The older my children get, the more I feel we need to bring the church to them.
When our oldest child transitioned to middle school three years ago, it was the height of the pandemic. Decisions were made for us, not by us.
As our daughters grow, we have engaged in many conversations around our family values.
“Why do you always do the work in the kitchen at church? Why not Dad?”
The pandemic threw us all out of our routines. Try though we may, our family has struggled to re-establish the weekly patterns we held dear before masks, social distancing, and home antigen tests became part of our daily lives
What do we do when we, as a congregation, as a community, as a world, are truly exhausted and need the rest Jesus promises? Is that space still in the sanctuary? Or are we meant to seek peace away from our community as we heal?
I typically welcome the shorter days that accompany the season of Advent. Less daylight should theoretically translate to fewer distractions and more snuggling on the couch, under fleece blankets with warm cups in hand.
We are waiting, as a family, as a community, as the Body of Christ, in palpable anticipation for the end of this pandemic.
Every other pew was roped off, complete with red ribbon. My daughters looked back at me, a little confused. Were we allowed to be close to our friends and neighbors?
With each new day, the weight of the world seems to rest on our shoulders. There is new hope, but with it comes fresh exhaustion.