Tag Archives: care

On Ashes and Dust…

05 Wednesday Mar 2025

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Phot credit: https://www.yamaha.com/en/musical_instrument_guide/pipeorgan/maintenance/

Last year our parish was donated a new pipe organ.  We have been eagerly waiting for the deconstruction of our current organ and the installation of the new one.  The time has finally come, we said a prayer of blessing on the current organ, and we have been waiting and watching as the process begins.  Ideally this wouldn’t be staring just days before Ash Wednesday, but I suppose there is no “perfect” time to deconstruct your worship space.

Knowing we are in a liminal time of deconstruction and reconstruction, I had not thoroughly thought through the impact this time would have on our experience of Ash Wednesday.  But walking into the Chapel this morning, seeing the pipes mostly gone, and the guts of our current organ exposed, I was hit by a sadness I couldn’t quite place.  Almost 20 years of music from that organ has filled our worship space, countless talented individuals have made the organ sing, and even more moments of sacred encounters with God have happened through that instrument.  Seeing the organ exposed today did something that left me unsettled. 

Photo credit: https://annkroeker.com/2011/03/09/there-back-again-my-first-ash-wednesday/

When I necessarily turned my attention to preparing for tonight’s Ashes to Go and Ash Wednesday service, I realized what was so unsettling.  Ash Wednesday is all about reminding us of our mortality, our finitude, and our vulnerability before God.  When those gritty ashes are scraped across my forehead and I am told that I will return to dust, that texture and those words linger with me.  So too, as that organ case sits gaping and open, with dust motes floating in the air, our worship space has suddenly become the perfect metaphor for entering a Holy Lent.

I wonder what gaping holes Ash Wednesday is exposing for you.  I wonder where your spiritual life is feeling dusty and in need of some care.  As always, you are most welcome to engage at Hickory Neck Episcopal Church for some tending – to find a connection with God that might be missing, to heal some holes that have been exposed for too long, and to find a place of belonging, because, believe me, you are not alone.  Welcome to Lent.

Photo credit: Stephen Trumbull; reuse with permission only

Sermon – Mark 4.26-32, P6, YB, June 16, 2024

19 Wednesday Jun 2024

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Many of you know that I grew up in the United Methodist Church.  Growing up in the Methodist Church meant that I was steeped a particular set of hymns, many written by John and Charles Wesley themselves – John being attributed with the founding of the Methodist movement.  I can be at a retirement community or an ecumenical service and one of those songs will come up, and I am instantly transported back to the old country church where my dad was the pastor.  There is something about that music that almost feels like the music is a part of my DNA.  So, imagine my surprise when I found out in seminary that much of the music settings for those old timey hymns I love were actually pub songs – tunes that anyone who had spent time at the pub would know, just set to new words about Jesus.  Charles and John did that because they knew it would make the songs deeply familiar, while becoming teaching tools for the church.  No wonder those hymns are so catchy!

In some ways, parables from Jesus are similar.  Jesus uses story to teach truth.  Teaching through parables makes the teaching engaging, accessible, and memorable.  I bet that even today, two thousand years later, when we heard Mark’s gospel today, we probably thought, “Oh yeah!  The one about the mustard seed.  That’s about just having a little faith is all you need!”  And in part, you would be right.  But as catchy as pub songs are and parables seem, unfortunately, Jesus’ parables, while memorable, are not always simple in meaning. 

Our trouble starts with the fact that we have two parables together today – not just the one about the mustard seed.  In the first one, Jesus says the kingdom is like a guy who scatters some seed and then does literally almost nothing – he does not even know how the growing of seeds into plants works.  And then he just goes out to harvest.  So, that’s parable number one.  Parable number two compares the kingdom of God to a tiny little mustard seed that, when planted, grows into a huge bush big enough where birds can make nests.  So, this is not exactly a set of stories about just having a little bit of faith.  And quite frankly, if you take these two together, they seem to be saying that basically we do not really have much of a hand in the fruitfulness of the kingdom – that maybe we do not even understand the kingdom.  So, is that the message?  Just sit back because God does all the work to bring about the kingdom – oh, and the kingdom will be really big?

