How We Welcome; How We Worship--It Matters

For the first time in a decade I'm not involved in helping to lead liturgy during Holy Week.  It's an odd time and a weird sensation.  It has given me a lot of time to think--

Last Thursday two things happened that really have me thinking. First I read this blog, The Breadth of Traditional Worship.  The author of the blog Jonathan serves as the Director of Music for a United Methodist congregation in Texas.  I love reading him and his perspectives, some of which I agree with some I don't--all make me think.  I am so fortunate to have served with two of the finest musicians I have ever known--Mac Fogle and Eugene Lavery.  Not only are they incredible organist and director's of music, but they also have deep faith and are amazing liturgists (and they both happen to be very close personal friends).  I learn so much from them about music, worship and liturgy. Anyway,  I read this blog and then not two hours later I had a conversation.

The conversation went like this.  "______, didn't even have much of a faith.  Sometimes he didn't even go to church on Christmas and Easter.  Speaking of which--I'm glad I'm an usher on Easter. I'll already be there early and won't have to fight for a seat with all those people who only show up on Easter."  Truth is I didn't respond; I was kind of stunned.  Who are we to judge anyone's faith and don't we want our churches to be full; don't we want people to show up on Easter and any other time? I guess since I was speechless (something that doesn't often happen but that I'm learning is a good practice) I was actually treated to a monologue.

This week there will be a great many people attending church who aren't "regulars."  Will they be welcomed in our churches or more importantly will they feel they are welcome and even more importantly what will our worship say about what we believe--about our theology?  Jonathan writes, "Traditional worship is inclusive" and then goes onto to describe why.  (Seriously y'all read the blog; it's good.) He further writes, "Traditional worship is determined by our theology.  Everything we do in corporate worship should be dictated by what we believe about God and God's mighty acts in Jesus Christ."  (He is writing predominately about music so he continues, "Bluntly, music's job is to serve the liturgy and nothing else."  Yeah Eugene and Mac!)  EVERYTHING we do--break it down--it takes time, but it's so important.

Two great points that I'll try to separate although I think they are intrinsically connected.  First, do people feel welcome?  I truly believe we have to think about whether they feel welcome and not whether we consider ourselves welcoming communities.  Sometimes in an effort not to offend people, I know we do nothing.  I've heard people say, "What if I speak to someone as if they're a visitor and really I just don't know them and they've been members for a long time?"  So?  Chances are if you don't know them, they don't know you.  What a great time to meet one another.

Or, "what if I speak to someone and they are members but just don't come regularly; it just highlights they aren't here often." Here's the thing--if they are members who don't come regularly THEY KNOW THEY DON'T!!!!  You're not telling them something that's news to them, AND if no one speaks to them why would they come back?  "What if I embarrass them by speaking to them and they start apologizing for not being here more?"  How about try this, "I'm glad you're here when you are. Welcome back."  (Because wouldn't you rather them be a tad bit embarrassed than totally offended? Not speaking to them says, "We don't care if you're here."  Back to the monoluge--"plus when you're not here I get a better seat.")

"Some people like to be left alone to worship."  Yep, I've heard that too.  I am not saying interrogate someone or even give them your life history, just speak--introduce yourself--and if if that's too uncomfortable smile and wave, less than 30 seconds doesn't offend even the most introverted of introverts.

And finally, make sure they know what's going on--coffee hour, Easter egg hunts etc.  Don't assume they read the bulletin and when announcements are made just invite all--I personally like "All are invited to join us in the _____________ which is located ________________."  If we're really trying not to highlight who is a visitor, a lapsed attendee and a regular, then don't--just invite ALL.

Equally and possibly arguably more important is what our worship says about our theology.  We all have a theology and there are differences--differences between denominations and differences within denominations.  Our worship says something about our theology--not about our budget or our ability to hire the best musicians or to have the most impressive flowers but about what we believe about Jesus Christ.  All too often we as leaders in liturgy get so caught up in getting it right, in outdoing another congregation, or in wanting to stand apart from another congregation that we forget to sit back and ask the questions, "What does this say about who we are as a Christians, about what we believe?  What does this say about who we are as a congregation?"  I can guarantee that even though some of our regulars may take these things for granted, many of our lapsed members or guests don't.  (And that is not a slam on our regulars--I'm one of them--it's just easy to forget that every movement of liturgy can and does mean something. It's easy to allow the liturgy to be so soothing that we forget it is also supposed to challenge us--to shake us up--to get our attention.  If we don't deliberately pay attention to and give liturgy meaning, people will do it for us.)

