A Changing World, A Changing Church

I have used some of this time to clean up my bookshelves.  It has been an interesting project.  So far I have given away about one hundred of them.  Some to our church library.  Some to members of our church worship team. A large number to The Rookery, our second hand "bookstore".  I suppose some should just be thrown in the recycling bin, but that is something I am constitutionally ill-prepared to do!

One of the things I have noticed as I've been sorting through my very large collection is how many of the "practical" books, those having to do with the "how-to" side of ministry, are sorely out of date.  In a couple of weeks I will celebrate the fortieth anniversary of my ordination.  And for three years before that I was a licensed pastor of two very small churches.  In other words, I have been doing this parish ministry stuff for forty-three years--since 1977!  The world has changed in so, so many ways since 1977.  I can remember the challenge of finding a place to cash a check when I was in my tiny churches in Maine, eighty miles away from my home and bank!  Now, ATMs on every corner and online banking make paper checks almost obsolete.

So here's my point:  the world has changed, and so has the church.  I've had to learn about live-streaming this winter and spring.  Whop would have ever imagined we wouldn't be able to worship in person?  I can't visit sick parishioners in the hospital.  Our meetings are all held on Zoom or on conference calls.  It's a whole new ball game!  (Well, actually, there are no ballgames--not yet!)
Even before the pandemic, the church was faced with a new reality and the need to make changes.  Of course the thirty year old books are obsolete--even those dating back just ten years.

But some books, written years ago, are still on my shelves.  The Interior Castle, by Teresa of Avila.  Walden by Henry David Thoreau.  Selected writings of Dorothy Day.  The Souls of Black Folks by W.E.B. Dubois.  And many, many more.  They are still on the shelves because some things don't change.  How we worship, how we pray, how we provide pastoral care, may change, but why we do such things does not.  For our work is still rooted in the love of God and the love of neighbor.

Anyway, that's some of what I've done with this time of isolation.  Do l
et me know if you'd like a used book or two!

(Photo:  Some of the dozens of books I have given away!)

Who Was That Masked Man?

This morning I had to go to the doctor's office for some lab work ahead of my annual wellness visit. As I got ready to leave the house I made sure I had one of my face masks with me.  (I have been blessed with more than one of them by our very competent Parish Nurse, Linda Convertine.)  Whenever I go to the grocery store, or other public place, I make sure I have one with me, and that I wear it.

I was pleased when I arrived at the doctor's office to see signs and measured markers on the floor asking that all maintain appropriate social distance.  I was also glad to see readily available hand sanitizer, and that staff members had face masks.  The three other patients who were there when I arrived were wearing face masks and keeping their distance.  But then a gentleman arrived who did not have a mask, and I must say I tensed up a bit.  I didn't say anything to him.  I didn't publicly shame him, much less arm wrestle with him, but I was uncomfortable.  Very uncomfortable.  Which brings me to why I wear a face mask myself.

All that I have read indicates that wearing a face mask is really more about the other guy than it is about me.  While a cloth mask like the ones I wear will block a small percentage of the droplets that carry the virus from entering into my system, they will prevent a larger percentage of the same from being expelled into the air.  In both cases it is a relatively small amount, but it will reduce the risk a bit for my neighbor if not so much for me.  Further, it serves as a very visible reminder to practice social distancing and good hand washing.  It says I'm taking all this seriously.

Do I like wearing the mask?  No, I feel like a bank robber!  But I do care about my neighbors.  I do care about my community.  And wearing a mask is one way to tangibly demonstrate that care, for as a Christian that is what I am called to do.  Love my neighbor as I love myself.  And with that in mind, I make the assumption that just as much as I want the world to be as safe as possible (understanding that it is never perfectly safe) so too does my neighbor.

What Do We Want to Recover?

In the last few days I've noticed that one of our local television stations has changed the name of their team of reporters covering the pandemic.  It used to be Coronavirus Crisis Team--now it is Coronavirus Recovery Team.  They are not the only ones using the term recovery with more frequency.  But what does it mean for us to recover?

I looked it up, and discovered that the word "recovery" comes from the French word recoverer, which means "to get back, or to get again"--but what is it we hope to get back?  And do we want still want all of what we had?

Obviously, those who have contracted the virus want to get back their health.  And most certainly we wish that for anyone who has been so impacted.  But there are things we have learned about health in this pandemic that we would do well to continue practicing, even after it has passed from our midst.  Handwashing, for instance.  Most of us don't normally do enough of it.  Early in the whole ordeal I saw a meme that said, "It took a pandemic to get men to wash their hands."  Ouch!  But based on my experiences in public restrooms, I would suggest there is some truth in that!

