Through Stained Glass: A Walk Through My Garden

It does not escape me that my name is Adam. Growing up, I heard all the terrible garden jokes. Folx would ask me, "Hey, Adam, what are you growing this year?" Or, "Hey, Adam, how is Eve?" Garden talk has always been a part of my experience. 

The garden talk didn't stop with my name. 

My grandparents had extensive gardens at their homestead in London Mills. I believe after my grandpa had a severe heart attack, he and my grandma wanted to 'move to the country.' Whether or not the garden was a part of their vision, they always had one, and subsequently would be a part of my vision. 

One of my memories of those gardens is when I was real little. There is a home video out there of me walking dejectedly through one of their gardens dragging a whiffle ball bat crying. My dad, who was videotaping, asked me, "Hey, Duke [my nickname]. What's wrong?" I reply with big crocodile tears falling from my eyes, and a little bit of drama, "Doze tids [I couldn't pronounce my k's] won't let me play wif them." While I'm sure my grandma would have comforted me, she probably would have made a point to let me know that I didn't have to walk through her plants.  I remember their gardens and the way their corn would tower over me and the many jams they'd sell during different roadside events. Their gardens were paradise for me.

I have a garden now. And I've managed to produce some decent tomatoes, okra, and peppers. Eating *fruit* from my own garden is special. It is a miracle.

Yet the plants that bring me the most joy are the flowers. Most of which I didn't even plant. Rose of Sharon's, Trumpet flowers, a Hibiscus plant I purchased at Ace on clearance, and sunflowers--volunteers [and the ones I actually did sow myself]. These little bursts of beauties bring me so much joy. When it isn't so hot out, I like to end my day throwing a tennis ball to Tecumseh while walking from one group to the next. I talk to them. I listen to them between barks from the dog and chirps from the Robins. They are lovely creatures who teach me a lot about being. 

Watching them, I discover daily that they give glory to God by being flowers. It reminds me of that Merton quote, "A tree gives glory to God by being a tree. For in being what God means it to be it is obeying Him….The more a tree is like itself, the more it is like [God]...."

After I commune with the flowers, I take their pictures. I have so many pictures of flowers on my phone, but they change every day. These singers in God's choir of creation teach me about life and death, holding on and letting go. Their lives remind me of what Jesus says,

As the flowers fade, God's love remains. Always.

My flower garden isn't much.

My flower garden is by no means anything compared to Monet's Giverny. [I've been there!]

But flowers like this little one hang out outside in my backyard.

I look out my windows and see this beauty in all its glory. 

Their sunny faces opening up to me and greeting me with joy.

And these will be the photos I return to when the nights last longer than the days. 

These are the offerings of hope I'll return to when the darkness gets too much, and I'll remember what they taught me: even when things are dark, light and love will soon bloom once more. 

At that moment, it'll be enough. I'll know peace--I'll experience paradise.

And visions of my garden will remind me that I too am enough--precisely as I am. Nothing more. Nothing less. 

Take heart, friends. God's love is everlasting. And that is the best news! 

Through Stained Glass: The Blessing We Choose, a sermon

“The Blessing We Choose”

Genesis 32.22-31

August 2, 2020

 

He is called the heel.

Why? Jacob is conniving as much as he is creative, deceitful as he is determined, a bit of a fake as much as he is a person of faith.

Like all of us, Jacob is the product of his family system. We know that "Jacob" means the 'grabber'—in this case, the one who tries to supplant the place of another, more legitimate holder of authority. True to his name, Jacob tries throughout his life to 'grab' his familial position from his brother, Esau -- from pulling him back into the womb to fooling their father into mistakenly imparting the family inheritance to his younger son. Angry and wronged, Esau then vows to kill Jacob, who was ultimately able to flee with the help and encouragement of his mother (and co-conspirator), Rebekah. This history of God's family in Genesis reveals what many of us may find in our family systems: dysfunction, deceit, jealousy, and violence.