An aside, when I was serving as an intern in a large parish I asked the rector, "Why does everyone place their hands on the altar when receiving Eucharist?"  He responded, "I have no idea but it's breaking my back; why don't you find out?"  So I did, and people thought it was the proper way, that it indicated humility, that it was penitential among other answers.  Most likely someone did it once and people over time followed suit. Meaning came from it--the rector was able to use it as a teaching moment in his next sermon. People certainly were more than welcome to continue the practice as their own personal piety (or comfort) but those who didn't now understood this was not a liturgical act required to receive.

How do we avoid this?  Here's a possible suggestion--have some lay congregants who do not serve on the altar on the worship committee to review services and ask the questions, "Why do we do this and not that?" It's a great time to teach as well as to hold ourselves accountable.  It's a great time for us to really think about what we are saying and doing and what we believe. Our guests, our non-regulars, they're paying attention; they may not know what we intend to mean, but they are probably asking the questions, and how they answer them may determine whether they come back.

It's hard work; it takes time; it takes extra effort, but I believe as liturgist as well as the priesthood of all believers we are all responsible for our collective message.  I understand this Holy Week I have a lot of time to think about this because I'm not having to put together numerous services; I'm not totally sleep deprived; I'm not completely frazzled (well not beyond what any mother of four teenagers plus an exchange student is). My hope, my prayer is that I can remember this, that this time this period of what I call my "fallow time" will help me to bear fruit in my next call.

In a priest's ordination the Bishop addresses the ordinand and says,
"As a priest, it will be your task to proclaim by word and deed 
the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and to fashion your life in 
accordance with its precepts. You are to love and serve the 
people among whom you work, caring alike for young and 
old, strong and weak, rich and poor. You are to preach, to 
declare God's forgiveness to penitent sinners, to pronounce 
God's blessing, to share in the administration of Holy 
Baptism and in the celebration of the mysteries of Christ's 
Body and Blood, and to perform the other ministrations 
entrusted to you.

In all that you do, you are to nourish Christ's people from the 
riches of his grace, and strengthen them to glorify God in this 
life and in the life to come."

He also asks,

Bishop	Will you endeavor so to minister the Word of God and the sacraments of the New Covenant, that the reconciling love of Christ may be known and received?
Answer	I will. (BCP, 531-532)
	To nourish Christ's people--I believe that means all people no exceptions--regulars, lapsed attendees, and guests.  The reconciling love of Christ is known in how we welcome and in how we worship.  The ordained made these vows; the ministry of all believers promised to seek and serve Christ in all--regulars, lapsed attendees and guests.  Dare I go so far and say even those who don't attend even on Christmas and Easter?  It matters.

Palm Sunday at Big Boy

I'd say this post is a confession except that Merriam-Webster defines confession as:

1. a written or spoken statement in which you say that you have done something wrong or committed a crime 
2. the act of telling people something that makes you embarrassed, ashamed, etc.
3. the act of telling your sins to God or to a priest

I committed no crime; I perhaps should be embarrassed and there is a slight tinge of it but not enough for the full definition, I don't believe I committed a sin even though I am a priest.  But here it is, our family didn't go to church today--we had Palm Sunday at Big Boy.

Truth is, we planned to go to church.  But this morning when I got up and started waking the children, it wasn't going well.  Caroline really couldn't go because of the stimulation (concussion regulations), Boss has been working so hard and late and has to work again today--he was beat, and William, well he's just tired from long days of lacrosse and late nights studying.  Perhaps those aren't good reasons.  They are certainly not reasons I ever thought I would allow to be used in our home, but I did.  