As much as I would like to send you all home today thinking you can just kick up your feet and sit back while God does the heavy lifting, especially as summer gets into full swing, unfortunately, we have summertime work to do.  You see, in both of these parables, while the miracle of growth happens through God, the planting in both stories has to be done by a person – by us, namely.  Scholar Amy-Jill Levine explains that in these parables, the seed still has to be planted.  She confesses that certainly some things need to be left alone – notice the man in the first parable.  And sometimes we need to get out of the way – notice the planter in the second parable.  But most importantly, Levine argues “The kingdom is present when humanity and nature work together, and we do what we were put here to do – to go out on a limb and provide for others, and ourselves as well.”[i]

That doing something, that lack of passivity in the bringing about of the kingdom, is what we are talking about when we talk about stewardship.  Often when we talk about stewardship, we think of that as the church’s codeword for our money.  But we were made stewards long before there was a church.  Even in the moment of creation way back in the book of Genesis, God created us to steward God’s creation – to tend to the blessings given to us.  Now that may feel daunting – as if not only are we to tend to this church but now we must tend to the whole world! 

But before you panic, let’s go back to that mustard seed parable.  I do not know how many of you have actually been around mustard plants, but mustard plants are a lot like kudzu – they tend to take over an area where they are germinated.  Jesus is telling us all we do is plant one of those teeny-tiny seeds, and suddenly we will have kudzu spreading everywhere.  In other words, our work of stewardship is like kudzu[ii] – we invest our time, our talent, and our treasure here in this place – and the results will spread like wildfire.  Suddenly, we have whole hillsides full the love of Christ, spilling over into the neighbor’s yard, draping everything in goodness.  We do not have to micromanage the growth – we do the planting, and God partners with us to bring the growth – even growth we sometimes do not understand.  Our job is simply to plant.

Our invitation today, then is to ponder what seeds we can plant here at Hickory Neck.  What gift of time can you place here that can spread to your fellow parishioner?  What gift of your unique talent can you plant here that can grow into powerful ministry?  What gift of your financial resources can you gift here that reach beyond these walls to share and spread God’s love?  Jesus’ familiar story reminds us that whatever we give, our giving allows us to participate with God in helping manifest the kingdom of God.[iii]  And God will spread our gifts like kudzu!  Amen.

[i] Amy-Jill Levine, Short Stories by Jesus:  The Enigmatic Parables of a Controversial Rabbi (New York:  Harper One, 2014), 182.

[ii] Ronald J. Allen, “Considering the Text: Week Two, Fourth Sunday After Pentecost, 16 June 2024,” Center for Faith and Giving, 11, as found at centerforfaithandgiving.org, 2.

[iii] Allen, 13.

On Pastoring and Motherhood…

08 Wednesday May 2024

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Photo credit: https://community.thriveglobal.com/remembering-mom-hands-on-mothers-day-loss-support-memories-inspire/

One of the deepest privileges of being a pastor is being gifted with people’s stories.  Sometimes those are stories of great joy:  of new love leading to marriage, of the gift of children, of the excitement of a new vocation.  And sometimes those are stories of deep pain and grief:  of life lost, of hurts deeply experienced, of dreams deflated.  The sum of those stories is uncountable – they are words and emotions that drift in and out of the pastor’s consciousness – the vessel for all that needs to be said and released.  It means that even in the pastor’s moments of greatest joys, there is, at the subconscious level, the treasuring and honoring of deepest pain and suffering.

Normally, I find I am able to hold that reality with tenderness and grace.  But nothing challenges that ability more than holidays that desire to create a forced, well-intentioned experience.  Secular ones, like the approaching Mother’s Day this weekend, are the worst offenders.  On the surface there is nothing wrong with Mother’s Day.  I know countless people who have been tremendous mothers in my life and in the lives of others, who rarely get a thank you, let alone a day of honor.  There is nothing wrong with honoring the mothers in our lives.  The challenge is the sea of complicated feelings that come along with such an effort:  the grief over mothers we have lost, the suffering caused by mothers who were abusive or absent, the pain of those women who wanted to be a mother and never could or who were mothers and who lost their pregnancies or their children, and for the hurt of those relationships between children and mothers that is estranged.  Our much-deserved celebration of mothering is always tainted with the very messy reality of mothering.

For that reason, you will not find me liturgically celebrating Mother’s Day at church.  Instead, I invite you to put on your pastor shoes this Mother’s Day and hold in tension the beloved and the painful this day.  Reach out to friends who have struggled with infertility, lost a pregnancy, or grieve the loss of a child or a relationship with their child.  Reach out to those who had beautiful, healthy relationships with their mothers and now grieve their death every day.  Reach out to those who are mothering figures in your life, even if they never birthed you and give them thanks.  At our church, we quietly offer resources for the complicated nature of the day.  You can find them here, here, and here.  But whatever you do, use this Mother’s Day to “mother in” the love of Jesus, who could see mothers everywhere and honored all of them. 