Fearing his life, Jacob runs and then dreams at Bethel, and God promises to be with him, even if he is fleeing for his life. Years pass: Jacob gets married twice, has a lot of children a few different women, and heads home. Esau catches wind of this, and this is where we find ourselves today--at a wrestling match.

 Jacob at the Jabbok wrestling with an unknown figure in the night is one of the most popular stories in the Bible. From Max Lucado to Eugene Peterson, this story has been unpacked, repacked, and pondered by many theologians and Christians. We are all familiar with this underlying narrative-- we acknowledge that faith does not come without struggle, even the most celebrated figures in our midst. The story of Jacob has long taught us that we will not get through our faith journeys unscathed-- God will touch some of us, some of us may even walk away limping. Our journey toward God always entails transformation, discomfort, and change. 

I doubt you will be surprised by this….but I do not think this is the entire story. This narrative excuses Jacob and all the wrongdoing he has caused to his wives, Rachel and Leah; his brother Esau; and even his father, Isaac. So, let’s revisit this story, and see what happens just before Jacob crosses the Jabbok.

 As Jacob leaves uncle Laban, he encounters some of God's messengers along the way. He instructs them to go ahead of him and tell Esau to open his lands so Jacob can pass through peacefully. The messengers do as Jacob requested but comes back with the news that Esau is waiting and not alone, either. He has 400 men with him. At that moment, I imagine Jacob's heart sank. His conniving caught up to him, and now, he has to accept responsibility. Jacob has to face the very person and things he has been running from all these years.

But,

he doesn’t.

 Instead, the heel does what heels do and looks for an easy way out. He stalls, hoping to appease Esau with gifts and groveling. He arranges his flocks, wives, and children as shields to precede his encounter with Esau. Instead of dealing with his brother himself and acknowledging his wrongdoing, he puts innocents in the way of harm to save his hide.

               Here is where the story gets relatable. Jacob's past--all the lying, all the hurting, all the deceiving—catches up to him. He becomes distraught, overwhelmed with anxiety and uncertainty, and this is where Jacob finds himself in a wrestling match with a mysterious figure. The question today for us is this: with whom is Jacob wrestling? Is he wrestling with God? Is this Esau himself, or Esau's guardian angel? Perhaps this is a rite of passage, a test of fitness-- or maybe, we find Jacob wrestling with his guilt and shame. While the specifics of who the mysterious wrestler is, the fact remains this—the account of the struggle ends with the author saying that Jacob struggled with God. While he appears to have prevailed, Jacob does not walk away from this incident unchanged; he departs from this place with a new name, and he limps into the future, scarred by the struggle.

Therein lies the good news of this story—Jacob, the trickster, the oppressor, is not only redeemed but redeemable. In tangling with God, Jacob foregoes the sly and indirect forms of aggression that he had cultivated as an adult. Instead of cunning evasion, he fights openly and persistently to get what he most wants—a blessing! Let's not forget, though, this blessing isn't just for Jacob. God can redeem people and even systems that set out to dominate and oppress those who are weak-- but not without struggle, and perhaps, not without some scarring.

            To completely understand this narrative, we must honestly evaluate the true heinousness of Jacob's actions up to this point. Jacob put the most vulnerable people in harm's way—a dangerous situation that could lead to enslavement and even death to buy his safety. Here lies the real challenge for us as God's people—our faith is one that calls us to look out for others, especially the most vulnerable in our community. This passage challenges us to reflect on what we must wrestle with: our lack of concern for others' well-being and our willingness to make others pay for our wrongdoing and selfishness. It challenges us to think about the actions we take and who they impact the most. Above all, this text reminds us of the importance of advocating for those whose voices are silenced based on age, gender, sexuality, and race. 

