Sunday morning, I ventured to the church. The streets of Fort Mill were emptier than usual (imagine it- no traffic in Fort Mill!!), and I felt myself nervous about church for the first time in a long time. It's rare that I feel nervous about church - I am very at home standing before you all in the place I feel called to be - so the morning was already...strange.
As I entered the building, it was still okay. It's not unusual for me to be the first one on campus, and I often relish in those brief silent moments before the steady current of interactions begins. In these early morning moments at our church, I love to hear the birds singing outside my window, watch the sun get brighter and brighter, breathe deeply, and still my spirit for the stirring of God within me. I begin my steady mantra- not my will, not my words, but Your will be done, Your words be spoken.
And I've been in church alone many times. As a child, my parents cleaned the church. So after school, once a week, we would go to the church, and I would be expected to dust the pews before I could practice piano in the sanctuary. I have always been comforted by the silent sacredness that rests in the sanctuary, even when no one is there. There is a sense of the Spirit that still lingers like echoes after the business of worship on Sunday mornings is over. And even in its emptiness, the church is loud. It is loud with smells: of burnt coffee and melted wax, of furniture polish and dust, a lingering whiff of sausages from the last breakfast served, or the tart breath of grape juice after communion. It is loud with memories: of bright and loud laughter and deep, enveloping sobs, of voices joyfully ringing and the organ's bellowing tones filling the sanctuary with palpable sound, of gentle, shared moments: of placing ashes on foreheads, offering bread and cup, dripping water across the head of a child. It is loud with the gregarious and welcoming spirit of the church, and it is loud with the tsunami wave of untapped future potential. Even when it is empty, it is loud.
I know some will say this borders on idolatry or misguided theology: of course, as Presbyterians, we believe that the church is far more than a building, that we the people are the true heart of the church, and we live it in our daily lives. Many have said this is a great time for us to be the church to one another, to be creative in our ways of being together without being together. And many are indeed grateful for technology that makes this possible. I know this, and I know that the sanctuary holds in itself nothing essentially special or sacred; it is the memory of what God has done, the present reality of what God is doing, and the future promise of what God will do that makes a sanctuary sacred. But as this past Sunday unfolded, I have to make space for myself to grieve for our empty, silent sanctuary.
I met with Margaret and Susan and Jim down in the sanctuary at our appointed time, and as I walked toward it, the emptiness began to hit me. In 15 years of church work, in all of seminary, and in the 5 years I have served as your pastor, I could never have envisioned a scenario where we would be here, but the sanctuary would be empty on a Sunday morning. This type of emptiness, this precaution against being together, seems to run so counter. Surely Jesus, who touched lepers and a bleeding woman without fear to make them well, who constantly sat and ate bread and met with his disciples, who washed their feet, who spit in the mud, and who became physically present with us, surely not meeting is antithetical to who Jesus is right?
I'm not so sure. I, like Pastor Susan, am proud of, humbled by, and grateful for the work of our Session this past weekend to make the very difficult decision to close our campus. We felt that Jesus wouldn't ever invite some people to come to worship, while commanding others to stay home. We felt that Jesus' ministry shows us the importance and value of all the members of God's family; Jesus' touch and healing to lepers and unclean folks was an act of inviting them into worship, into the faith community, and perhaps Jesus is not calling us to literally touch lepers and risk the spread of infection but calling us to include everyone as we worship from our homes. We felt that if Jesus knew about a virus, he wouldn't put his people at risk. And the same Spirit who connects the saints through time and space, the same Spirit in whom there is no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, women or men, the Same Spirit who connects us whether in body or in spirit, this Same Spirit connects us even through newfangled technology. If caring for the common good of the community isn't the business of the church, what is? I support the decision of the Session, knowing that it was difficult and came about through much prayer and consideration.
So Sunday. As the organ began, as we prepared to read and pray and sing, as I looked out on perfectly polished, shiny pews and prayed that someone was on the other side of that camera, my heart was overflowing with emotion. I was weepy with the grief that we were alone in our worship. I was tearful with joy that this service could still be shared beyond the boundaries of walls. And I was overwhelmed with my love for the church. Never again will I complain about having to shake too many hands or give too many hugs!
So this Sunday, we will try again. I know many of you joined us on Sunday morning, watching while sitting on your couches and sipping a cup of coffee, wearing comfortable clothes and feeling quite at home. And you know, there's something really theologically appropriate about that: if you can't feel at home worshiping God, where can you feel at home? If your heart doesn't find its home in the church family, where can it find its home? Church should feel like home, sometimes comfortable and easy, sometimes prodding us to go out into the world and take that home feeling to others, sometimes helping us to be grateful for what we have, and sometimes prompting us to care with empathy for others. Margaret and I will be here for worship again this Sunday, March 22 at 11:00 am Livestream only. We will be dressed casually and ready to meet you in your living rooms, ready to share worship with the comforts of "home." We will still have all the parts of worship, but they're specially tailored for following along at home (including shorter prayers, familiar hymns, the Lord's Prayer, and the Apostle's Creed). The bulletin will be ready for you to download by Thursday on our website, so that you can follow along on your phone or print out. And from my coffee cup to yours, we will be present with one another in a way that only the Holy Spirit can make possible.