Chris has been traveling non-stop; Boss has been working non-stop; and I'm leaving tomorrow to visit my sister and then my mother (where I am looking forward to going to Tenebrae and Maundy Thursday service) before being joined at the beach by Chris and only 2 of our children for Easter. (Boss is going to the beach with his girlfriend's family--developmentally appropriate but heartbreaking for a Mama; and Caroline is going to New York with a friend--again appropriate but sad.)  We haven't all been together as a family for weeks, and it won't happen again for weeks.  (Don't remind me SK wasn't here, I try to forget that and just live in Katherineland during these memories when all four children are around the table preferably in matching smocked jon-jon's and bishop dresses--instead we were all in sweatpants, sweat shirts and baseball caps.)

So we decided to go to Big Boy.  I will admit I pouted for a few minutes and said I wasn't going. Truth, yes I missed Palm Sunday.  I love the liturgy, and I love our community of faith.  I miss sitting with my family in the pew something we cannot often do anymore; we could have today.  But I also believe that while churches everywhere were re-enacting Jesus riding into Jerusalem, waving palms and chanting "Hosanna", Jesus was also present around our table at Big Boy.  This was one of those times spending time in relationship was more important than the "rule" of going to church.  Chris and I will spend many Palm Sundays over the next decades going to church, more Sundays than we will spend sitting around a breakfast table with our children sharing our lives, laughing and loving.

So, no, this isn't a confession.  This is just the truth of how we spent our day.  I suspect this will become one of those stories our family tells for years to come, probably every time we are getting ready for Palm Sunday services (and perhaps one our children will swear us to secrecy about so their children don't use it against them) "Remember that Palm Sunday Mama and Daddy let us skip church and just go to Big Boy?" We'll all smile remembering that day and the love around the table.  

Sometimes I Make Grammar Mistakes

Yesterday morning Boss stood in the doorway sharing with me a personal story about a good friend.  He was asking about having the friend over and explaining to me, "Him and I have been talking.." I interrupted, "You mean he and I," Boss's eyes glazed over his face fell.   "Never mind," he said as he began to walk away. "I'm sorry," I quickly said hoping I hadn't ruined the moment but recognizing there was a good chance I had, "please finish telling me."  I guess he took my apology because he did finish, but when he left for school my heart hurt.  I had just done to him exactly what had recently been done to me, and the pain and anger that had pulsated through my veins the night before resurfaced, but this time shame was added to the mix.

I had written a post, very emotional hard to write post (Who Cares if You're in a Sorority? ).  It was a post that stirred up deep pain for me on many levels and for many reasons.  I also wasn't sure it wouldn't also stir up pain for SK, and I would rather drive across a bridge with the windows rolled up and the car full of birds (two of my huge phobias) than cause my children pain. And, I made a typo--"Your" instead of "You're".

Not long after posting the blog I received a text from a good friend.  She was outraged someone had called me out on my grammar on facebook instead of sending me a private message.  I went back and looked and yep, it was there.  I admit, at first I wasn't hurt or angry--just numb.  I wish that had lasted, but the emotion that writing had created could not be contained and this pain mixed with that and hit me with an intensity I didn't understand. Added to the already potent concoction of pain was embarrassment and worse shame.  I did know the difference; I had made a mistake; and I was publicly called our for that mistake.  Was correcting my grammar really more important than what I had to say?  I understand that just because I think what I had to say was important doesn't mean it was to others, but what happened to saying nothing? Was correcting my grammar really more important than me?

I was an English major from one of the top English departments in the country.  I know my grammar--I have been accused of being a grammar natzi.  My daughter, who's in the same English department and ten times the student I was, still sends me her papers to edit.  I spend good hard earned money having William tutored in grammar--I get it's important.  But...sometimes I make mistakes. Sometimes those mistakes are made in a moment of passionate writing or story telling and sometimes they are made because my typing is not as good as my grammar. Sometimes they might even be made because I don't know.

I do believe the comment to me was in some way meant to be funny--or maybe not.  I deleted it (per the advice of my therapist--yep I was so upset  I texted her).  I can't, however, stop thinking. What if I really didn't know the difference between "you're" and "your"?  What if Boss really didn't know he should say "he and I" instead of "him and I"?  There are people, good people who don't.  I know some of these people, and some are the wisest and the kindest people I have ever met.  Would I really want to correct their grammar?

