The Body of Christ in Our Basement

I don’t think we are completely crazy! But, maybe.

 

We are in the midst of a Great Experiment!

 

This Wednesday we will – for the third week – host midweek worship at our house.

 

I keep thinking that it will get “smoother,” or that we’ll get the hang of it. But, I’m beginning to think that this is just the way it is going to be...chaotic, noisy, crowded, up close.

 

We used to meet at the church, in the Fellowship Hall. It was a cavernous setting for what, in reality, is more of a small group. So, in complete selfishness, we moved to our house; where we don’t have to pack up the kids, after school and homework, and rush from home to church and back home by bedtime (if we’re all going to participate…Otherwise, Cliff and the kids stay home and don’t participate, which is no fun!).

 

Cliff makes a couple pots of soup and some grilled cheese.

We mop the floor downstairs (Okay – for purposes of full-disclosure, Cliff is the one who mops it!)…He waits to do this until Wed. afternoon because, inevitably, sometime during the week, one of our dogs has pee-ed down there…And they are Saint Bernards…The result is nothing short of a lake. And the best we can do the rest of the week, is to pile some towels on the wetness. Not particularly hospitable! So, Cliff mops while the soup cooks.

 

The first week, we met in our living room (big, cushy furniture, nice coffee table – perfect spot to set up communion). At 22 people, we were too many. And the stairs to the entry made it difficult for some folks to make it in, easily.

 

So, last week, we moved to the bottom floor (where the basement would be, if we had one)…bought some pea gravel to re-mark the walkway from the drive that enters on that level (no stairs to negotiate), and flood lights to light the way. Moved the empty bags of dog food from the patio area, so no one tripped on the way in. Scrubbed the dog drool off of the glass doors.  Got some folding chairs from the church. Set up the space heater (it can be a little cool downstairs). Moved some pillows to the fireplace hearth for more seating. Cleaned off Lucy’s craft table, so we could put some food there. And cleared off the Lego table – new communion set-up spot.

We tell folks that food will be ready at 5:45. When the first person showed up at 5:00 (while Cliff was outside blowing off the driveway and I was chiseling the drool from the door), we asked if they wouldn’t mind taking a walk around the neighborhood for a few minutes. When the second person showed up 10 minutes later, we just gave up and had them help set up.

 

This week, we’ll have to move the Lego table out of the way to create more space (which means that the communion will be set up on a TV tray…I’m sure there’s a sermon in there, somewhere).

 

In the middle of the crazy-ness last week, I just laughed out loud and said, “What a beautiful gathering of the Body we have here!”

A retired bank executive; a man who lives in a homeless shelter; another who takes the bus to get to our home; two high school students, their single mother and her father and step-mother; a woman who has been a member of the church for 70 years; a retired pastor and his wife; a young African American woman; a former Baptist (or two); a Vietnam Veteran; our kids – who make intermittent appearances throughout the evening; and about 10 others. Not a lot. And while there are a couple of “regulars” (who used to come when we met at the church) who seem to have dropped out, we have added several who never came to the church for the midweek service.

So, for this season at least (during Lent we will move back to church…after that, who knows?), it a Great and Glorious Experiment in and Experience of hospitality (and a study of worship in the early church).

 

We are looking together at  Acts 2.42: “They (those brave folks who gathered together to learn how to do this “Christian-life-in-the-world” thing) devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.”

 

We straggle in, find a place to sit, get some soup, a sandwich, some sweet tea or water. Whoever happens to be up, gets re-fills. We talk and laugh and ask after each other’s health, and at about 6:15, Linda (who eats her soup from the piano bench) starts the music. Last week, we started with “I’ll Fly Away.” Cliff heard the music, hurried downstairs (he was upstairs in the kitchen, flipping some more grilled cheese sandwiches), grabbed his guitar, took up his position beside Ethan (who also brings his guitar to play), Linda hollers out “We’re in the key of G,” and off we go.

 

When we put the kids to bed later, they are still humming: “I’ll fly away, Oh Glory.”

 

 

Seeking Signs of Life

"What are you looking for?"

