239 Days

239 days.

34 weeks.

5,736 hours.

344,160 minutes.

20,649,600 seconds.

65.30% of 2020.

That is the amount of time between March 8, 2020, the last time I attended a Sunday worship service inside my building, and November 1, 2020, the next time I attended a Sunday worship service inside my building.

(I did the calculations on timeanddate.com.  So the hours, minutes, and seconds are give and take a few.)

We knew, on March 8th, that the pandemic was already here.  We just didn't know how bad it was going to get.  

We elected not to meet as a congregation out of a desire to stay healthy and protect others.  

We had tried to come back together in August, but our leaders canceled plans because of a spike in the COVID numbers. 

In the absence of being together, our tech team pulled together a virtual lobby, where we could "meet" without meeting.  

Our worship team filmed videos of their singing so we could sing with them.  

Our preacher, and others, filmed videos of their sermons.  

My ladies' Bible study communicated with each other via text message.

My small group held their meetings through Zoom.  

And thanks to Zoom, I got (and still get) to participate in my best friend's ladies Bible class in another state. 

But it was not the same.

Yesterday, I realized it was just not the same.

Yesterday, it was still "not the same".  We needed to register before we came to church (I'm guessing to manage the number of people in the building).  We needed to wear masks.  Inside, we picked up a portable communion set (a cellophane-wrapped wafer and vial of juice; and I am sorry, but that wafer tastes like foam!) and then went into an auditorium where every other row had a sign saying, "Don't sit here."  

We were reminded to "stay six feet apart" from people you didn't come to church with.  

And at the end, we were dismissed section by section and encouraged to "go fellowship in the parking lot".  (I felt like I was back in second grade and being dismissed by a teacher after lunch. :-) ) 

No, that was not the same.

But some things were still the same.

In spite of COVID, we came together, in a building, on Sunday.

We elbow-bumped, fist-bumped, air-hugged, jazz handed, and said how glad we were to be back.  

We sang, we raised hands, we praised God.

And we listened to our preacher remind us, before this election, to treat others as we would want to be treated.  We were reminded to "accept one another as God has accepted you".  

My son "made his rounds", as he does on Sundays.  We give him a dollar every week to put in the offering plate, and since we have not be able to attend, he's had no place to put his money.  Yesterday, he took all 34 dollars he'd saved since we had to stop meeting and contributed them.  

Maybe this is just for a little while.  Maybe we will have to stop meeting again in the building if the COVID numbers spike.  

I hope not and pray not.  

Because 239 days, 34 weeks, 5,736 hours, 344,160 minutes, 20,649,600 seconds, and 65.30% of 2020 is just too long to be apart.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Unaccidental coincidences

I was supposed to go on a retreat this past weekend with members of my church's praise team.

I was supposed to go to the Shocco Springs Conference Center in Talladega, Alabama, (a Baptist retreat center) and spend Friday evening, Saturday, and Sunday morning in quiet retreat, along with sessions with our worship minister and his guests, musicians that he's been acquainted with over the years.

I was supposed to learn about worship from our worship minister and from the guests he invited.

Well . . .

I did go on a retreat this past weekend with members of my church's praise team.

I did go to the Shocco Springs Conference Center in Talladega, Alabama.

I did spend time in quiet retreat.

I did spend time in sessions with our worship minister and his guests.

I did learn about worship.

It just did not go according to the plans we made.

Our best laid plans of mice and men started going "gang aft agley" when our worship minster told us on Saturday morning that a group of FEMA workers en route to Houston (to help with those affected by Hurricane Harvey) had been told to stop because it was likely they'd be needed in Florida (to help with Floridians affected by Hurricane Irma).  A man from FEMA heard us singing.  They found out that we were going to have a worship service that night.  Could the people from FEMA join us?

Of course!

I told our worship minister afterwards, "It is no accident that this happened."

Little did I know.

That evening -- after I'd spent the afternoon listening to practical tips about singing and vocalizing from the people acquainted with our worship minister, and after I'd spent some time walking around the retreat grounds, and after I'd spent an hour in fun singing with some of my praise team friends (after which I was later told I'd participated in a "vocal jam session") -- I went to dinner.  (Side note: They feed you well at retreat centers.)

And during dinner, a praise team member met a minister, Jose Lebron, who'd just led a six-car caravan out of Naples, Florida (which, as I write this, has just suffered the onslaught of Irma.)  He's a Lutheran who pastors the Emmanuel Community Church.  He and his congregants are Hispanic.

Jose told us that he'd gone looking for a place to evacuate to, and providence led him and other members to Shocco Springs.

So we invited them to worship with us that evening and the next morning.

What you saw in those two worship services was summed up by our worship minister as "a picture of heaven".

A group of Church of Christ members, together with members from a community church led by a Lutheran; most of whom spoke English, several of who spoke Spanish, a few who spoke both; kids ranging from months old to mid-teens, all singing together to the tune of a drum and three guitars.

