A couple of weeks ago, Tom posted a picture of our grand piano being delivered to our new building on Garland Street. That was one year ago, and Tom noted, seems like such a long time ago. Shortly after that post, I was awakened early one morning by the alarm company letting me know there was something going on at our building. I went over and learned that all is well (and I thank Dale for following up on a faulty alarm sensor).
While I was in the building checking out the alarm, I had my own wistful moment about the way we used to gather, the people we used to be – naïve, fearless, we thought, but also perhaps complacent. So much has changed since then.
Things are changing in our national life, too, as we contend out loud with our racist American DNA, and we wonder when the chaos might abate. Dramatic and overdue as that kind of change is, and happy as I am it is finally emerging, I am also coming to terms with the changes in our congregational life that, while not permanent, are lingering in a way we didn’t imagine back in March.
I have seen multiple news stories this week about the rush to “re-open” the amenities of our lives – malls and schools, churches and restaurants, barbers and all the rest – and it makes my stomach tense up. The public health professionals say “don’t rush it” but the president and his supporters are watching political rather than pandemic numbers and telling us that sooner is better than later.
It is true in every aspect of life that a key part of being a functioning adult is learning whom to trust. So I want to tell you that your Woodside leadership is not yet entertaining a conversation about when we will return to our newly beloved church home. It will happen when it can happen safely; we will not rush because the stakes are just too high.
In the meantime, we are adjusting for a longer diaspora than we thought. Remember the words of Psalm 137?
By the rivers of Babylon—
there we sat down and there we wept
when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there
we hung up our harps.
For there our captors
asked us for songs,
and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying,
‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion!’
How could we sing our holy song
in a foreign land?
It is uncomfortable to be “church” away from what is sacred to us, same as it was for the exiled Israelites living in Babylon – away from their beloved temple and land, habits and traditions.
In this way, the banishment from our building and the movement in our land are related: both are inviting us to learn to be new people. So, some things are changing.
As to the national reckoning, among other things, my reading list has changed. Intensified. As you may have deduced from my sermons. I’m trying to fill gaps in my education, especially about our American history and the experience of Black people. I know some of you are too. (My own short list will be forthcoming, and I hope you’ll send yours too.) We can continue to educate each other. I’m also trying to be intentional about confronting racism out loud, not letting bigoted or privileged remarks pass unchallenged; this is how we stand up for the People of Color for whom we are called to be allies and advocates.
As to the congregational distancing, well, we’ll figure that out too. I’ve been reorganizing our website, to make it easier to find the info you need and join in the events you find compelling. Our Worship Team continues to work hard at creating engaging and inspiring worship (and I give them many thanks). Our Care Team is trying to stay in touch, to hear from you what you need. Hunter and I are reevaluating our communication strategies, and trying to grow into all the features that our new Woodside Church app can afford us. Our leadership is casting about for activities that will keep us connected. Pictionary with the family over Zoom? Woodside cocktail hour? Bible study? Reading groups? Yes, all of that, and whatever else may pique your desire to connect.
We do so want to connect. We miss you! I miss you!
So, this newsletter, our website, facebook, our app, worship and fellowship – all are ways we hope to share info and check in with you.
Mostly, I guess, it matters to know that whatever we face we are community. Protests and pandemic have defined 2020 – and may yet define 2021, we just don't know yet. And who will we be? Not the people we were; that's for sure.
But whoever we become, we will not be alone.