Being Church

Daily Devotion for Being Apart - March 14

While we are pausing in-person gatherings, I am sharing a daily devotion email with my congregation. 

- Kara

When I was 18 years old, I backpacked around Europe for a month with two friends.  We were on our way back from 5 ½ months in West Africa and the Canary Islands.  As fun and life-changing as this adventure had all been, I was feeling a bit homesick and road weary.  We had settled in for a couple of days at a youth hostel in the middle of Amsterdam, right outside the Red Light District.  We were about two weeks from coming home; it was Good Friday, and I was craving, of all things, church.

My friends were content hanging out at the hostel, but I desperately wanted to find a church to worship in that night.  I asked at the front desk about churches in the area, and assuming I meant to sightsee, they gave me a map with a couple cathedrals circled and I set out.
I followed my way to one large church-building and found it abandoned, with spray-painted words on the bricks and the doors chained and padlocked.

From there I wandered  through twisting streets as the sun was setting, frantically searching for another church.  I gazed up at the horizon for steeples, seeking out their buildings beneath, only to find them empty, locked and dark when I arrived.



It was getting dark, and I was getting more and more frightened at being out alone at night and on the verge of lost.  Finally, not wanting to be caught alone in the Red Light District at night, I gave up.

When I arrived, frazzled and despondent, back in the brightly lit hostel, I heard the laughter and conversation from the community room, and did not feel like being with people just yet.
I was deeply disappointed, lonely, and pining for something I couldn’t put my finger on.  I shuffled back to the dorm room and climbed up onto my top bunk.
 

All the other beds were empty at the moment, their occupants down in the raucous lounge or out on the town. I reached in my backpack for a roll I had left over from lunch.  And an orange.  And I sat in the middle of my bed, peeling the orange and laying the segments in a little pile.  Then I dug out my pocket bible from the bottom of my bag and spent a while trying to find the part where Jesus broke bread with his disciples.

I finally found it and read it.  

Then I took the roll and I prayed. 

I prayed that it could be communion.
That somehow, even though I was alone, even though I was far away from the people I loved, even though I couldn’t find any community to share communion with, even though I had a dinner roll and an orange, instead of bread and wine, that somehow this moment would be communion.
 

Then I closed my eyes and ripped a chunk off the roll and put it in my mouth.

When I had finished chewing and swallowing it, I picked up an orange slice, held it in my hand for a moment, closed my eyes again and then placed that too in my mouth.

And next to the loneliness I felt a grace and warmth.
I felt like I was part of something bigger going on all over world, this eve of Easter Vigil.
I felt like I wasn’t alone.
I felt like I had gone from being tossed on the breeze like a loose kite to being firmly planted on the ground. Oddly and momentarily secure. 

I might still be swaying a bit, but Somebody had anchored my tail with their foot.

It was a sacrament -  Jesus Christ came close and united me with the Body of Christ – even though I was apart from them in the moment.  I hadn’t wanted to go see churches; I had needed CHURCH. 

WE are the Body of Christ.
Christ is present in and with us in a real way.
God’s promise to be near to the world is given form in us. 
We can’t begin to understand what this means, except to accept that somehow, when we come together in worship - even when we are physically apart - God meets us here.

We are the place. This is the touchstone.  All of us.
All of the us’s all over the world. Gathering together in worship.

All over the world tomorrow, people will be gathering together apart. The Church will be assembled, in living rooms and bedrooms and kitchens, on telephones and computers.  

If we could see a map of THAT, that would be something indeed.

Some things are sinking in for me today about the strangeness of this time we are in.  It's challenging to be in the midst of something without a clear end in sight.  When will life go back to normal?  Nobody knows.

It's hard for us not to know things. It's even harder to know that there is nobody who knows.

The temptation might be there for you, like it is for me, to read as much as I can. It's as though I think, layered under an armor of information, I can face whatever comes.

But this isn't true.
We are vulnerable. We are confused. And we don't have answers. 
That's just part of what's real for everyone right now.

What made a difference for me was preparing for worship tomorrow.  
When a few of us worked to set everything up for us to "gather" from wherever we are- by computer and phone, and worship God together, I began to feel grounded again. 

We need Church.  

Worship reminds us that we belong to God and to each other.  
Our service will be different, but it will also be the same.  
We will share prayers, sing, hear a sermon, and check in with each other.
I am so grateful that we are doing this.  
It will be good to praise God together.
It will be good to remember we belong to God and each other. 

Even though we are apart, we are not alone.
We are part of something bigger happening all over the world.  

We may keep swaying a bit, but Somebody is anchoring us all the same. 
It will be good to feel firmly planted again.

See you tomorrow, Church.



CONNECTING RITUAL:

Prepare for worship tomorrow:

• Find a candle and some matches. 
• Set up your computer or your phone, make sure you have the call-in number or web address.  
• Consider what you may want to ask prayer for, and where you've experienced God this week.  

And, perhaps tonight, before we go to bed, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we might all say this prayer, and so join our souls:
 

Holy God who cannot be contained,
you make your home among us,
between us,
within us.

We are afraid.
But you are trustworthy
Help us in our fear.

We are weary.
But you are our rest,

Help us find our rest in you. 

We are confused.
But you hold all things.
Help us in this unknown.

We are vulnerable.
But you are strong,
and you came into weakness.
Help us in our frailty.

We are lost,
But you are the way through.
Help us trust in you.

Give us peace now as we sleep.
Hold us in the love of Jesus Christ,
now and forever.
Amen.