Sometimes getting inside the church building is hard. I’ve talked to a few friends recently about what it takes to collect all they’ve got and bring it into Sunday’s gathering. Some people get to roll in on Sunday, hands free. They’re ready to smile and mean it. Some folks face obstacles just getting to the door.
Like last Sunday. My friend and I compared notes and laughed about how ridiculous it is getting preschoolers fed, dressed, pottied, and ready to walk into church on a sunny day, much less a tornado-like rainy day like we were having. She was by herself, bringing three littles to church. This superhero mom told me it took three trips in and out of the building with the umbrella, supplies and kids ages 6, 2 1/2 and 8 months. We’re talking American Ninja Warrior skills, friends. I had just the one little guy by myself to wrangle into the building during the stormy mess it was a disaster. For me, balancing the umbrella and getting the threenager to steer away from the fun puddles and run with me to the door still meant we were both ridiculously soaked when we reached the door.
Another friend told me how she has to take deep, calming breaths to walk towards the sanctuary. Just walking in that door takes her back to her husband’s funeral. She makes it, almost every Sunday. When I think about the way she has to set her face and open her heart I have a new picture of what strength looks like. For her, being in that space means being present with all the moments that happened there. Sometimes grief keeps an address and its location is right smack in the front of the sanctuary.
Getting inside the church building is no small thing. I don’t care if you are walking into a 200 year old building or store-front sanctuary, not many of us show up hands-free.
If you’re carrying the weight of all the judgements people hurl at your “lifestyle,” then sometimes you barely make it to the very back pew.
If it’s all you can do to curb your criticisms of the Church long enough to show up for one, then sometimes it helps to be hugged tight, squeezed until the sarcasm softens enough to let you hear the Good News.
If you’re reaching for the door wondering if there is anyone else like you, then a greeting of thin smiles and a “friendship register” just won’t cut it.
If you’re juggling two diaper bags, smushed cupcakes, and the the crushing realization that you may never be on time again, then sometimes you need a high-five and a Sean-Hayes-style celebratory dance when you finally reach your seat.
We know hospitality matters. We also know that once you make it inside, there are good, cup-filling, transformative moments with God that can happen. We may even put greeters by the door, congratulating those who arrived with a lovely bulletin and a handshake.
But there’s stuff happening just outside the door. Look around. Getting there is brave work.
Once you get inside, don’t forget to look and see who might be heading in, too. Walk outside with an umbrella and hold the door open for them.
Also from Erin Robinson Hall
Palm Branches
They held palm branches. Little hands, raised high among the gathered people held symbols of peace and protest. We wanted them to walk. We sang along as they enacted the gospel story. Palm Sunday tradition had them marching and laying their branches at the foot of a reasonably-sized cross. The children of our church waving palm branches. We read the scripture about people who marched with palms. “When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?’” A city in turmoil reaches my heart today. One week ago, I was meeting on Zoom with my team, who calls Nashville home. My friend Eileen got a text from her daughter and froze. “It’s a school shooting.” Silence fell. A pause that held the question we parents ask these days: Did this latest shooting reach my child? She breathed and we realized, not this one. A school nearby, down the road. We learned that another team member has family in The Covenant School. They escaped, not physically harmed. Fear, anxiety, and grief washed through us. Within hours, my social media feeds filled with ads for bullet-proof notebooks and classroom walls that transform into bunkers. Bullet-proof barriers for sale, the commodification of our nightmares. The market is ready to respond. Stock prices on guns shoot up, while I stifle an honest Lenten confession: I want the power to protect my family. I need something in my hand so no harm can touch my children. One week later, a walk out is planned. At 10:13 am, the time the school shooting began, thousands of students across Nashville walked out....
I Brave
Deep waters, flames, and fears have come before. They will probably come again. But the narrative I want my child to have, and the narrative I hope to voice continually for myself and for my family is this: Fear doesn’t win. We are strong. And just in case we’re not brave enough, we will be brave for each other.
