Today we celebrated the life of a woman who lived 101 years.
Gathered for worship were her children and grandchildren and friends and folk who knew themselves to have spent time and life with a graceful powerhouse.
We do that at church. We hold the space for celebrations and life markings. We welcome people we may never see again and for a time we share voices in song and stories through hearts.
There are times when the beleaguer of “doing church” can make the heart heavy. The tending of relationships and buildings and protocols and brusings can near obscure the reason for our being.
And then there are services that remind us that community in Christ matters. It matters deeply.
For 101 years the woman we celebrated today held space in her being for the power of God in her life. The fruit of her faith was palpable in her people and in the air and prayer we shared.
I’m grateful. I’m grateful for the steadfast devotion that has prompted people to support a church that has held funerals for nearly 160 years. I’m grateful for the privilege of weaving worship that names resurrection and wonder. I’m grateful for the hands that bake bars and pour coffee.
I’m grateful for the reminder that “doing church” matters. It matters a lot.