            To do this, though, takes a type of thoughtfulness, mindfulness, and most importantly, willingness to struggle with ourselves, and with the parts of ourselves and our past ideologies and behaviors that we feel shame or guilt acknowledging. Like Jacob, we must forego the sly and indirect forms of aggression we give and wrestle. Instead of cunning evasion, he fights openly and persistently to get what he most wants—a blessing! Let's not forget, though, this blessing isn't just for Jacob. But it'll be for all of Jacob's family—and all of God's people if we remember what God tells Abraham. We have to stop running and engage in whatever might be standing in our way of seeing God's face.

            The story goes that Jacob eventually makes his way in front of his family to make amends to his brother. Esau, the brother who had so much taken away from him, responds with forgiveness. Jacob offers Esau a present, and at first, Esau refuses, saying, "I already have plenty, my brother. Keep what's yours." Jacob connects what just happened at the Jabbok with what is happening now and says, "No, please, do me the kindness of accepting my gift. Seeing your face is like seeing God's face since you've accepted me so warmly." Jacob had to look Esau in the face to remember that he saw God's face in his struggle at the river.

 Friends, God doesn't see us for the disasters we can be or the mistakes we make. God looks upon us with tenderness and wants us to be ourselves—not the people we think we should be. God does not punish Jacob's conflictive character but challenges it and reshapes it so that Jacob can live into his promised destiny as Israel, which according to verse 29, means "one who strives with God and humans." Jacob's story is a much-needed reminder that there is no one model in the life of faith that we must conform and submit. God entertains all kinds of characters and personalities, even those who appear unconventional or irreverent by our standards.

 Faith isn't always easy. We will struggle. In our struggle, God is with us. We struggle in our personal lives with illness and financial uncertainty, with personal disasters and broken relationships, and most of all, with the suffering of those we love. In times like these, fraught with poisonous political divisions and a raging pandemic that is exacting an enormous physical and economic toll, we have our communal questions for God. Guess what? God can handle our questions—God can handle our wrestling match. 

            Jacob had to do the hard part of dealing with his past and then own up to his mistakes. I love what Frederick Buechner says about this story and Jacob's wrestling match. He says, "what he sees is something more terrible than the face of death--the face of love. It is vast and strong, half-ruined with suffering and fierce with joy, the face a man flees down all the darkness of his days until, at last, he cries out, 'I will not let you go unless you bless me!'

            The blessing we choose is extraordinary. 

            Will we choose the one we think we deserve?

            Or will we receive the one God has for us? It may not be what we expect, but it’ll be one that will leave us transformed, limping with divinity along the way.

 

Through Stained Glass: Choosing to See

“Choosing to See”

Genesis 21.8-21 & Matthew 10.24-39

June 21, 2020

For the longest time, I thought I lost it. Though I hadn’t seen it in years, I remember what it looked like, how it felt in my hands, and I could even remember its faint novel smell when I first opened it up. Looking back, I didn’t engage it enough when it was in my possession, but I remember how I treated it like my most precious possession. Probably because I saw how dedicated my dad and my grandpa were to theirs.

Every morning before us boys would wipe the sleep away from our eyes, my dad would be in his chair exploring his, taking notes and even writing in it—I didn’t know you could do that to such a holy item! Like my dad's, my grandpa’s was worn, marked and tabbed, and opened effortlessly to the truths of Christ’s teachings on blessings and promises of peace. I remember thinking as I held his in my hands as a boy, “I hope one day, mine looks like his!” At the time, I didn't realize it, but now I do. So much of their life and their experience was influenced by the stories of faith.

         A few years ago, when I moved to Lincoln, I found it in a box I packed up about the time I headed to college. Here in my hand, I hold my first Bible was ever given to me—which I received according to the inscription, on Christmas 1992.

         It may not be as worn as my dad’s or my grandpa’s, but this Bible is the one that opened my eyes to the beauty of Scripture. Little did I know that this Good Book would become the tools of my trade.

