Going with the flow

It was a weird afternoon. Some might say a day of synchronicity. Or a series of coincidences. Even divine guidance. I call it flow. I was caught up in the direction the flow was taking me, and I let it carry me. Here’s how it happened.

I ordered groceries from the Fresh Market and thought I had asked for four bananas. I live alone, and I’m lucky if I can manage to eat four bananas before they go bad. Five is definitely too many, which is why I have learned to stop at four. Well, apparently, I ordered four bunches of bananas!

What on earth was I going to do with all these already very ripe bananas? It tickled me and I started singing, “Yes, I have some bananas, I have some bananas today…” 

My singing was interrupted by a phone call. It was Julie, Ascension’s Director of Outreach. She was at ACTC, our local assistance ministry, delivering food from the weekly collection on our church parking lot. There was a problem, she told me. Donations have been so abundant that they’ve run out of space to store all the food. “Do you think we could temporarily use some of our space at Ascension for storage?” she asked.

“Sure!” I said. And immediately, it came to me. “Ask Linda if ACTC would like some bananas.”

Why, yes, they would.  And I was off to deliver the bananas.

In the process of all this, I made a purse call on my phone. Not too long after, my dear friend from Ohio, Donna, gave me a call. We hadn’t spoken since the summer and I’d been wanting to talk to her but never seemed to have the time. How did she know? Well, she was the person who received my purse call. Perfect! It was glorious to hear her voice and catch up. Thank you, purse.

After our conversation, I retrieved my daily mail from the porch and added a few more Christmas cards to the precious pile on my coffee table. But wait. One of the cards wasn’t for me. It was addressed to another house on my street. I thought about depositing it back into my box so the mail carrier could return it to the proper place. Then I remembered that I hadn’t taken my morning walk because I didn’t have the time before an early appointment. And suddenly, I was moving my feet on this brisk, sunny day.

When I reached my destination, I slid the card into an empty mailbox. Then I knocked on the door and stepped away from the house. In no time, a woman came to the door. She looked irritated, which frankly is the way I usually look when a strange person comes knocking on my door. Especially during COVID.  

I quickly assured her that I wasn’t there for nefarious reasons. “You had some mail delivered to my house by mistake. It’s in your mailbox.”

The woman reached into the box, looked at the envelope, and her face lit up.  “Oh, thank you so much. This is the one I’ve been waiting for!”

As I headed back home, I noticed that a full moon had already taken its place in the late afternoon sky. It was smiling at me. And I was smiling back.

Stealing our story

Four years ago, we were in the midst of a nasty presidential election. (I was still living in North Carolina back then.) One of our ELCA colleges, Lenoir Rhyne University, allowed candidates to speak at their campus. I was among those who were outraged when I learned Donald Trump was coming. But then, from the perspective of the university, which encouraged the free exchange of ideas, I got it (sort of).

Still, that didn’t diminish my concern that somehow his presence on the campus of a Lutheran university would be associated with Lutherans in general. My problem was his hate-filled rhetoric that went against everything Jesus. There were other Christians who supported Trump and, for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why. I thought that if they were just reminded of the teachings of Jesus, the contradiction would become apparent. So, I was all about doubling down on Jesus.

I wasn’t the only Lutheran who felt this way. There were enough of us in our synod and neighboring synods, in our nearby seminary and others, including our synod bishop, that we decided to do what we could to bring our understanding of Jesus to this Trump rally in Hickory, NC. We couldn’t let this happen without presenting an alternative message.

A couple hundred clergy and lay folks gathered at the campus chapel that morning as the crowd lined up outside the auditorium to hear Donald Trump speak. Thousands of people snaked around the sidewalks waiting patiently to get in. As it happened, a lot more tickets were given out than the auditorium could accommodate, and the featured attraction was late arriving, so they waited for hours. We held up signs with faith-filled messages of peace, love and justice and sang hymns without ceasing; we sang until we were hoarse. All the while, we prayed our message would cut through to the hearts of those who were listening.

