Little Church on the Prairie: Saron Mennonite Church

          Once upon a time on a beautiful spring day in February, a family walked into a church, and it felt like home.

          This past Sunday, our family was privileged to worship with a family of believers at the Saron Mennonite Church in Orienta, Oklahoma. We were a little confused by what to expect because the building clearly says "Mennonite", but our friends who attend don't wear black caps and home-made dresses as most of the Mennonites in our community do, so we really weren't sure exactly what denomination of church we were walking into.

Bright, bright, bright sun-shiny day!

        As it turns out, this particular church has a rich history, spanning back to it's establishment in 1897 when a congregation of Mennonite pioneers first began to gather for worship. The original church building tragically burned in the 1940s and the current house of worship was built. Then, in the 1980's congregational members began to have some concerns about the Mennonite doctrines, and voted to break away from the denomination and join a fellowship of independent Bible churches, many of which had previously been Mennonite churches as well. Therefore, while they appreciate and respect their Mennonite heritage, and the name remains on both sign and building, in actuality, they're an Evangelical Bible Church with a pastor who grew up Baptist, a pastor's wife (a truly lovely lady named Grace) who was raised Methodist, and members from a variety of backgrounds, who have all come together to form the body of Christ in this tiny little farming community. A body of Christ who truly made us feel at home.

     It wasn't really the building or the number of pews or even the population of worshipers that reminded us of home. It was more of a feeling that enveloped us as we walked through the doors. It was as if we'd arrived at a family reunion as someone's long lost second cousin, and immediately we were pulled right in, introduced to our relatives, and made one of the family.

    As we walked up a small flight of stairs and entered the sanctuary, we were greeted by friends and strangers alike who had gathered to visit with friends and neighbors before the service began. Our daughters were grabbed up by friends and giggled their way to what I assume is their usual pew, as other congregation members began to head towards their own pews, stopping to shake our hands and welcome us on their way.



     The decades old sanctuary was lovely with gleaming wood and windows along each side. I have to admit the chancel,or raised area in the front where worship is led on Sunday mornings, ( Yes, I googled it.) reminded me very much of the little country church I grew up in, and I felt sure that the plaque above the pulpit just had to be a God thing. Just that morning, while getting ready for church, I felt the need to get on facebook and try to encourage my friends to get ready for church as well. In doing so, I urged them to enter a house of worship and lay their burdens at Jesus' feet. Then I walked in and read "Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." I couldn't help but smile and give God a little wink. (I love the way He's speaking to me during this journey we're on!)

       As Pastor Curby (who has been at this church for the past 31 years) began the service, it felt as though he had planned it just for me. (How did he know my favorite hymns?) We sang "Holy, Holy, Holy" and "How Great Thou Art," and the music was simple and heartfelt and worshipful and perfect. (Except for How Great Thou Art. I really wanted to sing all four verses!)

      I also really appreciated Pastor Curby's teaching style of preaching. We delved into the book of Revelation, beginning with chapter 4, and the pastor inched his way verse by verse, explaining, enlightening, and even entertaining, as he revealed the mystery behind this somewhat difficult book. I was engrossed in the message; enthralled by this biblical education, and a little annoyed with my daughters, who were not listening as enthusiastically as I was. In fact, I'm pretty sure they weren't listening at all; although, to be honest, they did pretty well, drawing pictures and staying relatively quiet in the pew beside us even with their friends sitting between them.
     
     Afterwards, no one rushed off. Instead, they lingered and talked. The kids, mine included, rushed out into the beautiful sunshine to play basketball in the churchyard as adults gathered in clusters that shifted and merged, shifted and merge in a kaleidoscope of conversations. Never once did we find ourselves as observers but were caught up in the body, feeling very much as if we were a vital limb that had been there all along.

    Finally, the reunion was over and families began to pack their kids and spouses into cars, shouting goodbyes and making plans for lunch. We departed as well, half our kids in a friend's car while one of theirs rode with us, and we headed towards town and a local Mexican restaurant, thinking how much we'll enjoy visiting again when our Steeple Chase is at an end.