         For the longest time, I approached the Bible as a book about how to get to heaven. The characters were unrelatable to me. Not simply because they lived two to four thousand years ago, but because to be in the Bible they must have had all their ducks in a row. A task I'm still figuring out. However, as I got older and read the chapters before and after some of my favorite stories, I recognized my conjectures weren’t entirely accurate. Rather, I'm learning how the Bible is a living, breathing book that reveals how the action is here. Life is here. The point is here. It’s a library of books about the healing and restoring and reconciling and renewing of this world—our home.

Indeed, the Bible is the story of God, making God’s home in our world—in our lives. The Bible is not an argument. It is a record of human experience. The point is not to prove that it’s the word of God or it’s inspired, or it’s whatever the current word is that people are using. The point is to enter into its stories with such intention and vitality that we find what it is that inspired people to write these books. We read in the Bible the stories of ordinary humans, like us!

         Guess what? Like our stories, their stories are full of beauty and tragedy, joy and heartache, love, and despair. Yet, in all their human experience, God speaks and reveals.

         Take, for instance, the story from Genesis. Just last week, I applauded Sarah for her faith and tenacity—the way she laughed at God and was the very womb from which the promise of God would begin. Without Sarah, there wouldn’t be Isaac or Jacob, or…you get the point. Yet, Sarah’s story is troubling—a terrible text, really. Especially in the way she treats Hagar, Abraham’s first wife—the mother, Ishmael.

         We meet Hagar in chapter 16 when Sarah tells Abraham to wed Hagar so that he may have a child. However, jealousy soon haunts Sarah’s heart, and she begins to afflict Hagar, her slave. Sarah’s abuse of power becomes so much that Hagar leaves for the wilderness. Now, here is where the story becomes liberating but also problematic. God comes to Hagar and announces to her that she will have a child and name him Ishmael. This moment is significant because Hagar, the slave girl, and foreigner, is the first woman in Scripture God speaks to, and she is the first to receive an announcement about a birth. Furthermore, and more pertinent, Hagar, the outsider, is the first to name God—“So she named the Holy One who spoke to hear, “You are El-roi,” for she said, “Have I really seen God and remained alive after seeing [God]?”

         What a powerful moment, right? A person of little to no power is the first to name God!

         Except all of this happens after Hagar is told to go back to her afflicter—Sarah.

         Which she does. And it doesn’t get any better for Hagar. As we read last week, Sarah gets pregnant after all and gives birth to Isaac. The story tells us that one day Sarah sees Ismael playing with Isaac, and Sarah gets jealous and initiates a plan to safeguard Isaac's power and privilege—afraid that Ishmael will take his true inheritance as the firstborn instead of Isaac, Sarah asks Abraham to send Hagar and her boy away. Abraham agrees, and with little to no water or food, Abraham banishes Hagar and Ishmael to the wilderness per Sarah’s request.

         For Hagar, this is no exodus but an exile.

         She wanders in the uncertainty of what is to come, like the water and food running out. Unlike the last time in her wilderness journey, there is no angel to bring water. Instead, in despair, Hagar contemplates the imminent death of the child. It is more than she can manage. For the only time in this entire scene, Hagar speaks—saying she doesn’t want to see the demise of the child. So she weeps. She lifts up her voice and cries.

         And God hears her voice. Though God never lets Hagar speak, God opens her eyes, she sees a well of water, fills the skin, and gives the boy a drink. Life overcomes death. Hagar sees God, but Hagar also sees the material resources to nourish her child in the wilderness of exile. Hagar’s tragic story ends with her giving Ishmael a wife—an Egyptian.

         The Bible isn’t always full of Noah’s rainbows and Paul’s proclamations of peace. Mixed in the stories of redemption and resurrection, are stories of oppression and destruction. We admire Sarah’s strength—especially since God rescued her twice from Abraham selling her off as a prostitute to save his own life, and we applaud her defiance in the face of the absurdity. But we should not condone her treatment of Hagar and the abuse she inflicted upon her. The Bible, like so many of our lives, is full of paradoxes and people of hypocrisy. I do not believe this takes away from the profundity of Scripture. Instead, it speaks to how God is a part of all our lives—not only the lives of those we attribute with great holiness. Above all, this story reminds us that no one people of faith has a corner on God. God's love and care aren't limited to us and ours.