On Being Love and Light…

29 Wednesday Nov 2023

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Photo credit: https://www.thekitchn.com/amazon-pipishell-shopping-cart-review-23250404

This week, I was out shopping for household basics and managed to get in a fairly short line.  But before I could load my items onto the conveyer belt, I noticed the customer checking out was having some sort of issue.  Eventually I surmised it was an issue with a credit card.  The staff and customer realized she was using a card the store doesn’t accept.  The customer rifled around for another card, but for some reason, during her flustered search, she became emotional.  I would not have noticed except the checkout clerk and the bagger immediately jumped into caretaking.  I heard them soothing her, assuring her everything was okay.  I then overheard the bagger explaining how his day had been pretty crummy too, with a broken-down car and a phone that fell into a rain puddle.  The mood lightened – for the three of them, certainly, but even for those of us further back in line who may have been tempted to become impatient or frustrated. 

I confess, I was in awe of the interaction.  Here were three very different people – of different genders, races, and socioeconomic statuses – and yet, in that moment, they showed anyone willing to see how to be a decent human.  That may sound simple, but with shoppers bustling around with the frenzy of the holiday season upon us, and the emotions that are often lingering right under the surface this time of year, it was a powerful reminder about our priorities this season.

I do not know about the religious affiliation of anyone in that triad, but in Church speak, those two staff members were showing the love of Christ to that woman – they were showing what our baptismal covenant calls “respecting the dignity of every human being.”  One of our core purposes at Church is to equip followers of Christ to go out into the world, sharing the love of Christ in their own particular vocation.  As Advent approaches this Sunday, I am reminded that the world needs that love now more than ever.  We certainly do that intentionally at Hickory Neck, with services like our Blue Christmas service that acknowledges how our vulnerable emotions can be bubbling right under the surface this time of year, or with our Invitation Sunday coming up that honors how much longing there is in the world for meaningful community.  But more importantly, I hope our church is empowering our parishioners to be agents of love everyday, who can, at the drop of a dime, see need right in front of them, and show compassion, mercy, and grace.  I look forward to hearing from you where you see invitations this week to show Christ’s love and light!

On Ghosts, Goblins, and Community…

03 Thursday Nov 2022

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Photo Credit: https://windows10spotlight.com/images/cd4207053ac7aaa6212c99ef8a230cfb

Sometimes, when parenting children, you tend to operate in a haze.  In trying to harmonize work, family life, and everything else, you can become partially present in the parenting moment.  Halloween can be one of those instances.  In the rush of everyday responsibilities, you need to decorate the house, sweep off the driveway, purchase and prep candy for distribution, ensure your kids have all the costume parts they need (sometimes mending, gluing, pinning them at the last minute, or figuring out how to do their makeup), oh, and find that trick-or-treat bag they want from last year.  There is coordinating with other parents so your kid can walk with their friends, the needed photos, and the constant reminders to say “trick or treat!” and “thank you!” 

Fortunately, the Holy Spirit is always at work, giving us moments of the sacred in even the most hectic secular experiences.  This Monday, I was in that Halloween haze myself, trying to send off my older child, praying she made good choices, and accompanying my younger child, soaking up the chance to enjoy the night with her.  As we made our way from house to house, the sacred was slowly revealed.  I noticed as parents walked with their children, they connected more meaningfully than in our quick hellos at the bus stop and coordinating texts for playdates.  As homeowners emerged from their homes, I watched older adults light up with the chance to interact with children, I saw parents of older children wistfully watch the littles as their older children were too far past this precious time, and I noticed singletons relishing a chance for social interaction.  I was in the midst of community at its finest:  strangers extending hospitality, cross-generation lovingkindness, and deeply felt smiles. 

I know Halloween has pagan roots, and the Church, as it always does, worked to Christianize the day of All Hollows Eve.  We even have some neighbors who do not participate in the ritual of trick-or-treating out of Christian protest.  But when you strip away all the scary characters, fear-inducing movies, and sacrilegious legends, what remains is one of the best of examples of genuine Christian community.  Somehow, political differences fade, generational biases are set aside, and interpersonal anxieties ease, and what remains is an activity that allows for humble, gracious, affirming hospitality and care.

