intervention, for prevention of us starting new habits that could lead us away from the anchoring environments sovereignly placed in our routines.

TWELVE

This is where flags, signs, and parking team members direct visitors to park. Most Sundays, I serve here from 8:00 to 8:40. I enjoy meeting people who are new to our church or visiting their friends or family while in town. I’m not sure a lot of people who would be visitors are checking out church online right now. I know that happens, especially in cities. But I prayed that Jesus would visit them through their friends, family, or environments. May they not lose the compulsion to search and seek when opportunity returns!

THIRTEEN

We have handicapped spots in three lots, but this is where I stopped to pray for those with the blue placards that hang from their rearview mirrors. They came into this with a physical disadvantage, a preexisting challenge. This COVID-19 reality only adds to their burdens and the weight of their limitations. I prayed that Jesus would give them commiserators and helpers—adjacent people with empathy and strength. We all need that right now, but I want them to get an extra dose.

FOURTEEN

This is where my teammates and I pray before we head to our respective positions. It’s a raised garden, where tears have watered the ground. Those bushes have heard difficult prayers, vulnerable requests. Those stones crunch under both boots and lowered knees. This is where we ask for engaging love, appropriate joy, and supernatural vision only so that we can give it to someone else. I ended here on purpose. I cried this morning with my hat in my hands. “God, I miss my teammates.” I thanked him for their influence on my life. I asked that when this is over, we minister with the fervor pent up in all of us right now on top of whatever we normally bring to the lots. These are his lots, not ours. This is his kingdom, not mine.

And to whoever has read this far, I can’t wait to see you there, once it’s in the best interest of our weakest friends to gather here again.