Thus began last night’s church meeting.
We’re a funny motley bunch of different nationalities and ages and stages, meeting in a nursery lent to us by another church in a different village, as our church doesn’t even have its own building. We conduct our business surrounded by posters with reminders about handwashing, and inspirational cartoon pictures of children playing wheelchair basketball and painting with a brush in their mouths (not at the same time).
“Smell my tea!” I told a tech-y type man with a ponytail as I sat down at his table.
He looked at me askance and declined.
(His loss - it was peach and baobab, and smelt divine.)
A couple from Hong Kong on our table were confused by the snacks; they’d hadn’t seen a sandwich biscuit before, and they snapped it in half and shared it.
I’m actually a fairly rubbish attender of church meetings like this, mostly because they start before the boys’ bedtimes and in a different village, which seems like too many hurdles after a week at work. Also if I join in on Zoom (which is nowhere near as good, of course), I can simultaneously iron, but recently one person told me I must be such a diligent housewife as I iron shirts, and nothing could be further from the truth (as in, I only iron when on Zoom), so now I feel super self-conscious about my Zoom ironing.
I was glad I attended tonight (I always am when I make it) and it was a particularly emotional session, saying goodbye to founding church members who are moving to another church which better meets their family needs, learning that another pivotal member has had a diagnosis of a life-limiting illness, hearing the testimony of a family who have been through almost unimaginable trials.
These people are my new tribe.
I’m not always totally gracious about it. I had a bunch of mums and little ones round and someone broke the hearth and I was disproportionately unimpressed, given all the times my boys have caused general havoc and damage in other people’s houses (wee in a ball pool, poo in a lego box, an exploded feather cushion…) Not long ago, I commented to Mike about how Bible studies feel slowed down now our group is half internationals. Recently our new-to-the-country Cantonese friend apologised that he didn’t say more in discussion as he could only understand a little of what was going on. I felt a surge of compassion.
At the meeting, we were discussing the possibility of employing more people to the church, and taking ideas for the greatest areas of need (children’s work? outreach?) which quickly lead us to what is the greatest need in a growing new town.
Community. Simply, people want community.
The town is in the process of installing a temporary community centre. It’s slightly controversial (it’s a prefab, and not the prettiest) but it comes after much outcry of the lack of shared spaces, thanks to delays in building phases and failure of the developers to deliver on their promises. I look forward to seeing what toddler groups, and knit and natter, and whatever else springs up in it.
For a while our church ran a Christians Against Poverty group, primarily aimed at people who need help with debt and budgeting. The people who came didn’t need help with money; they were just looking for somewhere to go to connect with people. The secondary school tried a Warm Hub and again the people who went weren’t, urm, cold; they just wanted to hang out with people. People are relational, we are designed to live in connection to each other. Even the introverts.
Since we moved here, I’ve been desperate to make local connections. We’ve invited the neighbours round, dragged the boys to tang soo do and cricket and events, I joined ballet and now bell-ringing. But actually none of that has met our needs in anything like the way that church has.
And naturally so. A church isn’t just a people united around a common interest, like the enthusiastic bell-ringers, who meet in different villages for a joyful quarter peal. As in the passage above, believers have in common the grace of God, a love and a covering of sins, a shared purpose in glorifying God. Church as described in the New Testament is a family, and I really see that in the care shown to each other in our church and its busy WhatsApp group, the offers of prayer and practical help, offers of lifts, meals and holidays, and the lending of money and cars.
I’ve mentioned before that I still lurk on forums like ‘Movicol mummies’ and ‘Breastfeeding UK’ and I’ve recently been dabbling in Mumsnet. I totally get the need for sympathy and advice that only someone in the trenches with you can give, and I love a bit of mum humour. Mumsnet is sometimes hilarious; the other night I was crying with laughter over horror stories of what small children do at 5am (“I’m a horse and you’re the horse’s sister.” – perhaps it’s only funny if you’ve recently had a toddler who wakes at 5am).
But there’s something I’ve noticed about Mumsnet recently. Some of the posts are mums looking for affirmation that they are right and the people around them are wrong. And with little context and a single short side of the story, the mummies-in-arms are quick to jump in with how terrible the men are and how the original poster should demand better or leave. Occasionally a lone voice of reason will drop in, “Ok, so you didn’t like where he picked for the holiday; it probably isn’t worth a divorce.” But they are not popular voices. And seeing this has made me appreciate anew a couple of things about church.
1) Diversity is good. Having people with different experiences is a positive thing for keeping a group balanced. I particularly appreciate an older, wiser woman telling me that this too shall pass.
2) We have a higher authority. The Bible tells women to love their husbands (which I guess means not bad-mouthing them on the internet to confirm one’s own righteous indignation.) I’m very grateful I’m getting input from true wisdom and not paying any mind to the outraged voices of Mumsnet users, or to be honest, my life could look quite different right now, in a very very bad way.
I’m really pleased with the communities we’re building in the village. Today a lovely retired man took me up a church tower to admire the bells, and offered to bake a cake for our next practice. But I am most particularly grateful for our church family. Perfectly imperfect, but showing me what great community can look like.
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