This year has been another very tough one and we have been through so many challenges. The reality of a world-wide disease that has infected our minds and daily routines, not to mention taking lives and ruining relationships, has locked us in. Suddenly we could not do what we were used to, what we knew and how we were taught.
Even our church doors were closed, but the church... was wide open.
It started with a humble bottle of salt.
I was recovering from a very long week of headaches, coughs and upside down steaming and more than ready to get out of the bedroom. I had eucalyptus oil. And Epson salts. I added rosemary and mint and a little bit of my heart - a heart that was feeling overwhelmed and uncertain, hopeful and tired at the same time. But it smelled gorgeous. It could be bottled. I was remembering my favourite story of the woman with the alabaster flask of perfume - the best smelling, most expensive perfume - that she just poured out on the feet of Jesus.
I had this deep longing to give this bottle of aromatic salt away. Perhaps to the receptionist whose brother just lost his wife. Or the lady running around frantically to get oxygen for her husband at home. In all likelihood the salt would not heal their wounds, but it was something to hold and smell and look at. They were not the only ones - all of a sudden everyone's troubles were lying open for the world to see.
I was allowed into the homes of so many heart-broken and lonely people the last couple of months. The friend at the lab who has to analyse other people's infected blood every single day had to say goodbye to her dad when he stopped breathing at home. Her mom was left stranded in a house too big for her to breathe. Just two days after seeing one of her best friends hanging over the lifeless body of her dad. Her mom also left with an empty house and a business she has no energy to run. Just like another friend whose dad's final words were cries of help to his wife from the bedroom down the hall. My friend wasn't there to say goodbye. We have known each other, but we have never been so close, so near in a time when everyone is far apart.
I sat with strangers who invited me in for a chat around the kitchen table, a cup of tea. "Please put this lady's name on your list. She needs a hug." I met their kids, their dogs sat on my lap, I looked at the photos of their husbands no longer there. We prayed. We cried. We smiled. One mother shared about her two adult children who were both diagnosed with cancer. Another has been married to her new husband for just one year and now she has only his children to look after. One dear woman has been looking after a house full of homeless children all her life; today is her husband's burial service. A few who were just about to enjoy their retirement together. Husbands, dads, brothers, companions no longer there - gone way too soon. Also moms and wives who didn't make it through - their homes now empty of laughter. Some who are just struggling to make ends meet with both parents ill and children who demand attention. I pass a box nervously through the window. There are some who live in fear. Others who hide from the world. Others who have stopped believing - "but thanks for the cookies and thinking of me."
But something very special and sacred happened in these couple of months. While the world was locked in, hearts opened up, arms spread out, doors flung open. The gospel moved from the church pews to the streets and the hospitals and the kitchens of women who wanted to help.
It started with a humble bottle of salt; it ended with a box of delicious home-made goodies, rusks, cookies, muesli, date and peanut balls, soup, savoury tarts, fresh bread, scrubs and jam, all wrapped up in the comfort of Joshua 1:9 - You are not alone. God is closer than you think. That salt turned into the luminous light of a gift box to remind the broken-hearted and struggling that someone is praying for them; they are not alone.
On the other side of that hurt, more than 50 women put up their hands to make something, give something, pray and exchange ideas. Rusks and muffins and muesli were just delivered, funds donated from outside of town, "I cannot make anything, but I'll watch how you make that scrub." If I think of how hard it is to get people into a church building, sit still and listen, and practice what was preached... What a wonderful proclamation of the gospel, of diverse people from different walks of life being connected by the simple things that matter, making it happen there and then.
"The doors of heaven have never felt so open," proclaims a weary friend who received a package.
"I received a package, how can I help give to others?" "Thanks for my box, I want you to send one to this address." "Someone at my office just received a box. Where can I buy boxes like this?" "Can I get the recipe for the chocolate brownies?" Prayers were exchanged, beautiful home-made goods, and later on recipes and names and addresses. Strangers became friends and we were all part of the body of Christ.
I am still receiving tasty goods. I am still packing boxes. Still making connections. This is church, I think. Simple, uncomplicated, no politics, user-friendly (a biscuit can be put to very good use!), smiles through teary eyes, on your doorstep, in your house, comforting and confronting. This is the church that God intended. "How beautiful on the mountains
are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring "a box of" good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion, “Your God reigns!”
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