We were in
the middle of our usual morning scramble to get ready for school when the
lights blinked. Blink, blink...and then the house went dark.
We scurried around,
gathering candles and tripping over cats and adjusting to this new wrinkle in
the day. Alerts on our phones reported that power outages were widespread and
repairs were going to take a while. The kids cheered when news came that school
was cancelled.
The day sped
merrily along, a mostly-sunny sky making us almost forget that we didn't have
power. Things changed, though, as the sun started to settle in for the night. An
element of panic crept into the day along with the darkness.
The house
started to get cold. We remembered we were going to spend several hours being
stuck in the dark. Our phones were losing their charges and there was no prospect
of a hot supper. Suddenly the power outage wasn't quite so fun.
We were
feeling kind of gloomy about the evening's prospects when someone had the great
idea. Our church building still had power. Why couldn't we go there for a
while?
We packed up
some food, our phone cords, and a few decks of cards and headed to church. Inside
it was bright and warm. I heated soup on the stove in the church kitchen along
with some water for tea and hot cocoa.
As our phones
charged and Christmas music played on Pandora, we ate, ate a little more, and
then got out the cards. We chatted and laughed as we played several rounds of
Nerts, nibbling cookies and enjoying being together.
The evening
had turned into night before we decided to pack up and head home. Such a
surprising day it had been. I most certainly had not expected to end the day at
church, getting fed and warmed and charged up to head back out into the
darkness.
It may have
been an unconventional use of the church facilities. But it seemed utterly
appropriate.
I sometimes
get teased for being a church-goer. It's a waste of a perfectly good Sunday
morning, from one perspective. I do understand that. Frankly, I don't always
want to go to church. It can be tough to give up the time when there are things
I'd rather be doing. Sometimes I'd rather stay home by myself and jump into the
to-do list.
I still go to
church, though. It's not because of a social obligation or because I think it's
the right thing to do, or because I think I'm somehow holier if I sit in a pew
for an hour every week. I go because I'm cold. And hungry. And it's dark out. And
I need to recharge.
God is not
limited to a building. I can, and do, spend time with Him throughout the week,
talking to Him as I drive, remembering His lessons of patience and humility
when I get frustrated at work, feeling His comfort when I'm sad and His
encouragement when I'm weak.
God is not
limited to a building...and yet, I go to a building each week because I want
time when I know I can do nothing but be with Him. On Sunday mornings I step
away from the world for an hour and breathe quietly and take time to listen,
and think, and absorb. I am reminded who I am and whose I am. And when I shyly
head for the doors and back out into the world I am fed, and warmed, and
powered up by my time with my Creator.
...at least,
that's the way it should be. Let's be honest...it's not always as peaceful and
lovely as all that. I'm usually running late and I slide into the pew harried
and frazzled. I want to listen to the sermon but catch myself daydreaming about
lunch instead. As I speak the words of the liturgy my brain is busy critiquing
the outfit of the woman in front of me and wishing the service would be over
already.
We come to
church to be with God, but we are still so very human, and so very full of
flaws, even as we stand in His presence.
And yet, He
still meets us there. He still feeds us, still speaks to our so-distractible
hearts and offers us His forgiveness, His comfort and strength.
Our all-powerful
God, who set aside His power to come to us as a helpless baby and to hang on a
cross, comes to us still. He comes despite our weakness, even when we don't
remember to come to Him. He comes holding out to us the life, death and
resurrection of His Son and saying Here, look how much I love you, just as you
are.
When we are
weak, and cold, and hungry, and the world is dark, still we are not powerless. There
is food for our souls, warmth for our hearts and light for our lives in the
manger hay. Oh come, let us adore Him.
First published in The Alpena News, December 9, 2017
