Sunday Slippers

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.