The New Normal

[Feb 2021 update. After meeting online only for January, due to the case surge here in Chicago, we are back in the gym, taking what feel like the safest steps possible toward being together.]

Church Council has decided that for now we’ll be meeting for worship in our gym, where there’s room to spread out, and we can open doors and windows. We are committed to being flexible, creative, and safe for as many people as possible. We’d been planning to return to the sanctuary in October before the current wave of cases; with the contagiousness of Delta, the lack of ventilation in our sanctuary, and the inability of Bethany’s littlest kids to be vaccinated, we continue to ask what’s the safest and most fulfilling worship experience for the most folks in this season.

One thing we’re clear on: there’s no perfect option in this moment!

Of course, we’ll keep making changes as necessary. Thanks for all the flexibility and resilience you have shown as individuals and as a community in this challenging time.

Sunday, November 21st, Vince wrapped up our Foundational series with a sermon that included some of the thinking about why we’re meeting this way. Read an excerpt here and/or listen to the whole (beautiful) sermon here.

Last week when Ann had the sanctuary doors open to pack boxes with the kids in there, I saw the looks of hope and then disappointment on many of your faces as you wondered if this was the day we were going back in. I can’t wait for that day. When cases are low enough that the level of ventilation in our sanctuary seems adequate. When our kids are able to be fully vaccinated, so we don’t have to ask them to take risks that we adults didn’t. I can’t wait for that first day back when we’ll be masked and distanced and all that, but even more, I can’t wait for the day when we’re unmasked and sitting right next to each other. And singing out. And hugging at the peace. That day when things are truly back to normal. (And I know some of you – a bunch of you, really – have never experienced Bethany that way, and I can’t wait to show you. Or really to see what it will feel like with this bigger group of us together in that space.)

I am anxious for the day when we no longer need to worship in a space that is somehow both too hot and too cold. Where there is paint peeling and dust on the floor from the roof we’ve just spent $75,000 replacing. A space where it’s hard to hear the people speaking, but easy to hear every move our kids make. It’s so far from the ideal of beautiful, warm sacred space.

But once we’re back in the sanctuary, maybe we should come over here for a week every year to remind ourselves what we’ve learned in this time. When our illusions of safety and separation haven been shattered. When the things we thought we could depend on in our lives came crashing down. When we were in freefall and the God of Love slowed us down and planted our feet back on solid, holy ground. When God showed up for us in every imperfect place we sought God out. When we showed up for one another. Worked so hard and took such risks to love each other, to try to be solid for one another. I am so thankful. And I hope I never forget.