         In the Gospel lesson, we read the famous line of God’s eye on the sparrow. As God pays attention to the sparrow, so God pays attention to us—especially to the oppressed cries of Hagar, too. God does not inflict this pain on us, but when they arise, God does hear and moves towards us. As people of faith, we are called to do the same. It is essential to look at the “big picture of Scripture,” while also heeding God’s call to render aid in the immediacy of suffering, even if it is only food for the local pantry or a check to a relief organization, or a call demanding action from our political leaders. Why? Because the way of Jesus calls us to seek healing with civility in our relationships – to promote justice, to support the vulnerable, to sacrifice for the greater good, to encourage morality among our leaders and in our social life together. 

         My grandpa was not afraid to underline in his Bible. Most of those verses are ones about living as the new creation. To live as a new creation, we must put the needs of others, especially the most vulnerable, ahead of our own. As a people of the Good Book, we must be willing to see which characters we really are in our favorite stories: are we Sarah, or are we, Hagar?

         Then when we discover whose side God is on, when we choose to see the vulnerable, we will be changed.

         Of course, to do this, we must open our Bibles and read them—frequently. To the point where they become worn, marked, and tabbed. That’s when we will know the stories aren’t about heaven. Instead, they are about home.

Through Stained Glass: Choosing to Serve

“Choosing to Serve”

Genesis 29.15-28

July 26, 2020

 

I don’t know about you, but I am a sucker for sappy rom-com movies.

Yea, you heard me, Romantic Comedies like When Harry Met Sally, The Notebook, Love Actually, or my all-time favorite Rom-Com, Serendipity, bring me a few chuckles, but they make me feel normal. By this, I mean, a romantic comedy is the only genre committed to letting relatively ordinary people — no capes, no spaceships, no infinite sequels — figure out how to deal meaningfully with another human being.

Don't get me wrong. I love Batman and will argue that James Bond is my favorite superhero until the cows come home. However, again, Romantic Comedies, despite some of them having over the top storylines rooted in extreme cheesiness, are ordinary and relatable. They take our primal hunger to connect and give it a story. And at their best, they do much more: They make you believe in the power of communion.

I'm a sucker for a good old-fashioned love story. I'll take P.S. I Love you over Die Hard any day.

In some way, today’s Genesis text is a type of love story. While there are some similarities of modern-day love stories to that of Jacob and Rachel's, some things have changed. Others haven't, such as the plotline full of strong emotions, sibling rivalry, deception, and loyalty—the protagonist doing whatever it takes to win the heart of their desire, which is what is happening in our text today. 

We encounter Jacob, having risen from his sleep, heading out to his Uncle Laban's place out east. As he is making his way, he sees a well, then some shepherds, and inquires whether they know Uncle Laban. They say they do, and, at that moment, the shepherds tell Jacob, "[Your uncle is fine.] In fact, this is his daughter Rachel now, coming with the flock."

Now if this were a movie, the scene would have a doe-eyed Jacob staring blissfully off into the distance, behind him the music would swell, birds would sing, and then the camera would pan to a "beautiful and shapely" [see Genesis 29.17] Rachel, tending her flock. The scene would last a few minutes and would conclude with Jacob doing something to impress her, like, rolling a giant stone from the well's opening to water Rachel's flock. It is a scene that captures "love at first sight." Well, kind of. Okay, not at all. While this is one of the only times we see romantic love, it is still one-sided.

The truth is, the text is kind of…problematic.

Which is a good time to remember that the world of the Bible is not the same as the world we know it today. Our cultural practices today are not what they were back in the Ancient Near East. It is essential to know this since the Bible is often used to promote particular ideologies. We will get to this a little later, but in the meantime, remember—the times have changed.

