Eugenia A. Gamble
Since 2019, when I had to take early retirement due to medical challenges, through Covid and even until now, I have thought a lot about what it means to be a part of the community of God’s family that we call church. Is it really possible to do that alone with a laptop? Can the profundity of worship leak with power through a matrix of codes in 0 and 1s? Does the Spirit rouse and nurture through virtual sacraments and music pieced together from a dozen living rooms? What has become clear to me is that the church is larger, more winsome and more creative that I had ever had to dream possible before. Granted, there is nothing like the swell of friends gathered in worship Sunday in and Sunday out over a lifetime, still, what is to become of those of us who can rarely gather together anymore due to health or proximity? Is a woman on her laptop on a Sunday morning still a part of the family of God worshipping? The answer has to be yes.
As I think about this I am reminded of an experience that my husband Robbie and I had several years ago at the Safari Park that is part of the San Diego Zoo. We took a special cart safari that allowed us a close up look at some of the animals in their wide open habitats. We rounded a curve in the trail and there, bunched up together under a sturdy shade tree, sat about six female rhinoceroses. Our guide told us that they were a part of a conservation project to help to save the species. For years, rhinos steadfastly refused to breed in captivity. Every possible enticement was used to encourage it, but none of the healthy breeding pairs produced. Finally, by happenstance, they learned that female rhinos, when deprived of the company of other females will suppress their hormones so as not to conceive.
They do this because in the wild they need to have several adult females to protect a calf from predators. Why go through an 18-month gestation just to have the little guy gotten by a lion while a baby? Without a ‘sisterhood’ they would have none of it. When several females bonded into a group, called a crash (don’t you love it), then they felt safe to conceive, brought their hormones up to speed and had at it. More than 50 of the endangered babies have been born this way.
That day in San Diego, we rounded a bend and there they were, a crash of rhino sisters under a tree in the summer sun, each taking a turn looking after the one young calf. Huge, funny looking things with 800 pound heads, under a shade tree taking turns babysitting. It takes a ‘crash’ to bring anything like life to life.
The church has for 70 years been my crash. I can still be apart as I serve from home and worship from an easy chair. And yet, the thing about a crash that makes it life giving is the mutuality. I know what I can offer, and I do that to best of my ability. But how can the church also give to me?
As a pastor for nearly 40 years, I know how difficult ministry to shut ins really is. Invariably, for me at least, it was close to the bottom of my to do list after worship prep, bible study, hospital visits, pastoral counseling and committee meetings. I am ashamed to admit that is often consisted of little more than monthly taking of communion and straining to be heard through ears no longer perked. There were holy moments in those times, without a doubt, but there were also many opportunities missed.
What are some of the things that our dispersed flocks can offer the church as a whole? Of course, that in large part depends on each person’s spiritual gifts and place in the journey. Here are a few things that I am pondering. Folk who are isolated feel it intensely, even the most introverted of us. We can begin to think that our usefulness is a thing of the past and then, with nothing productive or lovely to think about, begin to have our primary relationship with our pain or losses. This invariable gnaws at the underpinnings of our intimacy with God.
One way to help us with this is to ask us to do something. Is there a task that we can perform virtually? Maybe as a pastor you need a sounding board. We can do that. Whether young or old, we have learned things that can shed a bit of light on what a pastor may be too close or exhausted to process. Ask us to pray for you. We love this and it has the added benefit of deepening our own prayer life, bonding us with the flock for which we pray, and getting us out of our own way.
Another thing you can do is invite us to tell stories. Nothing makes community faster and more durable than hearing and telling stories. In my last parish, I kept a big basket on the table in the fellowship hall with story starters. People picked one on entering and told stories over their coffee and treats, or to start meetings. The stories don’t need to be profound or take folk to uncomfortable places. They can be as simple as “Tell us about your favorite childhood meal.” Or “Tell us about your 5th grade teacher.” I have seen near strangers laugh until tears rolled down when telling of their first kiss. I believe that the Spirit uses each of those remembrances to help us process life, remember what is important, and weave together commonality. Perhaps the care teams at your church might brainstorm ideas for how to invite shut in members to share stories on line or in writing. Maybe you could include a weekly prompt in your newsletter or bulletin that invites the whole congregation to think about and share a story. Perhaps there could be virtual multi-generational dinner parties where small groups of people from each decade of life gather on line to share a meal together and tell stories from their own experiences.
Shut in members are learning all the time, or want to be. We also want to share what we are learning. We are growing in Christ exponentially. We have to, because we no longer have the distractions that hampered us in working life, or the ego distractions that once lied to us about what was important and real. Those things are waning daily and what is irreducibly left is the divine mystery of Christ within us, the hope of all glorious things to come.
We all need our ‘crash’ in the wonderful, Spirit infused, newness of body life that happens in ways we never dreamed and may not even welcome. We need each other and we will not produce new generations unless we have the mutual support we need. So I invite each of us today to give a call or shoot a text to someone who can’t get out much anymore. Don’t just ask how we are. We will invariably white wash that truth. Rather, ask us to do something to help, to tell you a story about something you want to know about, or simply to pray for you in whatever you are experiencing. Like King Lear as he heads to prison teaches us, “When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down, ask of thee forgiveness. So we’ll live, and pray, and sing and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies.” (Old Age, by Helen Luke, p. 32.)