Protesters were on the scene who had a variety of reasons for being there. I wouldn't have called the group I was with protesters. We were going more for a presence than a protest, but honestly, we were as passionate in our concerns about Donald Trump as anybody. Our concern was about his message. My sense of the Lutheran group was that we didn't see our role as political, but more as defenders of the faith. Naively, it never occurred to us that he might actually be elected President, or we might have been thinking in other ways. 

The media also showed up for the event with cameras taking it all in. I didn’t pay much attention to them until after the doors for the rally were closed. Then the shut-out Trump supporters and protesters were left standing face to face. The two groups were headed toward one another, shouting and shaking their fists (among other things). Suddenly, they were only a few yards apart and about to collide. When we saw what was happening, a group of clergy (wearing collars) swiftly linked arms and formed a line blocking the two groups from one another. We spontaneously started singing “Jesus Loves You” and that was the end of the confrontation. It was amazing.

Here’s what I remember the most about that scene. When it looked like there was going to be mass violence, the cameras came swooping in. As soon as our clergy group intervened, they put their cameras down and walked away. There was no story there for them. (Or it was not the story they wanted to tell.)

That moment has been indelibly etched in my brain. For the TV cameras, there was no story in a group of Lutherans singing hymns to an angry crowd. There was no story in a group of collared clergy forming a barrier to violence. There was no story in the love of Jesus standing face to face with hatred. No story there.

At that moment I witnessed how the Jesus story is being stolen from the world I’m living in. It is stolen when the media decides that the narrative of hatred sells, and the narrative of love doesn’t. It is stolen when Christians twist the message of Jesus to fit their own hate-filled agenda. It is stolen whenever anyone rationalizes choosing hatred over love.

Lately, I’ve been watching my son post videos of the peaceful protests he has been participating in. I know those protests are happening all over the country, but we don’t see them on the news. The only protests we see are the ones that show violence. And people come to believe that’s the story. Although these violent incidents represent a tiny fraction of what is happening, you wouldn’t know that from watching TV and social media. There is a story that people aren’t seeing because that story is being stolen from us.

Of all the outrage I'm feeling right now... and believe me, I've been dealing with a lot of outrage mingled with grief these days... my greatest outrage is the way the story we're handed isn't the story that matters. 

That leaves it to people who have a story worth telling, a story people need to hear, to do all we can to present the story that’s being stolen from us. For me, as an American, it’s a story of peace, persistence and patriotism. For me, as a Christian, it remains the story of Jesus, which is the only way through this shit-show we’re living in.

 

All I Got

I haven’t written a blog post in a long time. I feel like something has died within me and it’s difficult to express myself these days. Sure, I can still preach, but that’s not the same thing as revealing the contents of my noodle. It has been nothing but mush for months now. I can’t tell you if I’m exhausted or depressed or angry or scared or what. Mostly, I’m just trying to cope. I’m feeling crushed from the weight of the silent menace that is lurking in the air that we breathe, the senseless killing of black and brown people and the systemic racism that continues to support it, all the people I care about who are caught in the mess of our schools right now, the impending election and threats from our president to invalidate it, the deep political divide between me and people I love. My faith is mightily being tested, and I’m trying my hardest to cling to threads of hope right now.  

I keep thinking about things I want to say, but when I look around, it feels like others are saying those things better than I could right now. Meaning, they are finding words that elude me. I know this isn’t much of a blog post, but some have been wondering why they haven’t heard from my noodle in a while, and that’s all I got.

The luxury of choices

Like most pastors, I’m preoccupied with the possibilities of in-person worship these days. Many of my colleagues are already leading these gatherings, most of them outdoors. With the continued low numbers of positivity in Baltimore County, I’m hopeful that Ascension will offer an opportunity for folks to worship together live and in-person very soon.

While I’ve stressed over the whens and hows of gathering for worship, I’ve come to realize how inconsequential this is compared to the decisions facing so many other people right now. Our congregation can decide whether we will worship together in person. Individuals within the congregation can choose to participate or not. It’s an optional activity and those who are uncomfortable, or at risk, can still worship with us online from home, which will remain our primary weekly worship gathering. But what about the people who don’t have the luxury of making such choices?

