Silent Heroes

Bats. The little furry flying kind. They seem to follow me. Just the other day one chose our shed as his castle. He ripped a hole through tar paper and moved in. I considered it a felony offense: breaking and entering with a deadly weapon. (Do you know what that guano can do to a person?!) I served as jury, judge and executioner. Yes, I sent him to the Abyss. (That must be where bats go when they die, don’t you think?) I took no pleasure in it, but it felt like the reasonable thing to do at the time.

And, it brought back many memories.

Years ago, when I served as pastor in southern Minnesota, our church was a bat hotel. Every summer a small colony of them would fly laps around our church sanctuary, cruise our hallways and drink from our toilets. (I know this for fact. So does a mother who was attempting to potty train her daughter. Discovering the creature—as it hung upside down from the toilet lid—set the kid back from potty training for three months, I’m sure!) Many a Saturday night I would spend exorcising the sanctuary—not of demons, but of flying rodents. I’d come to the church to finish my sermon and pray, but would spend most of my time with a tennis racket in my hand shooing the beasts back outdoors where they should be.

“Go do your job! Eat mosquitoes!”

I considered it one of my greatest achievements in the church that in summer #6, I finally discovered the bat entrance and exit. Decades earlier a mason was a half-brick short . . . perhaps in more ways than one. Under an eve, tucked in a corner, completely hidden from human eye, long-ago-mason didn’t bother filling in the last half brick . . . which in bat-travel is the width of an 8 lane expressway.

I could tell you numerous bat stories from years 1 through 5—Dan getting shooed out from under the table by the female committee members as one joined their meeting, Bert nailing one with a tennis racket and it hitting a balding man in the forehead before it fell dead to the floor, you get the idea—but tonight there is one bat story that comes to mind that actually leads me to the word of encouragement I’d like to offer.

One Sunday morning, to my horror, I realized that my Saturday night exorcism had been incomplete. As I preached from the pulpit, I spotted a bat behind a window blind three rows back from the organ. It rested motionless by the lower edge of the window frame. As I preached, I kept an eye on the bat and an eye on the congregation. It didn’t appear that anyone had noticed its motionless form. If it slumbered the hour away, we’d be okay. (By the way, it wasn’t the only creature in the room who found this a prime time and place to sleep—but I won’t reveal the other one’s identity other than that he was in about the fourth row on the piano side, head back and jaw dropped. At least he didn’t snore.)

To my dismay, as my sermon moved towards a conclusion, the bat began to move as well. Unlike the slumbering saint, the bat was getting restless. I simply knew that if the bat flew there would be pandemonium in the pew.

Without incident, I brought my sermon to a close. It still appeared that I was the only person aware of our guest in the window. I peeked right before I prayed and noticed that it was now high on the frame. This was not a good sign. Bats climb up before they fly. Unlike birds, bats are unable to fly from a grounded position. They begin their flight with a swooping motion. To move up indicated that the bat was ready to spread his wings and take off.

As I said the “amen”, the organist hit the opening note of the closing hymn and the congregation rose to their feet. I stole one more glance at the window. The bat was gone!

No! Where?

Then I saw Jim. Ever-quiet Jim. No-nonsense Jim. The organist’s adult son was quietly walking down the side aisle with his left hand clasped tightly. Past the worshiping congregants Jim silently slipped out of the sanctuary and out of the building.

I had dealt with bats using tennis rackets, towels, brooms and about any other instrument I could find. On this day, however, Jim had used my prayer as his cover and barehanded the varmint.

He never said a word. Jim’s approach was, “See a need. Do the job. Don’t make a big splash about it. Get-er done and get out of the way.” If it were up to him, no one would ever know. But I knew: Jim had saved the day.

Jim became my silent hero that day.

He wouldn’t be my last.

I want to celebrate the silent servants among us. You are often tucked away in places like tech booths, kitchens, nurseries, tool sheds, prayer closets and copy rooms. You don’t want a bunch of “fuss” made over you. You want to serve, are grateful to serve and are faithful to serve . . . but would rather not have anybody make a big deal of it. You seem to have a satisfaction that arises from the service itself, not an acknowledgment of it.

Without naming you or putting you on a stage with lights (you do hate that, don’t you?) I commend and celebrate you.

Others of us are placed on stages and under lights with mics all the time (literally or figuratively). Our service is inescapably public. We learn to deal with the praise and criticism that comes from being up front or out front. We have our place in the body, too.

But, tonight I simply want to enjoy the fact that the body of Christ is enriched by countless, quiet Christians who serve with humility, dignity and grace. Bless you. I commend you. Jesus knows you. He’ll reward you.

Many of these servants that I’m celebrating are caregivers. You’ve given your lives to care for people (like me in 2008-2009) who cannot care for themselves. Our quality of life would be unbearable without you. We’d die (literally) without you.

Thank you for quietly and faithfully serving. You are on my hero list with Jim.

My story about Jim is 20 years old now. Yet, the memory of the moment only gets more pleasurable with time. Please know that your work—perhaps never noticed—will never be forgotten.

God is not one to forget what you’ve done for Him. It would be unjust for Him to do so. Rather, in His perfect justice, He will remember both the work you have done and the work you continue to do for His people. (Hebrews 6:10 my paraphrase)

John Stumbo
Chippewa Falls, WI