It is a unique sensation to return to a place that holds childhood memories, a place where your memories of it are from the perspective of your childhood eyes. What once seemed so tall and towering in your memory is now normal height. In such a place, it takes a moment to reacquaint yourself with the surroundings. Surroundings that you are certainly familiar with, but that now as an adult seem radically different from what you knew as a child.

I remember experiencing this upon returning to a place that dominated my childhood. My paternal grandparents lived in a small town 20 miles north of my hometown. It was the kind of place that was perfectly suited for a young boy. There was nowhere within bike riding distance that was off-limits. The local drug store owner or the local gas station, or really any business in town, would let me have a cold coke and something to eat whenever I desired and would just keep a tab that my grandfather would cover. It was a wonderful place where I spent most of my summers as I grew up.

One of the places in town that is a major component of my treasury of memories is the church my grandparents attended. Its place is significant in my memory, not only because of attending church there each Sunday but also because it seemed my grandparents were always working or doing something at the church. Spending time with my grandparents meant spending time participating in the life of the church. Often while my grandparents were busy doing something at the church during the week when the building was empty, I was free to play and explore. As such, I knew the yards well, for I played many games on the grass. I knew all the good hiding places in the building, for I spent many hours playing hide-and-go-seek. I preached some of my first sermons behind that pulpit, pretending to be a preacher when my friends and I would play pretend church.

As childhood gave way to young adulthood my unscheduled summers also gave way to the activities of school and work. I certainly visited my grandparents frequently, but as the freedom of childhood gave way to the scheduled reality of adulthood, gone were the days of summer-long visits and time at the little church. Time clicked on, I grew up, but I found when I had the opportunity to visit the church again as an adult that the church of my memory did not match the church of my present experience. It was striking how it all looked the same yet was so very different from what I remembered.

The contrast between what I experienced in the present and what I remembered from my childhood caused me to think about the significance of the place in my life. As I did, I realized that the things that had most impacted me were the witness and testimony I had watched more than any particular lesson or sermon I had heard. Do not misunderstand me - I am not dismissing the importance of the preaching and teaching ministry of the church. In fact, a church that is not faithful to preach and teach the word of God will not be effective in any other area of its ministry or witness. But we must recognize that the ministry and witness of the church are not limited to the formal preaching and teaching ministry of the church. The witness to these things is often given most powerfully by what we are unaware of in the moments we might think are insignificant.

As adults, we often pay little attention to the seemingly insignificant moments we spend with children. We, in our adult sophistication, assume that their attention to the moment is as dull as our own. Yet, when we return to these places that hold such prominence in our childhood memories, we seldom recall the momentous occasions that made the paper or were recorded in the scrapbook. We would be hardpressed to remember a specific sermon or Bible lesson. No, we tend to recall those moments when our mentor unknowingly shared a nugget of wisdom or the valuable lessons that were shared just by being with and observing the one who taught them to us. I certainly heard many words of truth in that church, but the ones that shine brightest in my memory are not the ones spoken from the pulpit or even from a Sunday school lesson but rather the ones that were lived beyond the pew.

We often are tempted to believe that our actions are insignificant to others. We may be tempted to justify sin by claiming it has no effect on anyone else or that no one else cares. Yet, our own memories give testimony to the contrary. This is why Paul in the New Testament spoke so often of following his example. He knew that how he lived and how the church lived was a living testimony of truth. He understood that the living-out of truth was the most powerful form of testimony to the truth. I think he also understood that we tend to learn with much more ease through imitation than through formal training. Paul was the great theologian of the early church. He gave his life to the preaching and teaching of the gospel. Paul certainly invested much of his energy into the labor of preaching and teaching. But in addition to this, he knew the power of the personal witness of his own life. And so he writes, “I urge you, then, be imitators of me (1 Cor. 4:16 ESV).” The writer of Hebrews writes with a similar idea: “And we desire each one of you to show the same earnestness to have the full assurance of hope until the end, so that you may not be sluggish, but imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises (Hebrews 6:11–12 ESV).”

Our lives and the witness we live are significant in that the generations to come will, for better or worse, imitate us. So what is it that we want to teach them? They are listening. They are watching. What are you teaching?