I wonder how we might foster those same sorts of conditions in our Church communities.  My church’s mission is focused on intergenerational ministry.  Sundays often demonstrate those values as intergenerational ministry blooms.  But the experience of trick-or-treating this year has me wondering what more we can do to create space where strangers can enjoy loving, affirming moments of intimacy and care with neighbors.  My prayer is the Holy Spirit works through our busy hazes to reveals those opportunities for all of us.

On Crises, Crucibles, and Communities…

15 Wednesday Sep 2021

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Photo credit: Deposit Photos (used with permission)

The parish I serve is situated in a crossroads.  In our community are two very different populations:  one is retirees who have fallen in love with the greater Williamsburg area and have settled here to enjoy their retirement; the other is families with young children, who have found a relatively affordable place where they are excited to raise their children.  In both of those populations, the moves to our area often mean people are leaving behind familial systems of support.  In that crucible of our community, Hickory Neck has worked to ensure that our faith community is a community for both populations:  that doesn’t try to just serve each unique group but tries to bring them together so that they can care for each other – surrogate grandparents for young children, and surrogate children and grandchildren the elders can love.  It has been a joy to watch our community embrace our context and thrive.

Then, 18 months ago, our world imploded.  Throughout that time, our parish has tried to be attentive.  Our younger families offered to pick up groceries for our elder members to keep them safe.  Our elders send cards to families encouraging them during these difficult times.  We all figured out new technologies together and laughed along the way.  And when there were times that we could gather, there was joy and hesitation among both populations.  Many of the elders needed to be careful about their health, even if vaccinated.  Many of the young parents were happily vaccinated but then have been forced to wait for vaccines for their children.  In so many ways, it has been the best of times and the worst of times.

Eighteen months later I find a community of parishioners who are just exhausted.  Parents have been pushed to the point of breakage at times.  I cannot tell you the number of times this article came across my desk when talking about the impact of this pandemic of families with school-aged children.  And our elders are breaking too.  Many of them have been pushed into lonely isolation, maybe having figured out technological ways to connect but missing human contact horribly.  Having ridden the rollercoaster of being rushed to be vaccinated, being told they are now safe, many of our elders now are being asked to mask and distance again, and they are terrified of the isolation they thought they had defeated.  All of us are carrying a heavy burden but in very different ways.

Having watched our faith community love and care for each other for so long, I sense now that we are at a new crossroads – one in which our love and care for one another is being tested.  When a crisis comes, adrenaline kicks in, and we move mountains to care for the “other.”  But when a new wave of crisis hits in the form of the Delta variant, our now wearied minds, bodies, and spirits are being pushed once again.  This is the moment when our community will shine.  This is the moment when superficial questions like “how are you?” are being transformed to, “No, really.  How are you?”  This is the moment when emails, texts, calls, and cards that simply say, “I see you,” mean so much – to both generations.  This is the moment when the light of our love is not done out of instinct but out of a deeply rooted baptismal identity that says, with God’s help, I will respect the dignity of every human being.  I am so grateful to be a part of our faith community now – not in the first days, weeks, and months of a pandemic, but in the heart of a long crisis whose crucible will reveal something more beautiful than I ever imagined.

On Humanity, Anxiety, and God’s Love…

09 Wednesday Sep 2020

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Photo credit: https://www.coloradodepressioncenter.org/new-anxiety-program-resource/stress-anxiety-emotion-fear-wooden/

This week has been the week I have been dreading for months:  back to school.  Initially I was dreading it because we had no idea what would happen – whether school would be virtual or some hybrid of virtual and in-person.  Then, I was anxious about how to actually help a first grader and sixth grader do virtual school at the same time – all while working myself.  Because this would all be new, I felt like I was staring into a black hole of knowledge, with no way to know what to really expect.  On the one hand, not knowing meant I had no choice but to, “Let go, and let God.”  On the other hand, I’m really terrible at letting go.

Our first day finally arrived yesterday, and some of the anxieties I had felt were founded.  The first few hours were spent dashing up and down the stairs of our home, juggling one child on the second floor and the other on the first floor, or tag-teaming with my spouse.  Fortunately, the two girls started school an hour apart, so I could manage the stress of one child at a time.  However, there were moments when Zoom meetings started at the same time – and some of those times were times when the technology was just not working.  Knowing full well that calm can produce more calm, I put on my “Zen face.”  But on the inside, I kept thinking there was no way this would be sustainable.

