I’m missing the outside encouragement, but I’m relishing what I get in exchange--a louder, longer, more authentic dialogue with Jesus.
A lady found herself in an elevator with Robert Redford. “Are you the real Robert Redford?” she asked. “No,” he replied. “The real Robert Redford is who I am when no one is watching.”
I think of that now as I ponder the way I worship, now that worship is home, alone, via a pre-recorded broadcast. Oh, I still love getting there before the premier showing, and waving to the folks who wander in, and muttering to Facebook that they really should have a waving emoji in their arsenal for folks like me. I’m starved for connection, and a wave or a heart is like pinching myself and remembering that these people are real, my church is real, our connection is real, even now.
And our faith is very real. Maybe even more real, now that the exterior trappings are stripped away.
I miss that social carrot-on-a-stick that used to make me eager to get to church, and some days I get a little swallowed by the dark hole of disconnection. But I’m also slowly learning the advantages of couch church, the slow rise, no need to impress anyone, and the sincerity that is inevitable when I am alone and no one is watching.
Hmm…. What if church church were like couch church? What would that look like?
I cringe, immediately thinking of that migraine Sunday when I lay on the sofa in my pajamas, hair akimbo, eyes closed tight against the light, but worshipping offkey into the pillow with one free hand waving above the sofa. That’s literally a side of me that you don’t see much in church church. Thankfully.
Then of course there are the three dogs that love to do church with me. They don’t smell all that fresh, but their hearts are sincere, and they don’t snore loudly. This morning the old one strolled by during church, glanced at her reflection in the wood stove, and snarled menacingly at herself for good measure.
If we brought couch church to church church, you would have been startled this morning, along with my dogs, when the washing machine began to gyrate and waddle across the floor in the adjoining room. “Molly!” I yelled above the “thump, thump” of the washer. The dogs lept to their feet, but Pastor Derek didn’t seem to notice. “MOLLY!” (Louder, now up to the volume that generally accompanied her swim meets) “M-O-L-L-Y-!!!!” Hyper-volume this time, but Pastor Derek remained unphased. Must be that “Keep calm and preach on” bookmark in his Bible. It took two of us to discipline the washer back into its place, but you all calmly turned a blind eye until I rejoined the congregation.
Is it just me, or would there be a lot more food in church church if it were like couch church? I never think of food during church church. But couch church? 100% of the time. What can I eat next? If church church were like couch church, you would witness me carrying Pastor Derek to the kitchen, where he would preach to us from the kitchen island while I forage through the fridge.
There would also be bagels in church, I’m convinced of that, if church church were like couch church. At least, bagels were what I craved this morning, but because of the no wheat thing, I settled for mixed nuts. And that chocolate bark that lives next to the nuts in the pantry. I meant to take one piece, but inadvertently (okay, vertently) took three, which I then broke. Christ-like. Thereby multiplying my nuts to chocolate ratio to the biblical proportion of five to two. Balancing Derek in one hand and my snacks in the other, I waddled back to the couch.
I’m trying hard to picture what that would look like in our sanctuary.
I want to be authentic when I am at church church, but sometimes it’s hard to know when we are wanting to impress, or when maybe our shyness silences our true voice. But at home, especially on my solo days, it’s ALL 100% authentic and organic and home grown. My authentic moodiness surprises me, and crowds me closer to Christ for repentance and correction. I know when couch church is followed naturally by spiritual journaling that the journey is real and not for show. I’m missing the outside encouragement, but I’m relishing what I get in exchange--a louder, longer, more authentic dialogue with Jesus.
The real Kathy Gallagher snuggles the dog on the sofa and wears headbands to cover up the grow-out and sometimes eats peanutbutter by the spoonful. (You know, that no wheat thing.) She looks eagerly at the list of those joining church, and wishes she could greet them in person, or sit and talk at a safe distance about how they are surviving. She knows what she loves, more now that it is missing. The real Kathy understands what authentic worship looks like when nobody is watching, notices where her character needs work, her faith is weak, or her obedience is slow. It’s one more of the many gifts of COVID-19, this knowing.
What about you? If your own couch church came to church church, what would it look like?
I’m itching to know what home church looks like with kids of all ages. What sentences that have never graced our sanctuary have been blurted out on your couch? Is there communion in the way you share your bread, or bagels, or orange juice? Does real prayer happen, the authentic kind where you pray purely from your spirit, unworried about how you sound, and maybe with your arms wrapped around someone you love? What does confession and forgiveness and grace look like in your couch church?
You single friends, who must be aching for connection, do you ever cry in church? Do you pray on your knees because no one is watching except God? Does he seem bigger when no one else is there?
And does anybody really stand when Pastor Matt asks us to?
Please talk back. I miss you.
Comments