Without asking permission, Jacob kisses Rachel because she is beautiful, and then he weeps. After which, he tells her, "Rachel, I'm your cousin!" Rachel responds by running to tell her dad, Laban, who, upon hearing the news of his nephew's visit, runs to greet his sister's boy. Laban invites Jacob in for some food, they catch up, and Laban says, "Yes, you are my flesh and blood."

The story continues to get…interesting?

After a month or so of being with Laban, he tells his nephew that he doesn't want him to work for free. Instead, he wants to pay him and asks what Jacob wants. Jacob, who knows how to dream, asks for Rachel's hand in marriage because it says in verse 18, "Jacob loved [Rachel]." He loved her so much, Jacob said he would work seven years for her, to which Laban agreed.

Now, again, it is essential to note the problem with this love story. Rachel, or Leah, or the servant women for that matter, have no agency. Up to this point, they are but objects in the story—they have no voice regarding who they would marry. Much about this narrative reveals the distance between the biblical world and our twenty-first-century context. In Genesis, the patriarchal, tribal society assumes that marriage is first and foremost an alliance between men involving the exchange of women, here between an uncle and the nephew he calls "my bone and my flesh" (Genesis 29:14, 19). It is not primarily a commitment between individuals intending to share their lives as today. Thus, when people make claims for ‘Biblical marriage,’ we might want to ask if this is what they mean.

Jacob agrees. After seven years, he will marry Rachel. And they will live happily ever after. Except, like most love stories, it doesn't happen that way at all. Instead, Laban deceives Jacob by giving him Leah instead of Rachel. Perhaps you wonder, "How in the world did Jacob not know it wasn't Rachel?" Fun question—maybe Leah was wearing a veil, but ultimately, it is unclear as to why Jacob didn't recognize her. What is essential to take away from this story is what happened at this moment: there is a reversal to Jacob's roles—originally the deceiver, he is not the deceived. Wherein Jacob's story, the younger brother, replaced the older, the older sister, replaces the younger. And thus, begins another sibling rivalry in this juvenile family of God.

As the story goes, Jacob works seven more years and marries Rachel. Three times throughout our text today, it mentions that Jacob loves Rachel. The narrator is capturing the intensity of feelings we have for people as humans and how complex family systems can be. The essence of this story challenges us to think more deeply about our lives and how God works even through our flawed interpersonal relations and most ordinary activities. Jacob knew betrayal the way his brother Esau did earlier. The jokes caught up to Jacob, and he learned that some times, things don't happen the way we would like.

Here is the truth, friends. Life is hard. We will struggle through it at times. And while we may do our best to portray ourselves as having our lives together, our lives will be messy. And this story affirms that even in our messiness, God is with us. Even in the complexity of emotions, God is with us. Because let's be honest, the story of Jacob and his two wives, Leah and Rachel, gets pretty messy, which is why the Bible is beautiful. It isn't a book of perfect people who have it all together. Instead, it tells the tale of very human people and the complications that come with being human.

Unlike my favorite Rom-Com movies, this story doesn’t end with the two lovebirds sailing off into the sunset with no care in the world.

For instance, Jacob's singular passion for Rachel strands her older sister in the loveless marriage that Laban has orchestrated to provide for his eldest daughter (Genesis 29:26). God favors Leah as the unloved wife by giving her many children (Genesis 29:31; cf., Deuteronomy 21:15), but still, the tragedy continues. Leah names her sons to express her unfulfilled desire to gain her husband's affection through childbearing (Genesis 29:32-24; 30:20). Only with her fourth son, Judah, whose name is based on a Hebrew root meaning "to praise" or” to thank,” does Leah cease her striving to please her husband and give thanks to God instead (Genesis 30:35).

For her part, Rachel envies her elder sister's fertility, as she desperately tries to conceive (30:1). Through their unrelenting jealousy and competition, the two sisters and their servant women raise a large family capable of fulfilling God's promise to Jacob that his descendants would be as abundant as the dust or topsoil, covering the ground in every direction to bless all the families of the earth (Genesis 28:14).