My son, Ben, waits on tables in Pittsburgh. When all the restaurants shut down, he went home. Then they reopened before they were ready because... I’m not sure why, but lots of other places were doing the same. Ben returned to work because he didn’t have a choice. Not if he wanted to eat and sleep with a roof over his head.

He told me about that first day back when he waited on an older woman who announced how happy she was to see him working again. He felt like he was being sacrificed. Now, you need to know that Ben is an activist who is thriving in these days of protesting. He would sacrifice his life for the sake of justice, no question. But so someone out for a good time can have a pulled pork sandwich? Not so much.

After a few weeks, the bartender at Ben’s restaurant came down with COVID-19. So, they closed. Every person who worked in the restaurant had been exposed. Ben had to wait over a week to be tested; now he awaits results. And he waits to see if the restaurant will reopen. If they do, he feels forced to return. He's trapped, and he resents it.  

Ben’s experience opened my eyes to all the people around me who don’t have the choices I have about the risks I’m willing to take right now. There are so many other people like him, many of them in low paying jobs, who are trapped. If they want to live, they’re forced into employment that puts them at risk... And I go about my business, barely noticing these people, yet benefiting from their sacrifice.

These days, schools are figuring out how to reopen in the fall. I think about my daughter, who teaches in NYC, and my grandson who will enter first grade. Not to mention the rest of the family, which includes a toddler destined to return to daycare and my son-in-law, who will one day return to the restaurant where he works. Since mid-March, I have slept at night, knowing they are safe. And now that’s about to change.

There are no easy solutions to the school dilemma. Difficult choices must be made. But how many teachers and staff will be in the position of having a choice? How many will be trapped in a situation fraught with risks?

I can’t get past the fact that now we’re talking about children. Of all people, children don’t have the opportunity to choose. They trust adults to make the best decisions for them, to keep them safe. I pray that we are worthy of their trust.

Not One of My Finer Moments

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” I pushed my arms out in front of me with palms in stop! position toward the offender.

The young man didn’t budge, and I was using my outside voice now. “Back off! We have a virus thing going on!” 

Refusing to move, he said, “I know, that’s why I’m wearing a mask.”

“And you’re supposed to distance. Six feet!” I pointed to the large dots marking the floor where we’re supposed to stand. “Six feet!!”

He stood his ground, saying, “I thought you were done."

Did it look like I was done? I was paying for my order. I had not moved on. This was still my space, dammit!

I grabbed my food and headed for the door. As I did, the guy called out, “Talk about an attitude!”  

Seriously? I was the one with the attitude?! Nope. I was not about to let him have the last word. Right before I opened the door to leave, I turned my head and yelled back, “Tell me about it!” Curtain.  It was quite a performance for everyone in the restaurant.

Now, you need to know that I don’t do stuff like that. I will avoid making a scene in a public place at all costs. But not this day. I had had it. I had kept myself sealed off from the world for months. Now that restaurants were open (outdoors and carry-out), I decided to venture out, figuring all safety precautions were in place. But I learned that only works if the patrons follow the rules, and this place was on an honor system. No one in the establishment was insisting they follow the rules. And that’s where it all broke down for me. I would love to get out more, but will only do so in a controlled environment where I don’t have to trust other people to do the right thing if they’re given a choice. Because too many people are untrustworthy.

Even so, I know that I was on my last nerve that day. (This is the part where I whine a little.) I had been having an issue with my foot and was using a walker to get around earlier in the week. It was better, so I figured I could tough it out for an inurnment I had at the church that day. Typically, these only take ten minutes, tops.

It was a hot, humid day to be standing in the sun wearing my pastor garb with the stiff white collar. As I gathered with the family in the columbarium, I just wanted to get it over with so I could return to my air-conditioned home, slip into my shorts and t-shirt. and ice my foot, which was beginning to throb.

