Things I learned at church, Part 4: There is no perfect church

    Consumer North American society has made its way to churches for many decades now. If something displeases a person at the church they attend, there are many other options. Perhaps more so during the era of online church, accelerated by the Covid-19 pandemic, people have a plethora of choices. Those choices include worship times streamed from other cities and other parts of the world. Of course, for more and more people the concept of church or church membership has become completely irrelevant.

   As stated in the earlier posts in this series, my weekends have always been punctuated with church attendance once or twice on a Sunday. For me, church is still relevant. Perhaps a definition of church would be helpful. Church for me is much more than a physical space but the experience of connection with other people who also love Jesus as we meet together to worship, learn together, pray and encourage one another. The very first churches or ecclesia met in homes, beside rivers, or in rented space. They were not visible landmarks, but they were instrumental in bringing hope and wholeness to the community in which they were planted.

   When my husband and I met, we each belonged to a different church. Since they were both in the same town, we alternated attending each church together. Eventually, as we became engaged and married, we felt it important to choose one and become more fully invested in its ministry. Did I neglect to mention that all the people in these two churches had once been members of the same larger group? A heated issue had led them to split. How would we decide? My husband framed the question in this way: "Which group of sinners will we decide to worship with?" This was not about finding the best or the perfect church. In the end we opted for my husband's church, as he had the deepest roots in that community of faith. 

   About eight years later, we did move away from the town where we first met. Our first Sunday we landed in a church of the same denomination we were affiliated with, with the intention of just "trying it out." On that Sunday morning, there was a guest pastor. I don't remember what the theme of his message was, but I know it was based on the Bible. I don't remember if it was organ or piano music, but I know we sang hymns and spiritual songs. I don't remember if we were greeted at the door, but I remember two distinct conversations after the service. When we got home, we agreed: "The Holy Spirit is in this church. We don't have to look any further."

   That was eighteen years ago. Did we find the perfect church? No, we found a group of sinners to worship with. They put up with our shortcomings, as we try to contribute the gifts and talents God has given us. We work together to make things happen that none of us could do on our own, like helping to resettle individuals and families who were once refugees. We forgive those who have said something hurtful to or about us, even when it's hard. We listen to the Word of God together and seek to live it out. We ask about each other's needs. We bring meals to each other when we're going through a rough patch. We know we're not alone.

  Another heated issue has arisen at church. Members might look at each other and wonder, "Which side are you on?" I remind myself that this church is a group of people I've been connected to for more than a decade. We all have a story that has intersected with the grace of Jesus Christ. I'm committed to keep listening to those stories and to an ongoing journey with these folks. It won't be easy. It won't be perfect. But I'm counting on the Holy Spirit to guide us all.  

Getting to Know the Trees

 

One of the legacies my father has left me is a knowledge of trees. He was neither an arborist nor a lumberjack nor a craftsman who worked extensively with wood. Rather, he was a farmer alert to the beauty around him in the natural world. When I was a young child, he started to teach me the unique traits of different trees as we walked along roads and trails, wherever we might be. I marvel at the diversity within the "mixed forest" ecosystem in which I live, where evergreens and deciduous trees live side by side.

I no longer live in a rural area, and I notice that students raised in the city have very limited vocabularies when it comes to trees. They know "bark" and "tree" and "pine cone" and "Christmas tree." Why might it be valuable to know the trees by name? 

When we see human beings just as "people" in general, we don't feel related to them much. Yet, those we've met and gotten to know by name are the ones we begin to care about and pay attention to. In the same way, knowing a birch, a spruce, a mulberry bush, and an oak focuses our attention on a particular tree as a thing of beauty. Each one brings something glorious into our lives--the story of Indigenous people and the ways they turned birches into canoes, the awareness that spruce wood is used in pianos and violins, the mulberries we can pick and sample in July, and the vast oak that provides shade from a blazing sun.

Some new trees I've gotten to know this summer are known either as the service berry or the Saskatoon berry or the June berry. They can be found as bushes or trees that grow to about three times the height of a human. They have a special place in Indigenous culture, as highlighted in this article by Robin Wall Kimmerer.  I noticed the berries on one of my neighbourhood walks; these trees had been planted by the city on the boulevards of a subdivision built perhaps 30 years ago. 

Other than the birds, nobody else seems to be interested in them. Now that I know the service berry, I pay attention to it and am grateful for it in a more specific way than just "Thank you, God, for making the trees." In my suburban setting, my walks and bike rides are enriched by knowing the trees I pass by, one at a time.

