On Reverence and Being the Church

One morning during the summer of 2001, a list quietly appeared on the side of the refrigerator in my parents’ kitchen. The handwriting was the same as that on the dubbed Disney cassettes, home movie VHS tapes, and grandchildren’s names on scraps of paper carefully scotch-taped to sets of birth year coins. My grandfather had wanted to make known his wishes for his eventual memorial service, and did so through a pencil-written list on a piece of lined, looseleaf paper. Most of the specifics of that list elude me with the exception of one hymn (Just a Closer Walk with Thee) and the following request: “Psalm 23 – with Reverence”.

Reverence. I have a mental snapshot of how that word looks just as Poppy wrote it. A deep respect. Solemn adoration. Recognition of the sacred. I more often feel the fullness of reverence than speak it aloud. However during this season of life, I find speaking it to be most useful on a Sunday morning. After sitting through the church service and while awaiting their cookies and juice during the time between my husband’s organ postlude and coffee hour, the boys often seem to forget where they are. Their pent up energy triumphs over manners and respect as they run and play up near the altar. “Gentlemen, REVERENCE!” I urge them, eyes demanding and teeth clenched. I mean it. And they know. The reminder is enough to cue them to slow their feet, step gently down from the embroidered cushion surrounding the communion rail (Lord, have mercy), and walk themselves out of the sanctuary in a somewhat increased state of respect. Most of the time. (Sidenote, after 4 Sundays of Zoom church, I ache for this to be our normal Sunday morning experience once again.)

On Friday night, my friend and director of the Westfield Food Pantry asked if I would consider allowing the pantry to use our Little Free Library as part of their current strategy to get food into the hands of our neighbors in need. They have many donations to pass along but the problem lies in passing out food in a way that is safe for all parties involved.  While the pantry has planned and prepared for how to handle a plethora of emergencies, the element of social distancing adds a level of unanticipated difficulty. She explained that a volunteer from our church is willing to regularly clean, stock, and manage the library while it is in use as a pantry. I have seen this idea of Little Free Libraries turning into pantries frequently throughout the past month or so. Many are still operating as libraries and have increased their publicity and outreach in promoting reading materials and literacy. Others have closed in alignment with their public libraries and in an attempt to reduce viral transmission. I had considered turning our Little Free Library into a pantry a few weeks back, but wasn’t sure how to do so safely. Admittedly, I didn’t think to ask for help. I hadn’t officially closed our library, but for the time being had stopped adding new books and promoting its use. I agreed, pleased with the plan for regular monitoring and cleaning, and suggested that it be “offer only” in order to better regulate the condition of its contents.

Yesterday I drove over to church to clear the books and hang a sign announcing the temporary conversion from library to pantry. I expected to find it a mess after having abandoned it for a month, but was delighted to find that the opposite had occurred – it was pristine. Books filled the bottom shelf, spines facing out, neatly aligned. The top shelf contained two carefully curated stacks of books, many of which I had not seen in our library before. Interestingly, as the bottom shelf became emptied of children’s selections that I hadn’t refilled, adult books appeared in the empty spaces. Someone had been caring for the library in my absence. A deep sense of appreciation and gratitude overcame my heart. 

Reverence.

Entering an empty church tends to elicit feelings of peace and calm. I treasure memories of quiet moments spent in our Congregational Church in North Adams while my husband was the music director and I was, quite literally, along for the ride. Anyone who has also grown in that church knows the feel of the old leather doors entering the sanctuary, the weight required to push them open, and the subtle sounds made as they swing wide and then settle back into place. For years I would enjoy the quiet of that sanctuary before church on a Sunday morning or after choir rehearsal on a Thursday night. I beheld the brilliance of the Tiffany windows splashing across the tops of the pews as the sunlight streamed in. I also recall the dark, muted tones of the windows when the sanctuary lights were on at night, which meant that the windows shone brightly outside of our walls. A beacon of light at the top of Main Street.

I entered our church yesterday for the first time in a month. There should have been the slightest scent of coffee in the air that lingers near the kitchen week to week, but it’s been just as long since anyone has sat together in fellowship following the service. I set the bin of books I’d carefully removed from the library in a corner of the vacant chapel, washed my hands, and walked over to the closed sanctuary doors. As I peeked in, bearing sole witness to the light pouring through another set of stained glass windows that have become so familiar, I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. The gift of being there, alone in the quiet, became clear. I stood for a moment, gazed at the sunlit stillness through the tiny window in the door, and the tears came. Sometimes the best prayer I can muster is to feel with intensity, offer a silent “Lord, hear my prayer”, and trust that my intentions are translated. That stillness, that offering, that peace. 

Reverence.

A dear friend texted just then and I admitted that she’d caught me crying in church. I don’t think this church has ever felt as much like home as it just did in that moment, I acknowledged to her. That’s because WE/you are the church, she responded. 

Reverence. And amen.

Today our Little Free Library temporarily became our Little Free Food Pantry, officially stocked and in business. The doors to our building remain closed. But our church – our connectedness, our commitment to one another, our service to our neighbors and our community and our world – THAT is very much open.