I believe there is a time and place to correct grammar.  I believe there is a time and place to correct a lot of things.  I believe in rules and following them.  But I also believe in loving people despite their mistakes.  I believe that sometimes our choice of times for corrections seems to glorify rules over relationships.  And I don't believe public humiliation for mistakes is ever the right way to make corrections.  (I also recognize that sometimes disagreement can be interpreted as humiliation and that is not what I am referring to here. Disagreement can be transformative.)

As we head into Holy Week I am reminded that Jesus always placed relationship over rules.  Yes Jesus made corrections (John 8:1-11), but never causing embarrassment or using shame. He also did not say rules weren't important or should be completely ignored (Matthew 5:17), but caring for others, loving others--loving those people others saw as less than, not as smart as, or weak--that is what he did--regardless of the rules.   (Mark 3:1-6; Matthew 12:10)

Who Cares if You're in a Sorority?

It sort of feels weird writing a second post in one day--kind of like breaking the rule of one instagram picture a day--or at least that's the rule my children tell me I should follow.  But like Glennon Melton of Momastery (Momastery) has said (and I paraphrase), when you are a writer (or in my case a wannabe writer) you have to write when the inspiration hits you--it's like having to pee and you dance and dance and can't get your mind of it until you just go.  And since my children think I am probably the world's worst dancer, I'm double posting.

Actually, this post rolled around in my head for days, but I put on depends and didn't write it because, well the truth is, because it happened right after SK had dropped out of sorority rush and I didn't want to be perceived as the bitter sorority mama (perhaps another topic for my therapist--my fear of being misunderstood...).  But after writing my post from this morning (I Go to UVA--So What?), there aren't enough depends in the world to keep me from writing.

I was in Texas for my favorite conference of the year (shout out to FORMA!!!) with some of my favorite people in the world.  I was having a great time until...the morning of January 29, I woke up and was on my 29th push up (I have this weird thing about remembering numbers) when I heard a report on the Today show.  Sorority women at the University of Virginia were being told not to attend fraternity bid day parties due to the recent allegations of widespread sexual misconduct which had been reported.  I began to shake and not because of the pushups.  "So," I thought to myself, "UVA only cares about keeping sorority women safe?  Are women who are not in sororities so hideous that certainly no fraternity boy would take an interest in them?"  I didn't say I was thinking rationally--my Mama Bear claws were out in force.  The truth is UVA was not the one who made this ban, a fact I learned later.  In fact, the sorority girls backed by the student council were fighting back against their nationals--it's an interesting argument and one worth reading about power dynamics (Sorority Women Speak Out).  I really hoped SK hadn't seen this report; who was I kidding?

Within an hour my phone was ringing.  "Mama, you are not going to believe what's going on."  I tentatively asked, "This weekends activities?"  "Yes," she replied clearly furious, "The sorority girls aren't allowed to go to the fraternity parties because they might get raped.  Guess no one cares if a non-sorority girl gets raped.  I mean seriously sorority girls have a ton of sisters to look out for them; who do I have to look out for me?"  (This was before she realized how true her friends are whether they are in a sorority or not--hat tip ladies, you know who you are.)  "I know," I responded trying to exhibit the sensitive, listening, mother with a good response instead of the shaking, furious, riled up head spinning baboon mother.  "It gets worse," she continued, "They've also had a safety training for all the sorority pledges but no one has thought about the other first year women, or any year for that matter, who aren't pledges.  Guess we don't have to be safe."  "That's awful" I thought I was sympathizing but really I think I shrieked it indicating the injustice and elitism that I perceived was going on.  I know I shrieked it because I heard an echo of outrage--of course I was in the stairwell walking down 15 flights of stairs which may account for the echo.  (I have to get my steps in, and I have a fear of being stuck in an elevator alone; I wouldn't mind being stuck with someone else, then it would be a party--therapist issue?)   I said, "I think I'm going to have to blog about this."  SK, "I'm sure you are--go for it."  (How did I rear a daughter that could careless what other people think and yet it sometimes paralyzes me?)