“Who has the ashes?” I asked. They all looked at one another and suddenly realized that was a detail they had neglected. No doubt losing a family member during the coronavirus is devastating, so maybe that’s why no one picked up the cremains, I don’t know. But someone had to drive to the funeral home to get them before we could proceed. I hobbled to a shady place and put my foot up on a bench while we waited.

After the inurnment, I had a meeting with our sound-master at the church to test out equipment for worshiping outdoors when the time comes. I walked around a bit, telling him how well I could or couldn’t hear from various locations in the church yard, and then I couldn’t take it anymore. I excused myself and drove home.

By then it was late in the afternoon, and I hadn't had lunch, so I decided to stop at one of my favorite places to pick up something healthy to eat. I stepped out of the car and winced from the pain in my foot but realized I would soon be home, and I could handle the pain for just a little while longer. As I approached the restaurant, I noticed they had outdoor seating at café tables that completely blocked the entrance. There was no way I could get in without coming within inches of the people who were at the tables, of course without masks because they were eating. I tried not to think about it too hard and made my way through the door.

Not many people were inside the restaurant picking up food; I was relieved. It’s one of those places where you walk through the line while those behind the counter make your salad as you go. Big dots were clearly marked on the floor indicating how far to stand apart. The woman before me went to pay for her food, and I waited on my dot until she was finished. Then it was my turn. 

And the young man behind me did not mind his dot!

The rest of the story, you know. Would I have made a scene under normal circumstances? Of course, it’s a silly question to ask. What normal circumstances would those be these days?

All that being said, I was totally embarrassed by my behavior. I could have handled it so much better. For one thing, I could have asked the young man calmly, “If you wouldn’t mind backing up, please, I would appreciate it as an act of kindness.” Yeah, I could have said something like that. Yeah. But that’s not really true. In that moment, I could not have said something like that. So there you have it.

After I exited the scene of my dramatic outburst, I slid into the driver’s seat of my car and cried angry tears. I was rattled by the whole ordeal. Those feelings were soon overshadowed when I caught a glimpse of myself in the rear-view mirror. I saw a woman wearing a clergy collar. As did everyone in the restaurant where I blew my cool.

Definitely, not one of my finer moments. 

The Other Lord's Prayer

The sermon for May 24, 2020.

After Jesus finishes up one last meal with his disciples and looks ahead to what’s coming, he enters into a time of prayer. We get that in all four of the gospel accounts. In Matthew, Mark, and Luke, we see Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. You may recall how it goes.

Jesus withdraws to pray. He’s in anguish and he prays that if it might be his Father’s will, he’d like to pass on the suffering he’s about to endure. And while Jesus is struggling and crying so deeply that tears of blood fall from his eyes… his disciples are sleeping like babies.

Well, that’s not at all how John tells the story in his gospel. After supper, Jesus prays. But the disciples don’t fall asleep. They’re present, and they hear every word he says. There is no anguish in his prayer… no second thoughts about his future.

First, he prays for himself, as he approaches the time when he’ll glorify God. And then, he prays for his friends, for those who are gathered at the table with him.

17 After Jesus had spoken these words, he looked up to heaven and said, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, ² since you have given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. ³ And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. ⁴ I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do. ⁵ So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed.

⁶ “I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. ⁷ Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; ⁸ for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me. ⁹ I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. ¹⁰ All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them. ¹¹ And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.

When I turn on the TV these days, I see eulogies for people who have been taken from us by the coronavirus. I hear a story from an immigrant on a hog farm in North Carolina who puts himself in danger because if he doesn’t work, he doesn’t get paid. I hear from a coroner in Georgia talking about the high number of deaths he’s seeing from the virus. I listen to the story of a doctor from Minnesota who volunteered to serve COVID-19 patients in New York City at the peak of their outbreak. And then I see images of protestors gathering together, carrying automatic weapons in Michigan in defiance of stay-at- home orders. I see people celebrating the lifting of those orders in Wisconsin, crammed elbow to elbow without distance or face coverings, in bars.

