HOLY THREADS

After the global pandemic, after sharing years of shared ministry and struggle, I am watching dear friends leave the church. Some are just leaving ministry for other pursuits. Too many have suffered severe trauma which rattles me to the core and can no longer abide within an institution that allows such behavior. Most are burned out. Others have decided that the entire story that the church wanders through in the life and ministry of Jesus Christ no longer serves them. I truly feel like a spectator to these things as I am living overseas in Germany without a church to call my own.

I miss church and the routines of weekly worship. It feels like a loss to me to not be able to share fully in the highs and lows of faith within a particular community. I lament it for my kids who think of churches more as massive structures with ornate architecture and some strange depictions of Jesus than a community of people trying to figure out life together.

There is so much fantastic imagery on Pentecost Sunday when we celebrate the birth of this idea known to us as church. There are tongues of fire and violent winds that everyone in that room feels though no one quite knows what to make of it. It doesn’t quite matter that they don’t understand it because it is their experience that is transformative. Somehow, though not immediately, that experience encourages those people to embrace “one heart and soul” and “everything they owned was held in common” (Acts 4:32). They supported each other so much that there was “not a needy person among them” (Acts 4:34) and it was later observed of this group of people feasting and worshipping together that there was something unique about how they loved each other. More recently, after the pandemic and with the rise of Christian nationalism, this history feels forgotten and it is why on this Pentecost I’m reflecting on what the church means to me when the church is another year older. You can read the whole invitation for reflection on Prayer Threads.

While there is a lot that I don’t really understand about the Holy Spirit (and most of the time I think that’s the real gift of this ascpect in the Trinity), I experienced something holy in the church when I was very young.

I came to church on my own. It was something that I chose after my mother died. As she was struggling with her own mortality with a terminal cancer diagnosis, she took my brother and I to church. It was new to us. Sundays were for donuts before she got sick but that choice taught me that this was a place that it was safe to ask big questions.

When she died, I went looking for answers and followed my mom’s lead by sneaking off to church. My dad didn’t go but I carefully planned my Saturday night sleepovers with friends that I knew would go to church in the morning. I had some big questions and I wanted to be in a place where I wouldn’t be told that “everything happens for a reason” or even worse that my mother “was in a better place.” That’s not something you say to a seven year old. The better place is always with the child but I learned quickly that there were places that echoed these ideas. I knew I wasn’t safe there and simply crossed those friends off of my Saturday night sleepover list.

Eventually, I found a church where I was welcome at coffee hour. They allowed me to pour apple juice into the pretty tea cups and hold my cup daintily in its matching saucer and it was in that church that I was asked about my loss. They wanted to hear the whole story over cups of apple juice because they had lost husbands, wives and even children of their own. They had their own stories and were eager to hear mine. They asked questions and gave me space to explore my own.

Every Sunday was Pentecost in that church.

The Spirit gave us that ability.

I don’t want to give up on the possibility of being so “amazed and astonished” (Acts 2:7).

That’s the beginning of my story within the church.

What gifts has the church given to you?