Today's story reemphasizes the narrative thread in Genesis: that God's promises, power, and presence, will continue. Of course, it will only be carried on because of Leah and Rachel. Even amid complicated family dynamics and a love story that ought to make us all a lot uncomfortable, God's covenant will be continued.

Friends, God is with us. Even as we, like Rachel and Leah, struggle with life's complexity, we are not left alone. We have each other. And more importantly, we have God.

The stories of our faith aren’t always neat. But neither are the stories of our lives. Maybe they are more like soap operas and less like Rom-Coms. Either way, we need to recognize these androcentric texts, that is, it is written from (and primarily for) a male perspective, for what they are and liberate ourselves from the idea that we have to be perfect. If the stories we've read so far in our faith's origin book have taught us anything, it is this: God is praised for God's faithful and everlasting covenant to the very people in this narrative. Gospel is present because God keeps God's promises to a sinful humanity. God is faithful when we are busy managing our lives. God is faithful even when God is not overtly part of the narrative. God loves the broken families of the world.

 God loves ordinary people like you and me.

And it is a love that is so absurd because it’ll never fade away—which might make you laugh and cry.

May it be so. Amen.

Through Stained Glass: COVID-19 Update for July

The grace and peace of Jesus Christ be with you.

 

Last night, the Session of the First Presbyterian Church met for our monthly stated meeting. As the number of COVID-19 cases in Lincoln and Logan County continues to grow, and amid increasing reports of cases in churches in nearby towns, our session voted last night to suspend all in-person worship and other meetings at church indefinitely. This policy will be reevaluated monthly to determine when we will return to our building.

From the beginning, our Session’s approach to the COVID-19 pandemic has been to err on the side of safety. With increasing numbers and knowing that it can take nearly two weeks to show symptoms from first exposure, we genuinely believe the most responsible and faithful way we can live out Christ’s command to love one another is to take action that considers the wellbeing of the community and not only our individual preferences. The decision to withdraw from our plans to return to our sanctuary was not easy, and it was discussed at length. However, as a people whose faith is rooted in the relational love shared between the Trinity, we must make decisions that protect those we serve—especially the most vulnerable.

Friends, I know that this is difficult news to receive. As your pastor, I have been looking forward to seeing you in our sanctuary. But—as your pastor—I cannot justify compromising your safety for a brief moment of normalcy. I’m am proud of your Session and the intentionality they are taking regarding our response to this pandemic. I am also thankful for those of you who have let us know you won’t be returning to church until we are in Phase 5 of recovery. Knowing that many of you are being proactive in your approach toward returning safely to church helped us as we made our decision.

The thing about God is that God loves us—all of us, in any of the spaces we occupy. God is with us whether we dwell together in a church building or use technology to commune from our individual homes. This coming Sunday, we will try something different to see how God can take an unknown place and make it holy. We ask that each person has three or four rocks and a little bit of oil available while we worship together from the comfort of our homes. Knowing that we will be away from each other a bit longer, we will engage in a ritual that will not only connect us virtually but remind us of the Spirit that binds us together.

We will get through this together. I am available for phone calls and visits, as long as we maintain proper distance and wear masks. If you or your family have become exposed to the virus, please also contact me; while we will necessarily be limited during any quarantine, I want to pray for you. Do not hesitate to call, text, or email if you have any questions.

Finally, remember this essential truth: we are the church. The building is but a place in which we worship, but the church is the people—you and me… us! Knowing that we will be worshiping in place a little while longer, I invite us to get creative on how we might be the church to one another and to our community in the coming weeks. If there is ever a time for the church to be the church, that is to embody the love of Christ to the world, now is the time! With God’s help, we will rise above these challenges and be a beacon of hope for our city.

God loves you. Your church loves you. And I love you.

 

Peace,

 

Rev. Adam R. Quine, MAS