Remembering Hope

Yesterday I was walking and listening to the podcast Unlocking It. Brene Brown and Presiding

Bishop Curry were talking about his latest book (which I just ordered). One of the things they talked about was the importance of community and the pain of not being able to be together for in-person worship. Brown gave these three reasons for why she goes to church (and I am not quoting them exactly just as I remember them so please no one report me). She said she goes to church to sing with strangers, pass the peace with people she'd rather punch in the throat (sounds like a Caroline saying right there), and kneel at the altar to break bread with people she'd never have dinner with. It was like a gut punch...

I miss being in in-person worship with every fiber of my being and for all those reasons--except for me singing with strangers is because I love to sing and I'm terrible at singing, but in-person worship allows me to sing and have it drowned out by beauty. I miss passing the peace, and I miss sharing Eucharist. I know, I know--I do get to receive Eucharist each week and share it with one or two other people. I am not denying that, and I recognize it is a privilege not everyone has. My heart broke when I heard someone say, "It's sad I have to go to a funeral to receive communion." It is sad and unfair and frustrating and so many other emotions. But I was called to preach the Gospel and to administer the sacraments, it is part of who I am. It is in my heart, body, and soul. 

I kept walking increasing my pace as though I could outwalk my pain. The pain comes from not only not being able to administer the sacraments to all but also with the exhaustion of trying to preach hope week after week after week after week. 

Please hear me, I do have hope--and on my good days, it holds me tightly. But sometimes, well sometimes, I hear one more heartbreaking story of trauma and loss and pain and suffering, and it's JUST. SO. DAMN. HARD! 

During the fall of 2016, I was 7 or 8 months into being priest-in-charge at St.Thomas. I had already fallen in love with the parish, but one of the things that sealed the deal was during the month of October. Every week there were two people who would kneel next to one another at the altar to receive. One wore a Trump button and one wore a Clinton. Y'all it was every week. And then these two sat together at coffee hour, shared stories from their decades-old friendship, and every week I left marveling and basking in this visible display of the Kingdom of God. And every week my hope in the in-breaking of the Kingdom was restored. 

Four years later I know those weren't the only two on different political sides who knelt and will kneel again next to one another (they were just the most obvious--you know those great big buttons). I ache to see that visible manifestation of unity. I need to see it. I need to be reminded.

Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit! THIS IS WHY!!!!! This is why we tell the stories from the Bible over and over. This is why we tell our own stories over and over. They become connected, and they remind us. They remind us during the dark times when we can't see the light that we've seen it before even when there was darkness. They remind us that we are not alone--there are generations of people who have struggled and have gotten through. They give us the knot to hold onto when we want to let go and fall into the abyss of despair. 

It hasn't changed my ache to have a full church--to sing at the top of my lungs (okay I promise I really won't do that), to pass the peace even with Kentucky fans, and to administer the sacrament to those with whom I agree and to those with whom I don't. But it reminds me the Church is more than just a gathering of people in a building one day a week. It is people in life, daily life, who share their stories and hold each other through waves of life--the hard times and the good times. It is people who hold each other accountable, encourage one another, love one another, forgive one another, and let all of that ooze out into the world. It is a people of hope.

I just needed to remember so I could re-member.