But by midday, both girls had found a rhythm.  The elder was especially becoming more independent and her usual confident self, and the younger quickly learned how to go with the flow, finding educational things to fill empty holes, and navigate new systems.  I was even able to find ways to squeeze in my own work throughout the day, do a livestream set of prayers, and catch up on pastoral care calls.  Despite the initial chaos, the day went so well, I felt confident we could do this!

Throughout the day, images and verses from scripture kept popping up in my mind:  Jesus asking Peter why he doubted while walking across water; Jesus reminding us how if the flowers of the field and the birds of the air are cared for, how much more are we loved and valued; or angels at the tomb telling Mary Magdalene and the other women not to be afraid.  Time and time again in scripture, we hear the refrain, “Do not be afraid.”  We hear that phrase not because we should try to become perfect, anxiety-free humans.  We hear that phrase because anxiety is normal – but so is God’s love and care for us.  I do not know what anxieties you are holding today, but my hope is you can remember God’s abundant love and care for you – whether you hear those words from God, whether you feel that in your heart through the Spirit, or whether a friend, family member, or a stranger is God’s messenger of hope to you today.  Wherever the reassurance comes from, do not be afraid – you are loved and cared for – and you’ve got this!!

On Refreshment in a Parched Land…

01 Wednesday Jul 2020

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Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; resuse with permission only.

Over three months ago, when we closed our church’s doors because of the Coronavirus pandemic, we had to make some quick, difficult decisions.  We knew we wanted to offer a livestream service, but we also knew we did not feel comfortable consuming the holy meal without the community of faith gathered.  Fortunately, we have a rich traditional of prayers from our Book of Common Prayer, so we switched to Morning Prayer on Sundays.  In seminary, I attended Morning Prayer daily, so in some ways, the last many months has been like visiting an old friend.  As the officiant, I have often worn my seminary cross as a sign of gratitude for the formation I receive at Virginia Theological Seminary to be able to confidently officiate the service.

But as our diocese gave us permission to begin the regathering process, the liturgical team began to realize we had a conundrum.  For the limited number of people who would be able to gather in the space, would we keep offering Morning Prayer, or would we offer communion under the new guidelines?  If we offered communion to some, would those watching online feel left out if the livestream was different from the in-person offering?  So, like we often do at Hickory Neck, we decided to try an experiment.  We still did not want the altar party to consume on screen if no one else could consume with us.  But perhaps we could try an offering of “Spiritual Communion”:  a service identical to the familiar Holy Eucharist we normally celebrate, but with a special shared prayer instead of actual reception of the body and blood of Christ.

This past Sunday, we gave the experiment a go.  Shifting types of services is more complicated than it sounds, especially given the challenges of working with limited technology.  My brain was so jumbled with details that when we hit the livestream button, I had not processed the significance of the morning.  I put on vestments I have not worn in over three months – vestments I used to wear every week.  As the celebrant, I was saying words that I have said countless times in the last ten years.  It was only when I elevated the elements, recognizing the muscle memory of my body, that the power of what we were doing hit me.  Holy Eucharist is just one of the myriad things that have been taken away from us during this time of social distancing – one of the many comforts that I have grieved in these last months.  Despite the fact we were not actually receiving communion, despite the fact the room was still empty minus a camera, despite the fact a hundred little things were different, all of a sudden, I found myself overwhelmed with emotion.

Celebrating Spiritual Communion was not the same as celebrating Holy Eucharist.  But celebrating Spiritual Communion felt like a sip of water in a parched land.  It was not complete refreshment, but it was reassurance, comfort, and care.  It was an unexpected gift from the Holy Spirit in the wilderness of this pandemic.  I do not know what our community will decide to do going forward – whether we will keep Morning Prayer or Spiritual Communion, or some combination of the two.  In fact, I am hoping our parishioners and viewers will let us know their feedback.  This week I am just grateful for a community that is willing to experiment – to try, to fail, to learn, and to grow.  That commitment to playful creativity has always been a joy; during this pandemic it is salve to our open wounds.  Thanks be to God!  And thank you, Hickory Neck!

