Polite Society

They were usually the first to put up a political sign. This year was different. Although their political views had not changed, their willingness to publicize them had. Fortunately, I was able to learn an important lesson from our neighbors: What we don’t admit says as much as what we do.

Early on, I was taught there are three things not to talk about in polite society: politics, religion and money. They are sensitive topics and can often lead to disagreements, arguments, and hurt feelings, but each is an integral part of our lives. They reveal much about who we are, what we believe, and how we live out those two things in our day to day lives. 

While I’m all for polite society, I wonder if not talking about such things is just a way to keep from admitting things of which we are not proud. Maybe we don’t make much money, or maybe we make a ton. Not talking about money can allow us the freedom to hide our embarrassment or greed. Maybe we prefer not to talk about religion because we’re embarrassed how little we worship or how inconsistent our lives are with the faith we profess. And maybe by not talking about politics we can avoid admitting views that may or may not reflect well on us.

Jesus spoke about keeping secrets. Whether we’re proud or ashamed of our secrets, God knows them all. It doesn’t change a thing if we cling to our bank statements, duck in the back pew, or pull the voting booth curtain tight. It doesn’t change what God already knows. 

Better to look at why I’m trying to hide those things. It’s certainly not because of polite society.

A Spiritual Nomad

“How can we sing the songs of the LORD while in a foreign land?

Psalm 137:4

Elmer Picket was a creature of habit. He awakened every morning at 6, did his chores between his first cup of coffee and breakfast. He wore the same boots he’d worn for years and always hung his coat on hook to the right of the kitchen door. Routine gave him a sense of comfort, which is why he was so disturbed when he came in one morning and realized his coat hook was gone. 

“What am I supposed to do with my coat,” he asked his wife who explained she was redecorating the entrance way. 

“You’ll just have to hang your coat on another hook,” she replied.

What do you do when something you’ve relied on, been comforted by, and expected, is taken away? That’s the question so many of us have been asking as we’ve tried to adapt to life during the pandemic. Some of the changes have been small, others significant, but all of them have left us off-center and out of sorts. The hook has been moved and we don’t know what to do with our coat.

For me, the biggest adjustment has been finding a spiritual home. I love and rely on church to ground me and connect me with God and others. Going to church on Sunday - hearing the organ, singing the hymns, hearing the lessons and sermon, and seeing others - feeds my soul. It’s a routine I enjoy, but it’s been taken away and I’ve struggled without it more than I thought I would. Our church, like many others, has worked hard to offer alternatives, but virtual church just doesn’t do it for me. 

Clinging to my coat, I’ve searched for another hook. I’ve taken walks, listened to music, subscribed to inspirational podcasts, sat in solitude with candles, but none of them have taken the place of going to church. 

I know, the church is not a building. There are many hooks for my spiritual coat, but I miss my damn church!

Webs

It was a bright August morning, and the minister looked forward to worship. It had been months since his congregation was able to worship together, but they were meeting outside this morning and he was looking forward to seeing familiar faces in person and not on his computer screen. They’d done their best to stay connected through the pandemic, but there’s nothing like being together, he said to himself.

He made his Sunday morning pilgrimage across the church grounds to ring the bell. Even the birds were singing songs of praise. His heart was full because his daughter had just given birth to his second grandchild the day before, a girl named after his grandmother. He wished his mother had hung on a little longer so she could have met the newest member of the family. Instead, he was meeting his siblings to spread her ashes in a few weeks. 

A ray of light shone through the branches as he rang the bell. It struck a large, intricate spiderweb beside the cemetery entrance. Glistening with dew, its extensive symmetry was impossible to ignore. Each strand connected to another, round and round, a comprehensive whole.

On his way back to the church he realized he’d already seen this morning’s sermon.