Sacred Connections: The Response
In our Sunday bulletins, we frequently refer to our reading of the Psalm as “The Response”. It is called that because it provides an opportunity for the congregation to reflect on and respond to the lesson which has just been read. All of last Sunday felt like a day of response.
Our livestream service on Sunday morning gathers many of us from far and near. And we do respond from the refuge of our own homes to be a part of this beautiful worship community. Many of us stand or kneel and share in the reading of the Psalm, the Creed and prayers. We are very much together while physically apart.
This past Sunday, we also gathered again for worship in Ault Park, a welcome return after months of a winter hiatus. The air was crisp, the sun bright, and there were about 75 of us present, bundled in coats and blankets, mouths and noses covered by masks, eyes sparkling with delight. Not all of us had the freedom or comfort to join in, and so many were missed. But for those able to be present, it was a delight.
After months of live-streaming from our beautiful sanctuary with empty pews, witnessing this in-person coming together as a community filled many of our hearts with joy and hope. We experienced wonder at the sight of people, beloved faces, spread across the field, settling in at orange flag marked spaces. We could see children running freely in the back, and a few devoted dogs happy to tag along. We could hear each other’s voices in the reading of the Psalm and professing of the Creed, in declaring “Amen” and “The Word of the Lord”. At the sermon, we shared laughter and head nodding at the places a preacher might hope for in response. Our eyes expressed agreement, understanding, and attentiveness to each word.
At the Eucharist, our congregation formed a line of faithfulness around the field perimeter, physical distance measured by sidewalk cracks. It was very moving to see the eyes of each person as they received the wafer or a blessing. As I repeated the words, “The Body of Christ the Bread of Heaven” I felt as if heaven were here, now. In a public park playing field, surrounded by a circuit training route, heaven is here.
There were treasured casual moments to catch up before and after the service, moments to plan a walk, discuss a service, share a prayer for an upcoming surgery. It was a gift to be able to experience in real time together that shared energy of physical space and present time.
A few had planned ahead for a picnic lunch following the service, another family with children simply let the children play on. Gary Lubin and I gathered up the liturgical elements and altar setting, as well as a couple orange flags left behind. But as I gave that field one last look, I knew that I would never see that field as simply a field again. These long-awaited moments together had been transforming. It may not have been the miracle of the feeding of 5000, yet Christ was so clearly present in our response and in our love. All were fed.
Later that day, I stopped by for a hospital visit. The beloved patient was sleeping peacefully, and I knew that peace these days was a rarity for them. After a brief consult with the nurse, I lingered for a few minutes and softly spoke several prayers aloud. I didn’t want to awaken them, yet I hoped that on some deeper level of consciousness the patient might still hear. There were no visible or verbal responses to the prayers in that moment, yet there was the certainty of God’s healing presence and response.
Later still, technology was back in the forefront as Theology Circle gathered for our first discussion of Karen Armstrong’s “The Lost Art of Scripture”; lively conversation quickly ensued. The faces on the screen were familiar, visible, beloved in our now virtual community. There is gratitude for the technology, creativity, and determination that has carried us this far.
Our response as a community continues to be our expression of faith, hope, and love. This response has carried us through this past challenging year and will continue to guide us in all the days to come.
