My family, like so many others has learned a new routine since restrictions to prevent the spread of Covid-19 were put in place at the end of March. Despite the growing familiarity of this routine, I have had two daily reminders of the abnormality of life at the moment; my ever lengthening hair and, the sign posted on the main entrance announcing the cancellation of our Sunday morning gatherings. This week that sign changed, announcing the beginning of a return to our familiar Sunday morning routine. I am excited about returning to worship together but, I am also aware that it will be different.
When we talk about the church we are supposed to talk about more than bricks, budgets and butts. The church is more than numbers but, I’ll be the first to admit that I love it when our building is bursting at the seams on a Sunday morning. A church that is full of parents and grandparents visiting, teens hanging out, kids charging around and babies crying feels alive. By the time I climb onto the platform to deliver a sermon I am feeding on that energy and excitement. Our first Sundays back to worship aren’t going to feel quite the same. One of the hardest days I have experienced during this period happened near the beginning. On an afternoon in the middle of the week I was to meet with two other pastors from town. My daughter, following the advice of the provincial government was already staying home from school and decided that she would tag along for the afternoon. We went to her school, walked through its empty hallways and picked up all the things that should have stayed there until the end of June. From there, we stopped by Tim Horton’s to grab a treat for the meeting. I walked in and found the restaurant dark with the chairs stacked on top of the tables. We grew accustomed to these things over the course of the weeks but, in that moment it was unsettling. The world was not the way it was supposed to be.
As much as I look forward to opening the doors of the building on Sunday, there is a certain eeriness about it. Sunday morning will not be the way it is supposed to be. No handshakes. No hugs. No singing. Nothing passed from one pew to the next. It makes me think of an incident in the Old Testament book of Ezra. After their return from exile, the people begin work on reconstructing the temple. When the foundation is laid they gather to celebrate and a great shout of praise goes up from the people. Then “old men who had seen the first house, wept with a loud voice” (Ezra 3:12). Joy and tears mingled together in worship. Joy at what was accomplished and what lay ahead and tears for what had been lost. This is something that we should pay attention to because evangelical worship too often seeks to sound a note of unbroken joy. It need not be this way. There is room for tears in our worship as well.
Perhaps, on Sunday our emotions will be similarly mixed. There will be joy because we can gather together again. There will be sorrow because of those who cannot be with us. There will be frustration with the pace of the reopening. Ezra teaches us that we do not need to mask our emotions in order to worship. Whatever you are feeling on Sunday morning, know that God is pleased to hear your worship. Joy and tears mingled together.