We're In!

The new sanctuary, that is. We moved in time for Christmas Eve services, courtesy of many last-minute helping hands, and a conditional use permit from the city. (The building is fine - our parking lot isn't completed yet...a weather-related snafu.)

We had a brief instructional period with the sound system - and found out we needed more. We had the opportunity for a few people to learn how to run the heating and lighting system. The chairs were moved into place with lots of room to spare. Red and white poinsettias graced the new chancel. And we went forward with worship. Three services Christmas Eve, at 5, 7, and 10 p.m. Three different congregations - the first one focused on the children - the second larger and grander, with bells and choir, and the third with communion, and more than double the number of people we've ever had at that service.

I felt - out of place. I am no longer in a space I have come to be comfortable in - that I inhabit almost as naturally in my skin. I am, truly, in New Spaces (as we have called this building project). I get lost trying to find my way around the chancel, and discovered I have to reconsider how to best connect with my musicians. I am a stranger in a strange land! The comfort in that is we're all in the same boat. Everyone is new in this space. No one has a designated seat, yet - not even me. We're all starting on the ground floor. I hadn't expected a building project to be an opportunity to level out who's new, and who's been around forever. But it seems to be just that! None of us - or all of us - have seniority in this new space.

Most of all, though, it seems to belong to God. It is grand, but austere, with little ornamentation. The space is large and inviting, with room to stretch out. I can imagine God settling into one of the seats and smiling at us, as we fumble our way through this new beginning. I can imagine Jesus inviting us to sit for a spell, and have a conversation in this space. I can imagine weddings, funerals, baptisms - all life-changing events - taking place in this space for years to come. I can even imagine that within a few weeks or months, we'll have most of the bugs worked out, and will be ready to settle in a bit ourselves. But because the space belongs to God, above all, I thank God, for making this possible - for offering us this new beginning, with room for our neighbors.

Yesterday...

I went outside to get the paper, and watched the fog on the river. Only a small patch of it was present - just enough to cover the area between our house and the island. Just enough to envelop the flocks of Canadian geese that were making enough noise to make me wonder if they'd taken over the entire river. But I couldn't see - I could only hear them. And I wondered...did the presence of so many geese in one location cause that little bit of fog? Whatever caused it, they were as thoroughly hidden as if it were a moonless, cloudy night.

Later, as I was absorbed in morning devotions, I saw something stirring outside my window. I looked out to see thousands upon thousands of geese, abandoning the river and taking wing into the morning sun, just above that fog. The spectacle still fills my mind's eye - I can see the wheeling flocks, careening out of the fog and off to...who knows where?

On days when I cannot see - on days when things seem bleak and fogged in - I want to remember those geese. They may have created that fog - but they also had the capacity to rise above it, to wing their way to a place filled with sun. And as they moved from one place to another, they blessed me. Simply by being, they blessed me. May I remember, and learn to rise out of my own fogs, into the brightness that surrounds me, even when I haven't yet seen it. May I remember, and in that remembering, may I bless others.

Cold hands, warm heart?

There are days (and this is one of them) when I wonder whether or not I have this in reverse. Days when my hands are perfectly warm, and my heart feels like an icicle. Not like the Ice Queen in "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe", but more like the ice on a slowly clogging, freezing river. I'm trying to get somewhere...and the ice in my heart keeps clogging up any movement. I want to be free. Instead, I feel I'm held firm in the clutches of my own sluggishness and lethargy. On days like this, I want, more than anything, to experience the breezes, the fresh wind, even the gales of the Holy Spirit, breaking loose the ice jams and setting free the river, the fresh running water, that Jesus promises me.

It's Advent, and I'm waiting. Waiting for the breeze - or the gale. Waiting for the return of warmth in both hands and heart. Most especially, waiting for the stirring of the Spirit of God within me, and within the world at large. For God is at large in the world, and I long to see signs of that presence. God is at large in my life and my heart (even on days like this, I know the truth of it) and I long to be like the beloved in the Song of Solomon, with entire body and heart and mind turned toward, yearning toward, One only.

But it's Advent, and I'm still waiting. I remind myself that waiting is appropriate posture for time of the church year - but that doesn't stop me from wanting more. I remind myself that far better followers of Jesus than I have experienced spells of frigid hearts and temperaments - but that doesn't keep me from yearning for the thaw. But for now, I wait. And I sing, "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." Ransom me. Bring me to rejoicing!