Playing with Words

I am a wordsmith; I enjoy reading and writing, and often enjoy finding just the right word to use in whatever context I’m in. An example, speaking with a colleague last week we discussed the differences in how words are translated in scripture, and how that can have distinct meanings.

Psalm 23, for example, in the BCP not only speaks of a cup that ‘shall be full’; but of waters of comfort; these same passages in the BAS indicate a cup ‘running over’ and waters that are ‘still.’ They are close, but the nuance provides distinction. (A full cup may be difficult to carry, but has not yet made the mess on the counter of a cup running over; the lack of movement of still waters does not necessarily mean they are waters of comfort.)

It can be good for us to recall, then, how our words matter; how our use of words can impact on others. Whether its words of a bygone era that jar our modern compassion (I completed a crossword puzzle today where one of the answers was a racial slur!), or whether our unintentional rigidity can be painful for an individual (careful and appropriate use of names and pronouns can show respect for someone), or whether our desire to fill an awkward silence brings out unintentionally inappropriate commentary (we’ve all seen someone, including ourselves, sticking the proverbial foot in one’s mouth): whatever it is, our words matter. What we say matters, what we write matters, what we convey matters.

Knowing how easy it can be to fumble and bumble over words in casual conversation, and recognising the way those can influence and impact conversation and relationship, it may be wise to be especially intentional about how we speak of faith and church and religion: in a society where everyone has some concept and context of the institutional church (and they may be negative or neutral), the use of words can make a big difference in the sharing of the faith.

The Word of God came down, and used words, and brought us truth and love and grace therein. Let’s aim to continue with the love of Christ in the words we use.

Unplugged

Last week I went off the grid. Now, for some, the notion of a backwoods cabin, with no electricity or plumbing (and no cell service!) is intimidating; for myself, it was bliss.

Part of that comes from a lot of experience camping, part from the careful prep before heading out, part from the sheer need to unplug from a vocation that is normally quite plugged in (even moreso during the pandemic!). So, for nearly a week, I had no clue what was happening in the world. (Of course, the lovely folks at the house up the road knew where I was, should contact be absolutely necessary!)

The joy of being unplugged, however, was ample. I walked the dogs and didn’t feel the need to rush back – no one could call. I sat at the campfire and didn’t worry about sending email responses – there was no service. I prayed when the mood struck, and wasn’t concerned about a looming meeting or deadline whooshing past – I was in the most important meeting of all.

In unplugging, I reconnected. Because in the act of unplugging, I gifted myself with the time to focus, to slow down, to be intentionally present. I could breathe deeply, and simply appreciate the moment for what it was.

It’s not to say I needed silence to hear the still, small voice of God: for the noise was constant: the crickets were the evening choir, the birds the morning alarm, the leaves rustled and flapped a staccato rhythm, the dropping acorns an unpredictable percussion throughout the days. But it’s a different type of noise when in the cathedral of nature.

Surely, I missed calls, and my inbox is inundated, and I can imagine a lengthy to-do list waiting for me at the office.

But in this 24/7 world, in these days of unrealistic expectations, I carry with me the small joys of spending time focusing on the real world. 

Welcome!

It’s been a week of deep conversations, with folks who don’t often attend church. One comment from someone who attended a special service was “I’ve never felt so comfortable or welcomed in a church before.”

What a gift it is to be a place of welcome, wherever folks are on their journey.

What a gift it was, that this person’s comfort was such that they made a special point to tell me as much.

Sometimes, we’re so busy trying to stay as the church that we already are, that we can miss out on the opportunities to reach out as the church we’re called to be. Our focus can be limited to attendance numbers or budget numbers or COVID numbers or… instead of doing our best to see the world as Jesus would.

Sometimes, society has presented an understanding of the church that is not accurate; but for someone on the outside, this misperception may be all that they have experienced.

And then sometimes, someone who has either had a misperception or bad experience of church finds themselves in the midst of a community that extends comfort and welcome: not by any extravagant campaign or big-budget event, but by being the authentic community that God has called them to be.

It’s the church being the church; a place where the afflicted can feel comfort. A place where the guest can feel welcomed. A place where the stranger becomes friend. A place where the people of God can live out the mission of God, that is the mission of love.

It can happen at the least likely of times, but what a gift when we can see *that* it has happened. We don’t need to force or cajole or demand, we can just invite and extend warmth and kindness. We can be the church that follows Jesus in all that we do, and find new ways to connect with future friends we encounter.