There’s always a tension between individualism and living within community in our country, but I’ve never seen it like I’m seeing it now.

Generally speaking, we Americans are big on individualism. We celebrate independence and self-reliance. But that value isn’t shared in all cultures.

If you’re familiar with South African Bishop Desmond Tutu, you may know about the word ubuntu. Ubuntu means I am who I am because of who we are together. It’s a world view that defines our humanity, not by who we are as individuals, but by how we live within the relationships with have with one another in community.

I need to point out that the Biblical world of which Jesus was a part was an ubuntu kind of world. A person’s identity was all wrapped up in their relationship to their community. I am who I am because of who we are together. They didn’t think highly of anyone who would put their individual needs above the community. So, of course, the Biblical narrative reflects that view.

We can read a lot in scripture that admonishes us to value the community as the Body of Christ, where we’re each given gifts for the sake of the rest of the Body. When one part of the Body rejoices, we all rejoice. When one part of the Body suffers, we all suffer. From Jesus, we hear a lot about denouncing our own self-interests for the sake of others. That’s what Jesus is talking about when he teaches his disciples, you must first deny your own life in order to find it.

Of course, that’s not to say that we don’t also have a relationship with God that’s very personal. It’s not hard to find scriptures that teach us how God values each and every one of us. I think of Psalm 139 – “O Lord, you have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up… even before a word is on my tongue, O Lord, you know it completely.” Or Luke 12 where Jesus tells us: “…Even the hairs of your head all have been numbered…you are more valuable than many sparrows.”

Biblical teaching does not negate the inherent value of each individual. But our highest value as people, is in the way we love one another in community. We see that in this prayer Jesus prays for his disciples.

He prays for their protection. Each one is precious to him. Just as Jesus and the Father are in relationship with one another, Jesus claims a relationship with his followers. All mine are yours and yours are mine. In fact, that’s what eternal life is, he says. Eternal life is being in relationship with God. It’s the life Jesus offers each of his followers, us included. But there’s more. It’s not so that they may each go off and find their own way in the world. It’s so that they may be one.

So that they may be one. It’s a prayer for unity within community. And how have Christians done with this since Jesus prayed for the unity of his followers?

We’re probably all aware of overwhelming evidence that would say, not very well. Christians have divided themselves and subdivided themselves so many times that there are more flavors of Christians in the world than Ben and Jerry’s could ever imagine, times a million.

And Christians of these different flavors aren’t very kind to one another. Heck, even within the same congregation, Christians aren’t always known to be very kind to one another.

Right now, there’s a lot of disagreement, and some downright meanness among Christians about how best to handle worship during this pandemic. Some already have decided they will remain closed for in-person worship for the next year. Others have insisted that God will protect them from the virus and it’s full steam ahead. Some have offered Holy Communion online. Others insist that we should all wait until we can gather in person. There are strong feelings about whether it’s right to go into the church building when stay-at-home orders are in place to livestream or record online worship. I’ve even seen heated arguments among clergy about whether it’s better to offer online worship that is live, or pre-recorded. I think it’s safe to say that no matter what the time and no matter what the circumstance, Christians find reasons to divide themselves from one another.

And yet, Jesus prays that we may be one. What does it mean for us to be one—to live in unity?

Well, let’s hope it doesn’t mean that we all agree on everything, because we’ll never get there.

Jesus gives us guidance about how we might be united in this prayer. If you read it closely, you’ll see that Jesus’ prayer for himself and his prayer for his disciples are tied together with the idea of glorifying God. The word glorify here means to make God visible. It’s about making God visible. God is glorified in Jesus. That is, God is made visible in Jesus. And then as Jesus prays for his disciples, he says “Mine are yours and yours are mine, and I have been glorified in them.”

Jesus is glorified in his disciples. In those who follow Jesus, we see Jesus. God is glorified in Jesus. And Jesus is glorified in his disciples. Through Jesus’ disciples, through us, Jesus is visible, Jesus is glorified.

That’s a key to understanding how we live in unity in these times. We live in unity as Christians, as Jesus is made visible—and glorified through us.

