Chilling in the church basement

A unique feature of a funeral lunch at Salem is the ice. Two women who are often called upon to serve have strong opinions about half-empty bags of frosty ice clumps that taste unpleasantly like the freezer. When a luncheon is requested, these two volunteers spring into action - generating fresh, delicious "homemade" ice cubes to more tastefully chill the water and punch. One uses her refrigerator's ice maker, the other churns them out the old-fashioned way - using ice cube trays. To be fair, I am always careful to taste and admire each kind - I don't like frosty, stinky ice clumps either and am willing to do my part to keep the good ice coming.

I recently touted our superior ice to a family as they made plans for their mother's funeral and the lunch to follow. Yesterday, in the midst of the healing chatter and laughter that so often accompany the cold cuts and Special K bars, a mourner from the immediate family asked me to point out the two ice-makers. Since one woman was on vacation, the other was able to take all of the credit while he thanked her sincerely and profusely, telling her how delicious and refreshing he found her homemade cubes.

A few moments later, one of his sisters also offered compliments ("never better") and then another sibling ("so tasty") and another ("best I've ever had"). Seven or eight relatives later, everyone was giggling about the outstanding ice cubes, especially their maker. When the lunch was finally winding down, the flower arrangements and leftover potato salad were divvied up and all of the good ice was gone, I overheard one last daughter, so sad to lose her mom, ask for a few of those delicious ice cubes "to go." Even in the midst of their grief - these adult children could not squelch the laughter and playfulness they had inherited from their mother.

Our lunch crew's hospitality allows families to make themselves at home in our church basement - for an hour or an afternoon. Just once like yesterday or after fifty years of potlucks and annual meetings and Easter breakfasts -- during the best and most painful days life offers.

I am so very grateful to serve alongside them. And the ice cubes really were delicious - I'll have to ask for the recipe.

Encourage - Take Heart

At our mid-week Lenten service this week, I invited an eight year-old from the congregation to share the sermon with me. Not because he's cute or funny (he's both), but because his ability to articulate his eight year-old faith is inspiring. I picked his brain a few days ahead of time, prepared several questions to prompt our conversation and then threw my considerable remaining caution to the wind.

Most impressive to me was not his willingness to pin on a microphone and share his thoughts about how God is at work in the world and in his life - though plenty of adults had said "no, thank you" to the same opportunity. I most admired his parents' courage - trusting God's spirit to work through whatever might happen, trusting the congregation to treat him gently (and on a school night to boot).

After worship, I witnessed a brief, precious exchange between this young boy and the gentleman who has agreed to shared his own story a few weeks from now.

"Nice job! Do you have any advice for me?"
"Yes, just find some people you know and look at them the whole time."

The word courage comes from the Latin word for heart. To encourage others, then, is literally to share your heart - to hearten others. This is what healthy Christian communities do - give and receive courage from one another so that we too, might boldly share our hearts and the treasure of our faith.

Confession is good for the sole.

We've waited all winter for a decent snowstorm. Last night's weather didn't live up the hype, but it did deliver enough sloppy, wet snow to shovel and plow. When I heard some of the neighbor kids playing in the church parking lot as I headed out of the building - I quickly pulled on my gloves so I could toss a few snowballs at them. I had to abandon my ambush when I discovered a young boy balancing on one foot while his younger friend searched for a missing shoe deep in the pile of snow left by the plow. Neither one was wearing gloves so I said, "Hold my purse." and started to dig.

Eventually I had to get a shovel, while one held my bag and the other offered advice about the depth and location of the shoe. Because it took a while to unearth the snow-packed footwear, an explanation was offered - one part confession and two parts tattling. A poor decision had led to this chilly predicament - leaping off the retaining wall into the pile of snow several feet below probably seemed like a grand idea and I suspect there had been several previous attempts with happier endings. Worse things could have happened besides a wet sock, a stern warning, and the deep embarrassment of being forced to hold a lady's giraffe-print purse in public.

Of course, I don't want these or other kids jumping off the retaining wall in any season. I don't let them climb the crab apple tree in front of the church office. I certainly don't want them scrambling up onto the roof or any number of things that could lead to injury for them and liability for the church. But I also don't want to chase them away or forbid them from learning to ride their bikes in our parking lot or tell them not to pick dandelions from the cracks in our sidewalks or to play hide and seek in our vast yard. This church is part of the web of support that helps to keep children safe, shapes the decisions they make, knows and loves them, and even digs them out of all kinds of trouble when they find themselves buried in it.

My own feet were wet and cold for the rest of the day. In case they come back tomorrow, I'm bringing my boots and will have the snowballs ready.

Whose support system are you a part of?