Later that afternoon SK called me again, "Amy (her roommate) is also furious about the fact sorority girls were given the training and others weren't.  She's going to address it."  GO AMY!!!!  "I am so glad," I said, "See this is not about all sorority girls or them thinking they are better than you.  Some sorority girls, probably a lot, also see the injustice and elitism in this."  Now I was just throwing it out there.  It did come across as elitist and exclusive, and I suspect SK was not the only woman at UVA who first heard the report and was either hurt or angry--perhaps both.  SK was probably not the only woman who thought people were not striving for the justice and peace among all people and respecting the dignity of all human beings.  (Well she may have been one of the few who thought about it in those Episcopal terms--BCP p. 304-305)  Whatever terms anyone thought about it, the pain of being considered less than cuts to the core.

Amy thought about it.  (She's Jewish--see this is about everyone not one particular faith.)  And Amy not only thought about it but recognized what so many people of privilege or perceived privilege don't, and that is people from the "inside" have to stand up for those on the "outside."  They have to speak out about the preferential treatment they receive and deem it wrong.  People on the "inside" have to recognize their privilege and knock down those walls of exclusion.  UVA students did that supporting Martese Johnson and Amy (and probably others) did it supporting the right to safety for all UVA women.  I am encouraged by so many in this next generation; they seem to get it.  I'm learning from them everyday; they are helping to lift the blinders I have--blinders I wish I hadn't learned to place on.

Both these posts today come from events I wish had never occurred.  But if we don't learn from the events in our world, if we don't recognize things for what they really are than transformation can never occur.  We have to recognize and name it, and then move forward.  We have to stop being afraid of being misunderstood and start being afraid of misunderstanding.  Thank you UVA; you offer many opportunities for alumni to continue lifelong learning; I'm continually learning from your students.

"I Go to UVA"--so what?

I have been refusing to write this post for several days.  But yesterday was the commemoration of Saint Oscar Romero and the Martyrs of El Salvador.  In Holy Men, Holy Women I read, "he preached a sermon calling on soldiers to disobey orders that violated human rights." (p. 286).  It was like a sign--so here goes...this isn't a sermon, but it's the thoughts swirling in my head, the thoughts I'm trying to make make sense.

It had already been a long day and not the best week of my life when I opened a text from SK, "Did you hear about the kid who got arrested here last night?"  I held my breath as I texted back, "No--what"  I really didn't want there to be another horrific story about the alleged behavior of a UVA student; I really didn't want SK to have to deal with another fear about going to UVA, about telling people she went to UVA--little did I know this was much worse... She sent me a link to the article (please be advised, this is graphic) Cavalier Daily--Martese Johnson.  Not wanting to jump to conclusions, I watched and rewatched the video.  I was sick to my stomach--I didn't know how to respond.  And if I'm totally honest I kind of wanted there to have been some sort of altercation before someone started shooting the video--but deep in my heart I knew there probably wasn't.  And all evidence seems to say there wasn't Student Not Belligerent.  But I get ahead of myself...

SK told me that she was going to the protest in Clarke Library that night.  I asked her to keep me updated.  I kept getting texts--it's gotten to big we're moving to X, and then the next, it's still too big we're moving to X.  Ultimately the community gathered in the amphitheatre and I didn't hear from her again until the next morning.  She told me it was emotional and amazing and that she then marched to the corner and beyond.  I was very proud of her and her friends.  (She has amazing friends--I love you Cammy, Fiona, Hannah, and Kathleen and am so happy you are part of the Doyle family!  You may not be ;)) But what I was really proud of was how she thought through not only the specific event but the messages we inadvertently send to others when we don't remember our places of privilege. How she thought through how previous behaviors may have played a role in this tragedy. I'll let her texts speak for themselves.

