On Mondays, I brave the day and sit with church folk in our courtyard. It’s been a regular practice--one hour each Monday, sign up through Calendly, and for a while it was on Zoom, but since COVID restrictions lifted in the spring, we’ve met in person, and it’s lovely. We sit for a time to chat and catch up, and I ask how I can be in prayer for them, and what we can do to support them. In the midst of the heat and humidity that is August, I feel fairly heroic.
But I am now desperate for fall’s arrival with its gifts of cool breezes and crisp, blue skies. We’ve been in this new call for a little over a year, and I’m reminded by the locals that there will still be a few hot days to come in October. I almost can’t remember what days without crushing humidity feel like, and I long for it to dissipate on the wings of those birds that are already migrating south. How long, O Lord?
I’ve been yearning for much these days, in particular, for the time when we will move through this ordinary season in ordinary ways, that is, without having to carry the extraordinary amount of exhaustion, anxiety, uncertainty in regular, daily life. And this, on top of all that is going on in the world--from hurricanes to wars to flooding to fires, and the constant vigilance of keeping COVID at bay in our communities. Our young kids are doing what they can to maintain their mental sanity and their physical stamina--we’ve (they’ve) played many soccer and basketball games.
As a church community, like so many, we have gathered together in worship now for a few months-- for us, 15 Sundays, to be exact. After several months of worshipping on Zoom or pre-recording services, it has been a relief. There’s an us, finally. A light at the end of the tunnel. It’s not perfect -- we took reservations for about a month, and there are pews roped off to encourage social distancing, and now we are back yet again to being masked indoors. But it’s not only the inexplicable peace, and comfort, that I feel when gathered with the body of Christ around Word and sacrament, but it is also the quickening of fire, in my mind, in my belly. I feel that pull towards deeper life and love, a shimmering of the possible kingdom-come in our very midst. I witness with gratitude even in the most ordinary moments those glimpses of utter grace, of life abundant.
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