My children are growing up. They’ve reached a level of quietness that allows them to sit through an entire service without causing a fuss. I could easily choose to move closer to the front of the church, but I prefer to remain in our usual spot at the back—a place where I can observe my community. It’s from this vantage point that I find my strength.
This morning appeared like any other Sunday, but it was special. I noticed an older gentleman seated with two long-time friends. They had shared countless experiences—meals, vacations, and various projects in their retirement. On the surface, it seemed like a simple gathering of friends, but I understood the deeper significance of their camaraderie.
One of the friends had recently transitioned into assisted living due to the progression of his dementia, while another had just lost his wife to cancer a few days prior. Today, I felt honored to witness these three friends supporting one another on a Sunday morning. It was a subtle display of love and resilience, embodying the essence of “for better or worse” that we often hear in wedding vows. Moments like these are what truly enrich my experience of church.
There’s the spirited shout of an elderly woman who, after a long absence due to health issues, joyfully announced her return. When the pastor asked for announcements, she called out from the pews, “I’m back!” The exuberance of her voice and her distinct accent blended perfectly, making her declaration both bold and inviting. It was a moment I cherished.
I’ve also observed an adult daughter comforting her mother after the recent passing of her father. The daughter gently guided her mother into the pew and then leaned her head on her shoulder, a simple gesture that spoke volumes. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You are loved.”
The same kind of affection plays out in a different pew, where a mother tenderly reassures her toddler. As the child leans into her warmth, the connection is palpable. “I’m here,” it echoes. “You are loved.”
I find inspiration in watching another mother whose children are a bit older. I often check in with her about her college-aged son, who is still figuring out his direction. I see them share laughter and whispers during church, and I notice the pride glowing in her eyes as she interacts with him. Observing her navigate the challenges of guiding a young adult gives me insights I know I’ll need soon enough.
These small, poignant moments unfold like wildflowers each Sunday. Nothing flashy or extravagant, yet they reveal the beauty of the world around us. They rejuvenate my faith in humanity and illustrate what true community feels like.
For some, the term “church” may evoke painful memories or experiences. It’s important to recognize that a sense of community can be found outside traditional places of worship. Remarkable moments are all around us if we remain open to witnessing them. You can see friendships deepen over time, as families grow and evolve together. Watching a child you’ve known since preschool step into college is a reminder of the beauty of shared experiences.
I understand that there are young families in our church with boisterous children who might prefer my spot in the back. However, I find it necessary to stay put for now. I need to see all of you in my line of sight because your presence helps me keep moving forward. You uplift me and inspire me to be better, and I promise to be there for you in return—week after week, until we’ve shared countless years together. Just look for me in the back.
In summary, the essence of community transcends religious boundaries. Observing acts of kindness and connection among friends, families, and acquaintances can renew one’s faith in humanity and provide solace in difficult times. Whether it’s a gentle touch or a loud proclamation of return, these moments create a tapestry of support that enriches our lives.
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