And let me tell you, I see a lot of Jesus being glorified through Ascension. Through the ways you’re encouraging one another through emails, phone calls, sending cards. Through support groups on Zoom. Through the signs you’ve planted in our church yard to encourage essential workers. Through sandwiches you’re making for the homeless and the tons of food that’s been gathered and taken to ACTC. Every act, no matter how large or small, is a revelation of Jesus. And God is glorified.

We may not always agree on the best way to follow Jesus, and sometimes we might get it wrong. But we are united in our effort to make Jesus visible and glorify God.

That means we spend time nurturing the relationship God gives us. It means we care for the community God places us in, whether in person, virtually, through financial gifts or by whatever means we have. It means that we’re always expanding our community, beyond ourselves, so that more and more people experience God’s love in their lives. It means we’re ever open to the Spirit working in our lives and in the life of our community, calling us to follow Jesus in new and challenging ways.

We’re certainly faced with new challenges right now. A grand debate rages about whether it’s best to continue staying home to protect our health, or to open things back up to protect our economy. One could argue that each solution is for the sake of individuals, or for the sake of the larger community. Most people favor a solution that allows for a safe opening, one where we leave our homes, but take precautions for the protection of ourselves and others.

It forces the issue for us on what we value and how we’ll glorify Jesus in the world, doesn’t it?

This prayer of Jesus touches on so much that we’re struggling with right now. As we make decisions about how our ministry will look—from how we might worship together to how we will continue to serve the larger community—I pray the Spirit will guide us, so that whatever we do, through our actions, Jesus is visible and God is glorified. 

You know, so often, when we pray, we’re praying to Jesus or through Jesus. In today’s passage, we see Jesus praying for his disciples. And I take that to mean that he also is praying for us. Jesus is praying for us. I want to say, thank you, Jesus. Please keep praying.

COVID19: May 23, 2020 - Come, Let Us Worship

It probably is no surprise to you that I have always spent a lot of my waking hours thinking about worship. Specifically, public worship, the way we do it together in community. Since the middle of March, my thinking about worship has become an obsession. I’ve got nothing but worship on the brain, 24/7. It’s the last thing on my mind when I go to bed at night, and the first thing in the morning. From the dreams I can recall, worship seems to show up a lot there, too.

Online worship has challenged me to the nth degree. That first Sunday, when we had a two-day notice, the only way I could think to do this was Facebook live. So, on Sunday morning, I opened my laptop on the dining room table and spoke to my congregation. The next week, I did the same. But then, I realized that this was making me a nervous wreck. I was so afraid something would go wrong, and I would end up swearing online. (This is something I’m prone to do, reflexively, when things go wrong.) That's when I switched to a recorded offering on YouTube that could also be shared on FB and our website.

Palm Sunday and Easter rolled around and I wanted to offer something special. So, I enlisted the help of a member of our congregation who is a professional. He edited videos that included music and lots of contributions from members. They were both fabulous! But we expended so much energy getting them together that I knew that level of production wasn’t sustainable.

It was back to me. I was getting a lot of feedback about wanting music in online worship, so our Minister of Music figured out how to offer a hymn at the end. Well, that evolved into two hymns. Then we added some gathering music. That’s about when we decided to go to a zoom format, since that would allow more people to participate. (I only realized this was possible from watching colleagues.)

While all this is evolving, I’m learning new skills. I have become a video editor and each week find something new to try. This week, I learned how to edit a video of photos with music in the background and drop it into our worship service. All of this takes time. I’m not just writing a sermon every week. I’m also writing a script, complete with video instructions, setting up a recording session on zoom, gathering extra videos to include, editing, and posting on multiple platforms. I haven’t counted how many hours this takes, from beginning to end, because I’m afraid to know. But I do know there’s a reason why I’m exhausted.

