The Well Among Us
There is a great deal of life stirring at Holy Spirit right now.
We are in the midst of our capital campaign, and the response has been deeply encouraging. People have stepped forward with generosity, hope, and a real commitment to the future of this congregation. At the same time, we are preparing for fall activities and several meaningful service projects. New people are finding us, often first through worship online and then eventually making their way through the doors. Many are people from the neighborhood who have been looking for a church community and have found something here that makes them want to stay. Several are already asking about becoming members.
All of this is exciting. But what has moved me most lately is not simply that the church is active or growing. It is the way people are caring for one another.
Again and again, I see members noticing when someone needs help and quietly stepping in. When family members are unavailable, someone from the congregation offers a ride, makes a phone call, brings a meal, checks in, or simply sits beside someone who should not have to face a difficult moment alone. Much of this care happens without announcement or recognition. It is simply what people do because they have learned to belong to one another.
Earlier this week I was struck by an overwhelming wave of emotion during prayer, My internal response to this experience was, “Gosh, I love these people.”
That love also comes with vulnerability. When we truly allow ourselves to belong to one another, we know that eventually we will also have to grieve one another. I was reminded of that recently as we celebrated the life of Jean. She was part of the fabric of this congregation for many years, and it was a privilege to gather, remember her, and entrust her once again to the love of God.
There is no way to love a community without sometimes feeling the ache of loss. Perhaps that is part of what makes church such a sacred thing. We do not merely attend worship together. We share life. We witness one another’s joys, illnesses, changes, celebrations, disappointments, and losses. We become woven into one another’s stories. The grief is real because the love is real.
Alongside all of this, I have also been deeply encouraged by the growth of our contemplative prayer and meditation group. Around twenty people have been participating, which is no small number in a congregation where our average worship attendance is around sixty-five to seventy. Some have been practicing together for more than a year, while others are just beginning. Together, they are learning to become more attentive to their bodies, their spirits, one another, and the presence of God.
This feels especially important right now.
There is a great deal of anxiety in the world. People are weary, frightened, angry, and overwhelmed. Many seem to be living with their nervous systems constantly braced for the next terrible headline, conflict, crisis, or loss. Even when nothing is immediately wrong, there is a sense that something might be. We carry that tension into our homes, our relationships, our work, and sometimes into the church.
In anxious times, we naturally look for places and people that feel steady. We gravitate toward those whose breathing is slower than ours, whose feet seem planted, and whose presence reassures us that the world has not entirely come apart. Sometimes we need to borrow another person’s calm for a little while. That is not weakness. It is one of the ways human beings help one another survive.
This may be one of the gifts of Christian community. We lend one another hope until hope begins to rise again within us. We hold faith for one another when faith feels thin. We sit beside one another until breathing slows and the ground feels solid again.
But the goal is not to remain dependent upon someone else’s peace.
Something beautiful happens when we begin to realize that the same Spirit we sense in another person also dwells within us. The peace of God is not possessed by a fortunate few. It is not rationed out in small portions. There is an abundant well of grace, courage, wisdom, and love within and among us, waiting to be remembered and received.
People may first come to contemplative prayer because they see others drawing from that well. They may come weary, curious, restless, or simply hoping to feel a little better. Over time, though, they begin to discover their own capacity for stillness. They learn that they, too, can become grounded in the presence of God.
And eventually, the person who once needed to borrow peace becomes a peaceful presence for someone else.
This is how steadiness spreads through a community. Not because any one person has enough strength to carry everyone, but because we help one another discover the deep source from which we all draw. We practice returning to that source together, again and again.
Perhaps that is what is happening throughout our congregation right now.
We are raising funds and caring for a building, but we are also strengthening something less visible. We are building trust. We are deepening relationships. We are learning to notice our neighbors. We are making room for new people. We are practicing how to remain loving and grounded in an anxious world. We are learning how to grieve without surrendering hope and how to serve without needing recognition.
The church is not called to pretend that everything is fine. We are called to become a people who know where the well is.
We gather, pray, worship, serve, repair, welcome, grieve, and care for one another until we remember that the peace of Christ is not a scarce resource. There is enough for us. There is enough for our neighbors. There is enough to share.
For all the uncertainty in the world, I remain deeply hopeful about what God is doing here. I see it in the new faces entering our doors. I see it in the generosity surrounding our campaign. I see it in those preparing to serve this fall. I see it in people learning to become still before God. Most of all, I see it in the quiet, faithful ways you continue to show up for one another.
What a gift it is to be part of this life together.