Three Liturgies

 About six months ago, I was gifted a copy of Every Moment Holy, Volume 1 by Douglas K. McKelvey. This small book contains readings that can be used as prayers for many everyday occasions. It invites the reader to see events like going shopping, watching a sunset, and moving into a new dwelling as times of sacred ceremony. Everything in our lives can be connected to the Creator who gives us life and breath.

It is in this spirit that I share three liturgies I wrote for occasions that were not addressed in this book. It would be appropriate to end each one with an "Amen," which means "Let it be so."

Liturgy for a "Project"

Where we've been given room to live--indoors and out of doors--we sometimes envision improvements. We desire to bring more beauty and order and design, more welcome and joy.

The vision is grand and the work is satisfying. Grant that when it feels like drudgery or when setbacks and delays push the vision further into the future that you, Lord, will give us patience. Enable us to accept that plans unfold differently than we might wish and with less efficiency than we desire.

Help us to see that every stage of this project is an act of worship. Help us to seize opportunities for working together--with tradespeople, with neighbours who lend a tool, with walkers who show interest and with those who sell us the raw materials we need.

In the mini-economy of this project, give us a mind of stewardship and care over this piece of property you are loaning us. May we be able to pass it on in due time in better condition than we received it.

Liturgy before a Zoom meeting

I'm about to connect with other human beings, but I will not be in their physical presence. I will see their faces and hear their voices, but it will be easy to see them as abstractions.

Help me, O Lord, to ascribe full humanity to each one of them by being attentive and transparent, focused and vulnerable in the conversations we have. Help me to remember people's names and the things they have shared with me before.

Keep me from opening other tabs or multi-tasking. Help me to be as present virtually as I would be physically. Guide the speaking and listening, that it may all be done with grace and humility.

Liturgy for something Lost

Lord, you told parables about items and people that were lost--a single sheep, a single coin, an adult child--and then were found again. Great rejoicing resulted in community celebration.

Right now something needed is lost. You know exactly where it is. Please move forward the people and processes so this lost item may be found again.

It's only a material thing, with limited value, but it's something that enables thriving and service to others. I'm not the only one concerned about a lost item. Others have lost possessions, bringing great worry. Others are unable to replace their essentials. This liturgy is for them too.

While we wait and trust you, help us to dwell on things that cannot be lost, including your promise never to leave or forsake us, the truth of Jesus' resurrection from the dead, and the continued advance of the Kingdom of Heaven.

Revised Post: Avoiding the "Too Busy" Syndrome

  With the arrival of spring and the waning of pandemic restrictions, I hear even more people describe themselves as “busy.” Some are working longer hours because their workplace is suddenly more busy or understaffed. Some middle-aged people feel the pressures of caring for their children at the same time as their aging parents. Calendars have refilled with activities and outings, and our list of things to do lengthens by the day. We need some checks that will stop us before we get to the point of  becoming “too busy.” I was reminded of them again this month while reading Ruth Haley Bartons' book Strengthening the Soul of your Leadership. 

   The first check is my husband and children.  I consider them a high priority, and that means I want to spend time with them.  The way that happens consistently at our house is family meals around the table. We try to eat dinner together every night, and purposely carve out this time when everyone is available.  Even with young adults at home, family meals are still something valuable we strive for.  It gives stability to the entire family unit and shows everyone their value on a daily basis.

   Another check is Sundays. I was raised at a time when stores were not open on Sundays.  We always managed to do our shopping on the other six days and  appreciated the idea of having Sundays off to spend with family and participate in faith activities. Even today we enjoy taking a break on Sundays and make sure it is not at someone else's expense.  Seven-day weeks are a universal part of calendars even though they do not correspond to astronomy in the way years, months, and days do. There is something about the rhythm of six days of work and one day of rest that helps me deal with life more reflectively. Limiting my use of email and social media on Sundays is a practice I need to return to.

   

  My choices of transportation also help me to keep a balanced pace in my life.  Even though my husband and I own a vehicle, I would rather take the bus, bike or walk to local destinations.  Walking gives me time to think and plan; taking a bike is a bit faster but slow enough to enjoy scenery; riding the bus allows me to read a book without worrying about city traffic.  These modes of travel also lend themselves to friendly interactions with other people; they remind me my concerns are not the only ones that matter.

   Finally, I make a point of asking myself, “Am I too busy to help someone?” If the answer is “yes,”  then I know my priorities are mixed up. People are more important than agendas. My radar is tuned to people who may need practical help, and I try to do what I can to be a good neighbour.