Just as obviously, those who have lost jobs or had to close their businesses want to get back to work.  And most certainly we wish that for anyone so impacted.  But the massive unemployment has demonstrated how many holes their are in the so-called safety net.  We don't want that back.  It needs to be mended and fixed.

And there are other things we don't want back.  The pollution that hung over large cities and other places as well, that was greatly reduced because we weren't driving so much.  The way we were increasingly distancing ourselves from one another, and failing to interact with friends and family in meaningful ways.  And the list goes on.  Somethings we just don't want to recover--we just don't want back.  But it will take a concerted effort to avoid doing that--a concerted effort to not just fall into the old ways of doing things.

Somethings we want back--somethings we never lost--but other things we would do well to leave behind!

Remembering the Barbers, the Wait Staffs, the Lawn Guys and Custodians

My daily walk takes me through a strip mall parking lot.  Two of the storefronts are empty--a liquor stare that closed down about one year ago.  On one end there is a restaurant that featured li9ve jazz performances.  It is shut down due to the virus.  At the other is a laundromat, which has stopped allowing people to do their own laundry, but will take in laundry to wash, dry and fold.  When they originally closed their doors they posted a sign indicating the cost of their doing your laundry was $1.99 a pound.  I noticed this morning that they have dropped that to $1.65.  I can't help but wonder about the Hispanic lawn care guys who I have often seen in the past using the laundromat.  Can they afford $1.65, much less $1.99, a pound?

In between the jazz restaurant and the laundromat there are a few other businesses:  an old family run Italian restaurant, which is offering take out only, and pushing pizza slices for lunch; a slot machine casino, which is completely closed down at the moment; a pool supply store, which is open, but enforcing social distancing and not accepting cash payments and a barber shop--now closed, but which had been operating for a few weeks after the lockdown.

The barber shop had posted a sign, "Masks Provided"--but the other day when I went past it later in the morning the one customer in a chair was not wearing one.  The shop was not supposed to be open.  But they bucked the law, and as the old song goes, "but the law won."  Today, there was a new sign written with black magic marker on an uneven piece of newsprint in the window.  "Dear Customers," it read, despite providing masks to every customer and barber, someone called the Sherriff's Dept. and on 4-25  the Sherriff's Dept. shut us down.  Although there was some confusion we didn't confuse the 'arrested'" message or the 'do the right thing or else' message or how asking a simple question can be 'confrontational' . . . .  Whatever!  We'll open, hopefully, on May 1st."

I support the lockdown--and am working from home.  I believe we need to do whatever we can to stop the spread of the virus. I think states like Georgia are moving too fast.  But I hope once the virus is contained we don't forget those who have born the economic burden.  Yes, the small business owners, but also the lawn care guys, the wait staffs at family owned restaurants, and the custodian who I used to pass as she took a smoke break outside the slot machine casino. There will be much still to be done even after the virus has passed.

Same Storm, Different Ship

A friend of mine posted a long and powerful anonymous piece on Facebook today reflecting on the current corona virus crisis.  Titled "We Are Not in the Same Boat . . ." it begins, "I heard that we are in the same boat.  But it's not like that.  We are in the same storm, but not in the same boat.  Your ship can be shipwrecked and mine might not be.  Or visa versa."

Such an apt metaphor.  For as we move through this crisis, it is really quite clear that we are experiencing it in varying degrees of challenge and discomfort.  I am one of the fortunate ones, at least at this point.  My ship is intact.  I am able to work from home, for the most part.  I have full access to digital technology, as this blog post demonstrates.  I am receiving my full salary.  To date, I have been able to avoid contracting the illness.  While I have friends who have parishioners and friends who have Covid19, to date, none of them have died.  And my family, while faced with a variety of challenges, is healthy.  My ship is afloat.

But not so with so many others.  I know folks whose boats have been roiled by the storms of illness and economic distress.  I have a son who works for a major grocery chain, and daily confronts the reality that he is at the mercy of customers being willing to follow the simple rules about masks and social distancing that his company has laid out.  I have a colleague who hundreds of miles away worries about her father in the hospital with Covid19, unable to visit him, knowing that she would not be allowed to see him even if she went north.  I have an 87-year-old mother, with underlying conditions, who is being held "under lock and key."  I have a sister-in-law with stage four lung cancer who is at great risk.  These are challenges, these are concerns, these are genuine worries--but for now, my ship sails on.

Others though, have no income, no job, no ability to work from home, who must go to food pantries for the first time in their lives.  There are so many healthcare workers who have not been given sufficient personal protective equipment and who risk life itself.  Women, men and children, who have been unable to say goodbye to family members lying on their death beds. And then there are the sick themselves, struggling for every breath, knowing there is no known cure for this disease.