That's the question Jesus asks the two disciples who are following him (John 1.38). It is, in my opinion, one of the most provocative questions a person can ask, or be asked.

What are you looking for?

I'm not sure that any of us can answer that...not for ourselves, and certainly not for anybody else.

What are you looking for?

Love? In all the wrong places?

Answers?

Meaning? 

Significance?

Purpose?

Confidence?

Forgiveness?

For me...right now, at this moment (tomorrow, I may answer differently), I am looking for signs of life. 

I know, right? Such a little thing!

It seems like it has just been building...

It all started about 2 years ago, December 29 (my husband's birthday!) when our dog, Tendai died. We were visiting my in-laws, in Charleston, when it happened (which ended up being a great blessing, as they could keep the kids while we were at the vet's). We had to have him put to sleep. Telling the kids was so hard. Lucy wailed. Henry wept.

Before too long, not only did we have another dog, we also had the first of four new furry friends...all in the form of hamsters. We only had one at a time. That's right...if we've only had one at a time, that means that we have "gone through" three. Over the course of two years, we have managed to let three hamsters die (I prefer to say we "let them die." To say that we killed them sounds even worse!). They survived anywhere from 2 weeks to 308 days (Lucy, our daughter, has kept track). The fourth, and the one who is still living, is named "Hope," for obvious reasons. 

The summer after Tendai died, my mother was diagnosed with Stage IV adenocarcinoma. 

In the middle of cancer diagnoses and dying hamsters, one of whom we are fairly certain died as a result of a brain trauma suffered after Cliff, my husband, "flung" him off of his finger into the bottom of the cage (to be fair, the hamster had bitten Cliff), we got our son, Henry, a bearded dragon, because we were not going to have another furry friend in the house. Henry's bearded dragon is named Mr. Fluffypants! 

When we acquired Mr. Fluffypants, our friend, Beth, suggested that we try "growing" our own meal worms (bearded dragons love meal worms). One of her kids' teachers "grows" them in the classroom. How hard can it be? asked the family who has seen the demise of three hamsters (amazing that Petsmart keeps selling them to us!). We set up a terrarium, and her son's teacher supplied all we would need. Who knew we weren't supposed to feed the beetles to Mr. Fluffypants? He enjoyed them. Within two weeks, there was no sign of life in the terrarium.

Somewhere, in the middle of all of this, my mother has a scan that reveals, what the oncologist calls, an "angry tumor" on her thigh...it's causing a lot of pain. Probably some kind of sarcoma (that's not good). She is treated with radiation...miraculous results. No pain...apparently "dead" tumor.

Back to the mealworms...Since we seem to have fed the "life-source" beetles to the lizard, we put about a half-dozen "store bought" meal worms in the terrarium and didn't touch them, hoped, and prayed. 

Before too long, I could see that three of the store-bought meal worms seemed lifeless...fat...unmoving...stuck in a corner. "You have got to be kidding me! Why cant we keep anything alive?!" 

Back to my mother.

Six weeks ago, my mom had another "scan." It showed a new "growth" in her lung (the one that was - before then - tumor-free). "Are you serious?!" This among the dying mealworms!

"Let's not panic," said her oncologist, whom we adore (Kathryn Mileham). "We'll do another scan in 6 weeks...keep a close eye on it." 

I go home and look in the terrarium...I should really get those three lifeless mealworms out of the there...bad mojo, you know? But who wants to dig them out? Not me.

Mom has her "follow up" scan this past Thurs. 

The cancer seems to have "taken off." Most likely, the "angry tumor" come back to life.

She is in the hospital for two days. At the end of each, tired and weary, I go home and look at the dying mealworms. Even fatter...turning brown, at this point. Little "nubs" protruding out of their sides.

I look closer...they are "resurrecting"...they are becoming beetles...life-sources. They are brown and moving and the "nubs" are becoming legs. We will not feed them to Mr. Fluffypants. They will "birth" mealworms. 

"What are you looking for?" Jesus asks. I am looking for signs of life.

Who knew such simple things as mealworms could remind me that "life wins!"?

May your eyes be quicker to see signs of life than mine have been...And may all of us be quick to point out signs of life to our sisters and brothers who feel bombarded by death.

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