Given all of the above, as you might imagine, I’ve been sensitive to criticism. However, when it’s offered constructively, I appreciate the feedback. (Since I have no idea how people are experiencing this.) As a result, our online worship continues to evolve. Next week I plan to record my sermon from the worship space at Ascension, and we’ll be adding more participants and more liturgy. As exhausting as online worship is for me, I’ve also found it energizing as it’s tapped into my creativity in unexpected ways. (Less than three months ago, I didn’t know how to do any of this stuff!)

But still, it’s not in-person worship. Along with many other people, in the beginning, I wondered if we’d be back in the building for Easter. It didn’t happen. That’s when I thought, whenever we’re back together, we’ll celebrate Easter just as we would have on Easter Sunday. I figured that after we all went home for a while, we’d all be coming back. In time, I realized that wasn’t going to happen, either. Our return to the building wouldn’t be any time soon. And when it did happen, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

At Ascension, we've assembled a Safe Reopening Task Force that is working on a plan that will include a protocol for returning to in-person worship. As I have been reading guidelines and recommendations from a variety of sources, I have a picture of what our return to worship in the building will look like. Granted, I’ve been wrong about a lot of things so far, so I may be wrong about this. But here’s what I’m seeing…

Given the size and configuration of Ascension’s worship space, we will be lucky if forty people will be able to worship at once (out of 566 active members). Having multiple worship services on a Sunday leaves me wondering how the space could be adequately cleaned and aired out between services. (By-the-way, air circulation in this space is a great concern and we cannot open the windows.) So I suspect it might be best to only hold one service. Well then, how do we decide who comes to worship? Roughly half of our people should not be coming, from those who are over a certain age (which keeps shifting), to those who have underlying conditions. Small children may also be excluded because it will be hard for them to observe social distancing rules. Even with all those limitations, that still leaves a lot more than forty people who could gather for in-person worship.

Let’s assume you’re one of the lucky people who gets to come to the building for worship. It may mean signing a waiver and/or making a reservation. (Seriously, what do we do with the people we can’t accommodate in our space?) When you arrive, someone may take your temperature at the door. You will be required to have a face covering. Although there may be no one to greet you, someone will definitely need to police you. (Who will we get to do that thankless task?) There will be hand sanitizer that you will be expected to use upon entering. When you get to your pew, you will be spaced at an appropriate distance from others. (I imagine we will have to tape the areas off.) There will be nothing in your pews, like hymnals. Nothing will be passed from person to person, like offering plates. There will be no singing. Limited congregational speaking (No Creed, no Lord’s Prayer). Certainly, no passing the peace or touching, or even getting close enough to one another to do much more than nod. Holy Communion is a real problem on a lot of levels. The biggest problem I can see – how do you take Holy Communion with a face mask on? There may be ways around that, like prepackaged elements that you take with you as you leave, but again, not really what we’ve all been longing for. After worship, there will be no greeting the pastor at the door, no coffee hour, no visiting. You just go home. Somehow, I think that when people long to worship together in person again, this isn’t what they have in mind. And yet, to be safe, this is what it may very well look like.

And then there’s the whole issue of me, personally. I am of the age where I should be staying home, and I have an underlying condition. If I were not the pastor, I would not put myself through what I described in the above paragraph. It wouldn’t be worth the risk. I would satisfy myself with the many online worship opportunities available to me. But, as the pastor, I think I can handle this safely when the time comes. I envision myself showing up on Sunday morning, entering the back of the chancel, keeping a safe distance from others in the chancel, and doing my thing, with all its limitations. Then when it’s all over, I will exit the same way I entered. And I will go to my car and try to be careful driving home while tears are streaming down my face.

Can you see why I fret over this? Can you understand why it occupies so much of my mind these days? I only long for one thing more than I long to worship in-person with my faith community at Ascension, and that’s to feel the warmth of my grandsons' little bodies as I hug them again. But my longing will remain just that until I can be sure that the people I love will be safe. Until any risk that we take will be minimal, and worth it in the end.

In the meanwhile, I thank God every day that we have the gift of the internet during this pandemic. I can still be with my grandsons. I can still be with God’s beloved people of Ascension. Certainly, not the way I’d like to be, but I’ll take it.