patching it up

The featured image in this post is a photo I took with my phone from the window of the train on my way back from Connecticut a couple of months ago.  I’m not quite sure why, but to date, it’s still one of my favorite NYC views (although, in the interest of full disclosure, I don’t actually know which bridge that is).  There’s just something about the scene that draws me in; perhaps it’s the way nature and the city collide, the way creation and innovation intersect.   I have come to love living in New York much more than I thought I would, but it is definitely the patches of green in this city that keep me sane some days.  For all that I do love my life here, getting out of the city for a couple of weeks this summer – spending time with the people who love me best, and hours just gazing at the oceans on both coasts – was something my soul dearly needed.

I found myself looking out the window on the day I took this picture with mixed emotions.  I was glad to be coming home after several weeks on the road, but not at all looking forward to lugging way too much baggage through sweltering heat, crowded sidewalks, and dirty subway stations.  I was happy to be in my own spaces again, but sad to have left behind so many of the places and people I loved.  I was looking forward to getting back into a familiar routine, but a little sorry to be stepping back into the busyness that can sometimes mark my days.

Something about that bittersweetness felt familiar, so I sat with it for awhile to see what would surface, and it occurred to me that how I felt about coming back to the city that day is very similar to how I sometimes feel about going back to church.  (The analogies here are probably pretty evident.)

It’s been about two and a half years since I wrote about my unexpected break-up with the church, and while I knew even then that we’d probably get back together again someday , it has – as predicted – taken some hard work and some really honest conversations, and I do still find myself wanting (and sometimes needing) space.  I’m very grateful to have landed in a church community that not only allows for, but even creates that space.   (They are very big on moments of silence.  It’s kind of awesome.)

I mentioned last week that I was feeling a pull towards re-ordering my days this fall.   It hasn’t been easy, but I have managed to prioritize three things that were important to me this week: meeting new people (a.k.a. choosing to enter introvert hell), writing more (ta-da!), and carving out time to attend the Table.  All of a sudden – in the middle of a very busy week – I found myself sitting still, in a beautiful, century-old chapel in the middle of the city, with tears streaming down my face, overwhelmed by the wonder and the beauty of it all.  It was a measure of rest in a fast-paced melody, and it was exactly what my soul needed.

We talked about things that matter; we sang new and old songs; we offered confessions and prayers; we took communion together.  We shared our stories – so beautifully diverse – and yet somehow all variations on a theme.

It was lovely.  And at times really awkward.  Imperfect.  But real.

I was reminded at one point during the evening of a beautiful (if slightly mysterious) concept: na’aseh v’nishma.  It’s about doing the work of faith and coming to understand it through the doing, and I feel like in some ways, that’s what this next season is going to be about for me.  Patching it up with church isn’t anything like picking up where we left off, although so many of the rhythms still feel so familiar.  I am a different person now – a better one, I hope – and the way forward is going to require empathy, (more) hard work, and possibly a fair bit of courage.  It’s also going to require curiosity, and patience, and the real kind of love that Paul writes about in 1 Corinthians that doesn’t give up.  But I have hope that there are better days ahead – and getting there will be worth the work.

More to come,
Happy