As I read her text and then rewatched for the upteenth time the video, I saw Martese Johnson himself try to use privilege.  "I go to UVA" he shouted over and over.  Please hear me loud and clear, I IN NO WAY THINK MARTESE SHOUTING THAT WAS INAPPROPRIATE.  (was that loud enough?) If I had been lying on the ground being beaten I would have used any and all connections I thought might help me too.  But I do think we have to recognize that he thought it would help him---it didn't. The anger in me is that he even had to try to use that; no person UVA student or a homeless person should be treated in any way other than with dignity and respect.  I wish the answer to the statement, "I go to UVA" was so what?  Regardless of where you go to school or don't go to school, you as a child of God deserve to be treated with dignity and respect.  Is force sometimes necessary to protect society--probably, but not in this case.  I believe even in those cases dignity and respect needs to be shown.  If I am to live the faith I profess, then I must act in this way.  The Baptismal Covenant in the BCP says,

"Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?" and "Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?" (BCP 304-305)

Each and every time I respond, "I will with God's help." I reaffirm my belief and I believe my statement of belief means absolutely nothing without practice.  SK modeled for me what it means to live that belief each time she gathered in support of Martese Johnson.  Practicing this means considering all the things we do; all the places of privilege we each have AND how we elevate others.

Last week Caroline and 9 classmates got to wear special occasion dress, miss school and go down to see and hear Prince Charles and Dutchess Camilla.  I admit it; I got caught up in the excitement. When she texted me she got to shake Camilla's hand and talk to her, I promptly facebooked it where I got 66 likes and 8 comments.  It was exciting, but I just wonder what it would say if 10 Collegiate students were chosen to wear special occasion dress, miss school and go down and shake the hands of the homeless?  What would it say if 10 Collegiate students went down and spent the day talking to and LISTENING to the homeless? And then what if all the parents posted that all over facebook and instagram?  I wonder how many likes and comments that would get?  I just wonder what it would say...I for one think it would say a lot.

And I Didn't Go to Church

I didn't go to church last Sunday.  There I said it and pause, the world didn't end.  So now I'll say this, "I didn't go to church last Sunday and I wasn't upset by it."  Long Pause--okay if you're still reading this, then the world didn't end, and I didn't blow up in an explosion brought on by God's judgmental finger pointing down at me and denouncing me a hypocritical sinner.  I am of course those things but that's not who God sees when God looks at me.  I digress--anyway, I didn't go to church last Sunday and yet I spent a weekend that was full of holiness and mercy and grace.  I spent a weekend in the sacred space of the Neal's home--my wonderful cousins' home.  I spent a weekend in the presence of God.

I arrived late Friday evening, walked in the door and was enveloped in the arms of my cousins Beth and Hank.  They poured me a glass of wine (and I got the good stuff Beth's not Hank's) and we began to talk.  The conversation was light, catching up on all the family, all the family we all love.  We shared stories of our individual families and those stories joined together into the bigger story, the story of the cousins.  The story that began years ago and continues--The Cousin Story.  We talked about our hopes and dreams for our children--our fears for our children and our love for our children and each other's children.  Townley came in and sat with us.  She excitedly shared about her day and what the next week would be like for her.  She talked about her plans for college and I thought about how the story continues--the next generation is growing into adulthood and we need to make room for them.  We need to support them, love them, and encourage them; we need to release control of them and let them become the people they are called to be--people different from us but still connected to us.  We need to maintain the traditions that we have created, have ritualized, and we need to make room for the new, the new that a new generation brings.  We need to make room for the new that will be different, that we might not understand, but that combined with the old will continue to hold us together.  Our generation is going to have to help each other to let go and to receive the new--kind of like the emerging church.  I saw that last weekend, and I didn't go to church.

Beth, Townely and I went to dinner.  That may seem trivial and mundane, but we sat at the table knowing each other's likes and dislikes--Beth and I both chiming in on what Townley would like on the menu and reminiscing about Townley's life.  We laughed, we talked and the love flowed--the unconditional love that bonds us no matter how much time and distance passes between visits.  In our little corner of the restaurant we were for each other what is one of our deepest desires--to be known and loved--to be known and loved anyway.  In our little booth, we were known--known with all our flaws, all our gifts, all our preferences--and we were loved.

Saturday Beth and I ran errands (read spent lots of time in the car and the needlepoint store).  She asked about situations in our family that she had known about--painful situations, but she asked because she loves us, because she cares and not so she could pass it along on the family gossip tree. (yes we do have that--we are certainly not perfect.)  There was not a hint of judgement in her voice--not a hint of judgement in her eyes.  There was no attitude of "thank God it's not our family" because it is her family, her extended family and she loves us.  It's how we should be as church--a place to come and bring our joys and pains, our fears and challenges-and be supported and unconditionally loved.  A place where our struggles become every one's struggles because we are family--the family of God.  Church should be a place to be our most honest and transparent selves with no fear of condemnation, and yet so often it's not.  But I received that last weekend, and I didn't go to church.