No, we are not on the same boat.  But we are in the same storm.  And so we who have managed to remain afloat, by the grace of God, or good luck, or good genes, or whatever, have an obligation to do what we can for those who have been cast adrift.  Offer up our prayers on their behalf, yes, but also financially doing what we can to support the agencies and programs working on their behalf.  Maintaining social distancing efforts of our own. Washing our hands.  Wearing masks.  Writing supportive notes.  Offering help to the housebound.

No we are not in the same boat.  But we are in the same storm--and so we must be watching for and reacting to the distress signals in our sight.
 

We Didn't Have Lilies This Year--But We Had Beauty!

We didn't have lilies for Easter this year--at least not fresh ones.  But we did have a beautiful painting of lilies for our service.  They were painted during the crisis by one of our parishioners as she sat in isolation.  Her name is Suzanne and she lives in a nearby retirement community which is on lock down.  Yes, we missed the real lilies, but we loved her painting!

Florists, I guess, are considered non-essential.  And I suppose, in one way, that is true.  We don't need florists to survive.  But we sure need beauty--and what is more beautiful than a flower?  Fortunately here in Florida we are almost always surrounded by flowers.  Gorgeous flowers.  Brightly colored flowers.  Flowers on bushes and trees and in the water and sprouting from the ground.  And even up north, this is spring, and flowers are beginning to appear.  And so, despite florists being unable to ply their trade, we do have flowers.

And when we don't, as it was with lilies on Easter Sunday, we have artists.  Artists like Suzanne, who help us to remember things like flowers.  Artists who help us see the beauty around us, even when it is missing in action.  For beauty, and the artists that capture it, are always essential.


(Painting:  Suzanne Bennett)

One Hell of a Holy Week

Yesterday marked the beginning of Holy Week.  Normally, of course, we flock to our churches for the annual observance of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem which we've come to call Palm Sunday.  Normally, our pews are full, palm branches are passed out at the door, and, at my church, we even have a brass quintet!  Despite marking the beginning of a week marred by betrayal, desertion, arrest and crucifixion, Palm Sunday, at least here on Sanibel, is a rather festive occasion.  We even have hot cross buns at fellowship hour.

But not this year.  This year folks had to stay-at-home, and our live-streamed worship had to take the place of our usual celebration.  We weren't able to hand out palms, the pews were empty, and the brass quintet didn't come (we asked them to stay home, so that we wouldn't exceed ten in terms of folks in the sanctuary).  It could have been a rather somber occasion, but it was not.  We acknowledged the challenges of these difficult times.  We prayed for all those impacted medically and economically.  We thanked God for first responders and healthcare workers.  And we spoke of the fact that, as always, we can choose to approach things like Pilate or like Jesus, with selfishness and fear, or with courage and love.  But we were able to celebrate the Good News nonetheless, with some joyful music, including "All Glory, Laud and Honor, and a hornpipe that practically danced!

Later this week we will live-stream Maundy Thursday.  That's going to be very different.  We are encouraging folks to have a bit of bread, and a glass of juice or wine at the ready--and we'll consecrate the elements virtually.  A friend told me that his bishop sent out specific instructions:  no virtual consecration.  But we're part of the United Church of Christ.  We don't have bishops, and we are pretty "low church."  If water can be turned into wine, I suspect consecration can happen digitally!

Good Friday, we will be posting a prerecorded video at Noon, featuring a monologue written and presented by my associate.  We can't live-stream as our technicians aren't available that day.  And why should they be?  For both of them its a workday, and we're just grateful they still have their jobs. We'll manage.

And then comes Easter.  We'll live-stream that as well.  My sermon for the morning is titled "Where Did He Go?"  I planned and titled it three months ago, before the spread of the corona virus
.  I could, I suppose, retitle it, "Where Did They Go?" referencing the empty pews and the missing parishioners.  But the truth is, Jesus didn't go anywhere--in fact his spirit is everywhere--including in the lives of all those folks who normally fill the pews.

Yes, in some ways this is one hell of a Holy Week.  And for those who have experienced sickness or death because of the virus, it is truly tragic.  And I can't imagine the stress and strain being felt by healthcare workers and others who deal with the virus head-om  They are in my prayers daily.

But for the rest of us, challenging as it is to practice social distancing, this Holy Week is also a powerful reminder that the church is not about a building (as helpful as our buildings can be).  It's not about doing things the way we've always done them before (as important as tradition is).  Rather it is about the love of God which transcends time and place.  It is about the love that binds us together as a congregation, and beyond that, as people of God.  Even when we are apart.

Have a blessed Holy Week, and Easter!  And a blessed Passover to all those in our sister congregation Temple Bat Yam and in Jewish congregations around the world.

(Photo Credit:  Bruce Findley, Easter 2019)

(If you'd like to join our live-streamed services, just go to our website, www.sanibelucc.org, and follow the instructions there.)