On
reaching Sunday morning at the writers residential weekend, Lucan, Dublin.
The Sunday light
filters into the room, distilling and gently evaporating the unease of previous
days. The door lies open, allowing the tension to escape with a long mental
exhale. The classroom becomes the sanctuary. Morning worship begins with a
relaxation of spirit and slippered feet under the table.
‘I don’t suppose
you’ve ever been to church wearing your slippers before,’ I comment with a
smile, as my shoeless companion settles herself on the seat next to me.
We all stood on
holy ground during our time of devotion that morning. Spring’s warmth and
brightness blending with praise and gratitude, pervading the atmosphere with the
sweet aroma of worship. Ground on which to tread lightly and reverently.
I think of the
slippers on the feet of the person beside me, symbolic of being at home, feet
treading softly and under the family table. We are members of the extended
family of Christ, unfamiliar with one another and yet a church of spiritual
relatives gathered together for a brief time, feet resting at the hearth of
God’s home fire.
Home is where
you feel comfortable enough to kick your shoes off and just be yourself. You
slide your feet into warm, comfortable slippers and sigh with relief. This is
my abode, my place of rest. This is the fireside I choose.
Home is where
God’s spirit lives and moves. Heaven is everywhere. It streams in through doors
and windows on morning sunbeams, filling the hearts of brothers and sisters in
Christ.
The Holy Spirit
softly moved among us, welcoming us as we stepped into worship. A writing
people offering their words to God, the great author and story teller. We sang
the story of redemption. We read our confession aloud. We penned our prayers. We
listened to the Word, exploring his metaphors. The things of everyday life
communicating truth and speaking of the Kingdom of Heaven.
And again the
slippers, reminding me that it is possible to be at ease and at home even when
physically distant from where we normally live, work and go to church. Even in
a place where we are being challenged or stretched, where we are being asked to
live out the tension of doing something we find difficult, there is a whisper
in the ordinary evoking the joy of home.
Later in the
day, we each return to the place we came from.
Another week
passes. A fresh Sunday morning dawns and while I don’t go to church in my
slippers, I go to a place where I’m surrounded by family. I go back to the
people who waved me off in prayer on the road to Lucan a week ago. We sing in
praise and glimpse our forever-home as feet again rest together under God’s
table.
