“Can we go in there?” Emersyn asked, pointing to the church sanctuary.
“Of course you can,” I answered, grasping her by her four-year-old hand and leading her in.
Her eight-year-old brother, Eli, marched on ahead of us into the sanctuary.
It was the dead of winter, and they hadn’t been in the church since Covid had stopped our world a year ago.
Emmie and I paused, standing by the piano.
I followed her eyes as they peered up towards the balcony, then back to the front pews, close to the pulpit, then to the stained-glass windows, where she transfixed her gaze.
“PopPop,” she declared, in a voice that echoed to the balcony and back, “This is awesome.”
You would have thought she was standing in the Louvre.
This past Easter Sunday, I felt Emersyn’s jubilation as people I hadn’t seen in months gathered for worship. The group that had regathered for worship months ago quickly doubled in size Easter Sunday as friends who had been vaccinated joined for this special Sunday.
“I’ve had my vaccine, so I will be in church Sunday,” several messaged me the week before Easter. While our online ministry continues to thrive, seeing each other face to face is invigorating, even if we are masked.
Arthur John Gossip, Pastor and then Professor at the University of Edinburgh years ago, once commented on Thomas, the disciple of Jesus. Thomas, whom we unfortunately know mainly as Doubting Thomas, wasn’t with the other disciples when Jesus first appeared to them. When they told Thomas they had seen Lord, the shocked disciple couldn’t believe it and demanded evidence, telling his comrades he wouldn’t believe unless he could see and touch Jesus’ nail wounds (hence, his nickname, Doubting Thomas).
Gossip, commenting on Thomas’ absence when Jesus first appeared to the other disciples, gently warns us of isolating ourselves from others: “It is difficult to believe when we do not strengthen ourselves with the fellowship of other believers.”
Indeed, he’s right, though we’ve had good reasons, and many still do, for not gathering, which I believe the Lord understands.
But now that more and more worshippers can return, another response is likely. Having been initially elated at the return of our friends, we may soon turn our attention in other directions: the dust on the table in the foyer annoys us, the offering envelops crumpled in the pew distract us, or the person singing off-key or coughing irritates us, or the sanctuary is too cold or hot, or the baby crying frustrates us, or the lent on that fellow’s ill-fitting coat bothers us.
Soon the joy of returning to worship evaporates; we are back to being the same disgruntled people. As C.S. Lewis put it: “If we come to church just to be with one another, one another is all we’ll get.”
“One another” is never enough.
The One we have come to worship is ever new and always the same, inviting us to know Him, but too mysterious to grasp completely.
So, I hope, as more and more of us can join in person for worship, we will have learned at least something from our Covid absence. Perhaps we can appreciate the freshness others bring, seeing beyond the masks to the shining souls within, and maybe we can remember why we have gathered. It’s about the fellowship, yes, but it’s also about so much more. Maybe we can stand in God’s presence and latch onto the words of a four year-old: “This is awesome.”