It is storming and you’re outside in it. Rain in sheets and at times metal pellets of water. Lightening, thunder, flash flood threatening you. There is a small, warm shelter nearby. What do you do?
You enter that warm shelter.
The office, the train car, the world around you is toxic. It’s hard to breathe. It is hard to see. Nearby is a transparent tent. You can see the air inside is clear and clean. The toxic vapors are repelled and flow past it, a vapor trail. What do you do?
You enter the clean air of that tent.
Weariness grips you in a bone-deep ache. Despair like shadows descend. You see people exiting a building who seem invigorated, empowered, full of courage and hope. They point you to the building, saying that each week they enter it and are filled, their humanity and dignity repaired. What do you do?
Every Sunday a group of us, approximately 70, sometimes ten more sometime ten less, enter a middle school auditorium in SW Washington DC. For an hour we make that space a sanctuary of peace and a refuge, a safe place free of toxicity and hatred, a place of empowerment to all who would work for justice and peace. We sing. We pray. We listen to scripture and the Word of God is proclaimed—a Word that endures beyond the tweeted trifling nonsense of our culture. You can taste some of this by clicking on a sermon and listening to it. Try, for example, this past Sunday’s sermon, “The Joy Formidable.”
You know when and how to get out of a storm. You know you prefer peace to toxic rhetoric. So what’s keeping you? Get out of the rain. Come, now is the time to worship. ~See you Sunday