Sacred Space

On Sunday morning I found myself asking my kids to move their boots from where they were piled on a towel near the heating vent in our living room, and saying with some exasperation, “On Sundays, this is our sanctuary, and we wouldn’t have a pile of boots in the sanctuary at church.” I cringe a little, typing it out. It was part of my never-ending quest to have things tidy, but also part of my desire to have our space feel different, some how set apart, for worship on Sundays.

I miss worshipping with you all in person – I miss seeing you terribly. And I miss the space itself – the brightness and openness and simplicity of the sanctuary. And the sense of being in a space where God’s people have prayed together for a long time. As I sit to write this, I’m thinking of your faces and of so many of the times when I felt like I saw glimpses of God’s glory with you in that space: the delight and love on your faces during baptisms, the tears we’ve cried. The time Tammy spoke all of our longing during our prayer time when she raised her hand and said, ‘I just want God to make everything all right in the world.’ The times when little ones have danced and wandered up the aisles. Brendan spotting Marilou across the sanctuary and yelling her name and running to her in delight. Mil Gritter announcing loudly during foot washing that she’d forgotten and was wearing her pantyhose and couldn’t come forward and Jay bringing the bowl from the baptismal font to her and washing her hands instead. I miss the space and I miss you all. The Spirit is surely present when we zoom together, but it’s different and sometimes a lot harder for me to sense God’s glory, God’s presence.

Our sense of our living room being our worship space, our sanctuary, is evolving. At first our Sunday morning set up was mostly focused on the technology – a ring light so we could be clearly seen, a microphone to be heard. Figuring out the best folding table (or tables) at the best height for the computer, making sure we could reach the pitcher and water and elements for communion while sitting in front the computer, etc. There are the relational details too – making sure everyone has what they need to be engaged (or at least quiet) doing the service, the arguments about who would sit where. Sometime early on we started covering the folding table with a cloth the color of the liturgical season. Then we added a wooden cross made by one of the kids to the trunk that sits in front of our window. Soon fresh flowers and a seasonal cloth were added there too, along with my efforts to tidy the room.

I wish I could say that there’s a growing sense that the room is a place where God’s people pray, but I’m not sure about that. So many other things happen there during the week that it’s hard to keep that awareness.

Jay, overhearing my comment to the kids about the boots, said, ‘but isn’t the point that God is with us in the mess?’ I won’t include my reply, but I’ve been thinking about what he said all week, along with that story of Jacob at Bethel, saying, ‘surely God was in this place and I didn’t know it.’ I’ve been asking myself, do I really believe God is with us in the mess? I want to. Do I really believe God is with us in our living room? Of course. Is our home as much the ‘house of God’ (which is what Bethel means) as our church building? Yes. And if I really believe all these things, how do I open myself up to be aware of God’s presence, with us when we worship in the living room and when we pile our boots there?