We sang songs of comfort and of hope.  We reminded each other that God had not forgotten us.  We praised God because we knew He was there.  I gave my limited Spanish a workout and called on Google Translate during a couple of difficult moments.  I played peek-a-boo with a three-year-old girl:  "Donde esta?  Aqui!"

We took communion together.  And we prayed.

Saturday night, several praise team members made a run to Walmart, where they bought several hundred dollars' worth of gift cards and presented them to Jose on Sunday morning.  He accepted them with a visible tremor in his voice.

We sang "The Lord Bless You And Keep You" to them at the end.

And then we hugged good-bye and wished them "Dios te bendiga" (God bless you).

There's a saying that "A coincidence is a miracle in which God chooses to remain anonymous."  I don't believe it was a mere coincidence or an accident that we "just happened" to be there on the same weekend.  We planned the retreat.  We planned the location of the retreat.  We didn't plan Irma.  Nor did a group of refugees plan to arrive on the same weekend that we planned to.  Call it an accident, call it a coincidence.  I, for one, do not believe it was an accident -- an "unaccidental coincidence", perhaps you could say.

We in Christendom are divided.  We have legitimate concerns about doctrine and practice.  We also bicker and fight over trivial things.

But, for a night and a day, a group from a Church of Christ connected with a group from a Lutheran community church at a Baptist conference center; and for that moment, denominational concerns fell by the wayside.

We were simply a group that gathered together in worship and praise to a God we followed, a God we loved, and a God we worshipped.  We were simply a group that, for that period of time, chose to "love one another" because God first loved us.

Perhaps God does his best work in these unaccidental "coincidences".

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Worship Wednesday: He be jammin'!

(Note:  For those of you who may have stumbled across this entry, I'm part of a Church of Christ that has recently added an instrumental service.  There are a lot of very strong opinions about this subject.  This blog entry isn't meant to add to that debate; rather, it's to describe the reaction to one person's worship experience.  If people want to debate the instrumental music topic, there are other, better places to do so than here.)

Sunday, our church had its first regular instrumental service.  It was Easter, an appropriate day to add a new service.  We had over 600 people attend that service; we ran out of communion elements, and some people couldn't see.

Frank and I were not two of the 600 people.  I went to a worship night we had at church before we started the instrumental service, and it was LOUD.  Frank also has chronic ringing of the ears, and at a certain point, he becomes unable to hear.  So we elected not to stay.  Our non-instrumental service is at 8:45, Bible classes are at 10 a.m., and the instrumental service is at 11 a.m.

Matthew, however, decided he wanted to.  The instrumental service takes place in the youth center, so he was already there, front row center.  I asked Matthew if he wanted to stay; he said yes, so Frank and I went up the street, had lunch, and then came back to the building.

I caught the end of the service . . . and there, on the front row, in the middle, stood my son, jamming away on air guitar!

I asked Matthew if he had a good time and he said yes.  The main thrust of his conversation was about the lights.  Our youth center was renovated to put in a new sound/light system.  Matthew is comparing the youth center to a game show set, with all its lights and sounds.  (The youth center is not quite that elaborate.)

Tuesday, before my ladies' group got started, we talked about the service, and I mentioned that Matthew was playing air guitar . . . and one of the other women there said, "We are still talking about that in my family."  She went on to explain that they admired Matthew's uninhibited worship.

To be honest, I don't think Matthew was worshiping as much as he was just plain having fun playing air guitar.  Although, I will be the first person to say that he may understand more than I give him credit for.

But what is it with us that we fear just "throwing ourselves open", in a sense, when we do worship God?  Why do we feel that we have to be so formal with Him, with our "thees" and "thous"?  I know that we're commanded to do things in "decency and order" . . . but I don't think that means to worship God only with head bowed, eyes closed, sitting up straight in a church pew.

I once heard worship being described as "three cheers for God".  When a crowd cheers at a football game, you KNOW it.  It is loud and uninhibited.  You don't have to guess which side a fan is on.  You will either figure it out or they will let you know.

One doesn't have to have instruments to be uninhibited in worship, either.  I have seen uninhibited worship without instruments as well.  Worship can be uninhibited with instruments or without, in silence or with voices, in a whisper or in a shout.  I don't doubt that when the Israelites sang the Psalms, they didn't just say, "Hallelujah," in an "inside voice" (like we tell our kids, "use your inside voices, please!")  "Hallelujah" is just not a word you whisper.  Neither is "hosanna," used when Jesus rode the donkey into Jerusalem.  That is a word you shout, just like you shout, "We're number one!"

If a kid jamming away on air guitar during church singing helps even one person to be uninhibited in worship--if it helps even one person to hold nothing back, but to cry out in a "Hallelujah!" or "Hosanna!"--well, then . . . jam away!

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.