Later Beth and I met up with Hedley one of Beth's oldest (not in age, although I would like to note they are both older than me :) )friends, a friend I have also known for years and thankfully am also blessed to call friend.  (Thank you facebook for allowing us to glimpse each other's lives-to easily connect with each other's lives.)  We sat in a cafe drinking water (yes water) and being together.  We laughed and we shared.  We talked religion, politics, education, poverty--we shared our beliefs, our frustrations, our hopes and our fears.  We shared through our various lenses, our different lenses, and it was holy and sacred and good.  We came with our differences, and we left connected. It was like being sent at the end of the liturgy out into the world to love and serve the Lord--in our own contexts having been strengthened by one another.  I received that last weekend, and I didn't go to church.

Saturday night I sat at the counter while Beth and Hank cooked dinner.  They wouldn't let me help. They served me a glass of wine (one glass of Beth's and one of Hank's--guess I was a little demoted) and prepared dinner while I watched.  They wouldn't let me help not because I couldn't or wouldn't but because they were caring for me and loving me.  It wasn't about them or me, it was about us--about us and what we each brought to the community.  They were preparing a feast for us. They effortlessly moved together in the kitchen while continuing conversation with me. As I think back on that evening I think about when I'm celebrating the Eucharist--when I am preparing the table and how I am the one "doing" it but I am preparing the feast for all of us.  It's not about me, it's about the presence of Christ through and with and in all of us.  As I think about Beth and Hank's hands lovingly preparing the feast for us not so I would be "impressed" by their culinary skills (although I was), but so that we could all be nourished and fed, I pray that when I celebrate the Eucharist I too can remember that.  I can remember that it is not about me and my personal piety but about the whole of the community.  Louis Weil writes, "Furthermore, any practices or innovations that a parish priest might introduce tended to be dictated by the priest's personal piety rather than by the pastoral needs of a particular community."¹  Beth and Hank knew, because we had shared our lives, our stories, that I needed to be cared for--loved and served.  They knew this weekend was more than just a visit; this weekend was about connecting and healing, and they offered me that over and over, but it was particularly seen in the preparation of the Saturday night meal.  Beth and Hank modeled for me what it means to serve, to place the community above the individual, to in fact be a community.  I received that last weekend, and I didn't go to church.

The final conversation of the evening--after the amazing meal was me unburdening myself.  I hadn't planned to do that.  It just flowed--it flowed from the community that had formed that evening--it flowed because of the trust and love grace that was clearly present.  I shared with them a burden I had been carrying alone--information I had about someone we all loved--and they received it.  They received it--received it with love.  They eased my burden--I still have it, but now I share it, and I know somehow we will work through it, get through it, love through it.

Last weekend I didn't go to church.  Correction, I didn't go to a church building.  I did, however, experience what it meant to be church--church in its purest form. I was continually in the presence of God, continually loved with the the fierceness, the grace and the mercy of God through Beth and Hank and Townley and Hedley.  "The fact that these rites are primarily intended as corporate prayer suggests that the worship of God is an act that we undertake together, as a people.  So when we gather for prayer, we become the visible expression of the church as a faith community, and not merely an assembly of individuals fulfilling acts of private devotion or seeing only to private religious needs.  In corporate worship we manifest ourselves as a community united through a shared faith in Jesus as the Son of God."²  These four were for me the visible expression of the church.  I will return to church this weekend; I love church--the liturgy and the community.  I love being part of the church--the tradition, the present, and the future.  I hope to be, I want to be a part of the church becoming all that it can and should be.  Last weekend, I glimpsed just what that is.  Last weekend I was loved, accepted, lightened, and transformed, and I didn't go to church.

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1 Louis Weil, A Theology of Worship (Lanham, Maryland:  Cowley Publications, 2002), 64.
2 Weil, 6.