What Is Church?
I usually try to focus on essays and flash fiction on this blog, but I’m in the final week before moving from my current home in the American Midwest to a new adventure on the East Coast, and moving in this time of Covid means that I can’t see and say goodbye to everyone who has been a part of my life here. For that reason, I wrote an open letter to the people who have been part of my Anglican church in Minnesota, and I’m sharing it here because it’s the only public space I have. If you have ever called Restoration Anglican your church home, this letter is for you. (And if you haven’t? Feel free to read it anyway if you’re so inclined!)
Photo by Sincerely Media via Unsplash.
Dear Restoration,
What is church?
In this year of pandemics and lockdowns, restrictions and masks, it’s a question we’ve had to face in ways we could never have imagined. What exactly is church?
We each have our own answers – some of which we’ve had to figure out on the fly – and even now I can imagine the voices of my life group’s seminarians hashing it out between all the possible stances of theology and history (with a dollop of ridiculousness, because that’s how we roll).
But I sit here tonight after my last life group meeting – here in my room where there’s nothing but a folding chair and an air mattress because all the rest has already left for my new adventure in Connecticut – and I can’t stop thinking about church. A paper sits beside me, a hand-drawn face smiling up at me from its folds, and I think of the girl who handed it to me tonight as I left.
Of her, and of the rest of the life group kids who cheer when they see each other, and who took the time to make this smiling face for me. And of the prayer prayed as we said goodbye, and the road trip cookies baked, and the friend who rested to be sure she’d have the strength to come tonight and see me one more time before I go.
What is church?
Over the years of my life, church has meant many different things – some good and others less so – and when I arrived in this city a year and a half and one pandemic ago, my hopes for this thing called church were low.
You see, this city and I don’t have a great history together. I was here half a lifetime ago when my father passed away back home. And later, when I returned from living abroad with culture shock so strong I couldn’t make it through one Sunday service in a non-foreign setting, it was in this city that I wept. And in all the times between, I’ve somehow always been here whenever the hardest moments of my life came crashing in, though I can count on one hand the number of years when I could actually call this place home. And so it might not be a surprise that I moved here eighteen months and one pandemic ago with little more than a desperate belief that the God of Hope had asked me to come.
Imagine, then, my own surprise when I found not just hope, but also life and joy and laughter.
When I found Restoration.
What is church?
Restoration, I’m sure that church is many different things to many different people, but to me, church is you.
You, who met me on my first Sunday and greeted me with a smile. You, who remembered me and sought me out the following week to see if I’d meant what I said about helping out. You, who invited a stranger to share your lunch when you didn’t have to.
You talked with me before services and looked for me after, just to say hello.
You welcomed me into your homes for life groups and parties and dinners and talks about books.
You listened when I read Scripture and took the bread and the wine when I offered it up.
You showed me the ropes and helped me set up chairs and clean up coffee.
You laughed at my jokes and paid attention when I talked.
You welcomed me into your lives even when you knew I’d be leaving soon.
You greeted me with smiles and noticed when I wasn’t there.
You told me you’d miss me and that you knew I could do this cross-country move – and that I could maybe even do it well.
You called me friend.
And with each Sunday service and each life group night, you, Restoration, have always – always – shown me glimpses of the heart and the family of God.
I’m facing down my final days of this season in this city and preparing to move my life across the country to Connecticut, and I sit here tonight wishing I could do more to show you what you’ve done for me since the day I first walked through that community center door. But this is a crazy year – a pandemic year – and all I have are my words.
And so, Restoration, I’m writing you this letter to say thanks. Thank you for being who you are. Thank you for loving God and people well. And thank you for welcoming me into the joy of your company, even if the time was shorter than I’d have liked.
What is church?
You are. And I will never forget it.
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15:13)
Blessings on all of you,
Christine