On Teachers, Nurses, and Grandmas…

07 Thursday May 2020

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One of the things my grandmother instilled in me from an early age was the importance of thank you notes.  She taught me how to write them, how quickly to send them, and the significance of being a person who reliably sends them.  These days I fear she would be sorely disappointed with how those carefully honed skills have deteriorated over time – not that I do not know how to write them or understand their importance, but how my overflowing plate often means the list of thank you notes to be written makes it to the bottom of my “to do” pile.

That is why I am thankful for the ways in which our country has designated this week as appreciation weeks for two powerful vocations:  teachers and nurses.  Left to my own devices, I regularly forget to show my appreciation for the teachers in our lives.  But this annual week always reminds me that for thirty-five-plus hours a week, teachers are the people who are with my children – teaching them, shaping them into thoughtful citizens, helping them grow into their unique identity, and generally helping them feel loved and valued.  I have always thought of teachers as part of our “village,” who are helping my husband and me raise our children.  And this year, more than ever, I am amazed at the ways teachers are pivoting, learning new technologies, figuring out different ways to engage children in a pandemic, and showing love to our kids while socially distanced.

Likewise, I am grateful for a week to show our gratitude toward our nurses.  My most powerful experience with a nurse was in childbirth.  I had been laboring for the better part of twelve hours when I finally elected to have an epidural.  Everyone left the room, and as I leaned forward for the anesthesiologist, I could not stop shaking – whether from exhaustion or fear, I am not sure.  But the nurse took my arms firmly, looked me right in the eyes, and instilled in me a trust so deep I can still feel it palpably ten years later.  Nurses do this every day – take our lives into their hands, guide us through healing and wellness, and comfort us in ways that build confidence, trust, and care.  And in the midst of this pandemic, they are literally putting their lives on the line to do this often-overlooked work.

I’m not sure this is enough of a thank you note to meet my grandmother’s standard.  But what I can tell you is our teachers and our nurses are doing sacred work every day of the year.  They love us, care for us, and show us the light of Christ every day.  If you have a teacher or nurse in your life, neighborhood, or circle of friends, please be sure to thank them personally for the ways in which they are changing our lives today.  I invite you to return God’s blessing they have been to you back to them.

On Church, Community, and Crying…

01 Wednesday Apr 2020

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Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; use with permission only.

I had seen the pictures and videos in my news feed of teachers and schools “parading” in neighborhoods, saying hello to their students from their cars (keeping safe social distances).  The idea seemed nice enough, but I did not really think too much about the concept.  But when my children found out their elementary school would be doing the same, they jumped right in, making signs for their teachers.  We rearranged our daily schedule, and headed up to the now-unused bus stop in our neighborhood, and waited.

But it was not until I saw familiar face after familiar face – the principal, my fifth grader’s first, third, and current grade teachers; the art, computer, music, orchestra, librarian, and gym teachers; even the custodian – that I lost it.  Tears burst into my eyes, and although I could not stop smiling, I also could not stop crying.  The previous week, we had found out that due to the Coronavirus, our schools would be out for the remainder of the school year.  My fifth grader would not get to say goodbye to friends and one of the best teachers she has ever had, nor the community that has shaped her for the last four years.  My kindergartner would get no closure on her first year of school.  But here was that amazing community, coming to our neighborhood to say goodbye.

I think I burst into tears because I realized how very deeply important community is in our lives.  For the schools, our children are there five days a week, nine months of the year.  The school is a major part of the village that raises our children, teaches them, forms them into amazing citizens, and helps them find their sense of identity and purpose.  The staff and teachers at our school love our children and are a part of our family.  What this virus did was expose a huge part of our children’s lives and take it away from them.  The tears I could not stop that day were tears of gratitude, tears of blessing, tears of humility for the community I had not fully appreciated until that moment.

That is what has been so hard about having our church closed too.  We are making inroads for connection, surely.  But part of the reason we are doing that is because we know that Church is a vital community in our lives too.  Certainly, we are there because of our faith – or our desire to have faith.  But we are also at Church because the community feeds us, sustains us, and gives our lives a sense of purpose and identity.  When we cannot gather, we lose a huge part of our lives.  This week, it is my prayer that for those of you missing your church community, you will take advantage of the ways we are trying to maintain virtual connection during this time of disconnection.  We may not be able to exchange signs of the peace, offer hugs or high fives of affirmation, or kneel at the altar together.  But we can laugh at Virtual Coffee Hour, sing during livestream worship, and even cry during daily pop-up prayers.  Your community is still here, loving you and supporting you.  And we cannot wait to see you again!!