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.