As many of you may know, Cathy and I rarely miss a Sunday worshipping in a church somewhere. Most of the time- almost all of the time- it’s at whatever church I am currently serving as pastor (currently Brown’s Chapel and Vox Memorial United Methodist Churches). But if we go off on vacation, we try to find a church to attend, usually a UMC if there’s one nearby. Lots of my friends who are clergy do not do this. This is not to cast dispersions on them. Most say “I never get a break, a chance to slowly enter Sunday, to drink my coffee, read the news or listen to good music. Just to relax. I worship in my own way. Just not in a church.” Even more after retiring do not attend a church in person (they may occasionally watch online). I understand that, too. They have seen the dark underbelly of the church. Most entered the church with the idea that it would be a community of people seeking to follow Christ and make a difference in the world in his name. Too often what they found was a group of people intent on having their way with the “blessings of Christ” given to their already determined values and actions. And many of my clergy friends have been beaten up “in the name of Jesus” by so-called Christians. Especially lately. So I understand that, too.
But Cathy and I love corporate, in-person worship. We love the singing, the quiet times, the caring for each other, the prayers, hearing the Scriptures, and most of the sermons. But being a pastor makes it hard for me to have that each week. It’s hard to get “lost in wonder, love, and praise” when you are wondering if the musicians are ready or if the temperature will ever reach that point where no one will tell you it was too hot or too cold that day. So, when we are away, we look for a place where we can just join in with everyone else.
October 13, 2024 was a Sunday. Our seventeenth anniversary. We were in Bar Harbor, Maine, visiting Acadia National Park and the surrounding areas. We started the day with will Maine blueberry pancakes at the Jordan Restaurant (highly recommended!) and then made our way over to the Bar Harbor Congregational Church. (There was not a UMC in the area.) We had seen a lot of Congregational Churches in the towns as we traveled up the coast of Maine, and I was not very familiar with them. Turns out they are part of the UCC, United Church of Christ. Their building was an old historic building in the village and we looked forward to seeing inside. But when we arrived there was a sign saying they would be meeting at Reel Pizza next door.
Reel Pizza is a pizza parlor there in Bar Harbor where you sit in a small movie theatre. There are theatre seats with a small table in front of you for your pizza. I assume you watch movies while you munch on the pepperoni and mushrooms. A nice couple of women greeted us as we walked in, gave us a bulletin, and we found our way to a couple of seats. We all found out later that the water sprinkler in the sanctuary had gone off for some reason in the night and the sanctuary could not be used. The good people at Reel Pizza offered their place. Before the service everyone was talking with their friends around them about being there. I leaned forward and told the guy in front of me “I bet the communion today will be different.” He said, “Popcorn and soft drinks coming soon.” The theatre was about half full, with people of all ages scattered about.
In their bulletin Bar Harbor Congregational stated that they were an “Open and Affirming Christian community within the United Church of Christ, actively expressing Jesus’ inclusive embrace of all people. We welcome those who seek to follow Jesus including persons of every age, gender, race, national origin, faith background, marital status and family structure, sexual orientation, gender identity and expression, mental and physical ability, economic and social status, and educational background to share in the life, leadership, employment, ministry, fellowship, worship, sacraments, rites, responsibilities, blessings and joys of our church family.” I looked around and it seemed to be an eclectic group of folks. Some looked like homeless folks who might have wandered in looking for free pizza. Others looked like wealthy people who owned some of the mansions along the shore. Some covered in tattoos, others dressed very casually, some dressed in hiking clothes, and others in boat gear. They all seemed to get along and were happy to see each other. And we felt welcomed but not overwhelmed, which was good.
A young woman stood up at the front and picked up a violin. She started playing a medley of Scottish fiddle tunes. I immediately thought, “This is where I am supposed to be.” There was a welcome from one of the lay leaders, then a time of silent reflection. A poem by Mary Oliver, West Wind #2, was in the bulletin if you wanted to use it for your reflection. The congregation then rose and sang the traditional hymn, From All That Dwell Below The Skies. A responsive call to worship, with emphasis on Christ choosing us (not the other way around), then singing a version of the Hispanic song De Colores. It was not the version I had learned in the Walk to Emmaus, but it was good and brought back good memories. There were prayers of all sorts- some responsive, some led by the pastor, some by the lay leader. The Gloria Patri, with a few adjustments to the words making it more inclusive, was sung. There was a children’s sermon. The leader taught the children and the congregation to sing the chorus to Leonard Cohen’s Anthem Ring the bells that still can ring,
Forget your perfect offering,
There is a crack, a crack in everything,
That’s how the light gets in.
Leonard Cohen in a children’s sermon, a first for me.
The pastor brought a very good sermon on the Mark 10 story of the rich young man asking Jesus what he needed to do to inherit eternal life. Rather than point to what most of us preachers do with that story- say we need to put our riches in their proper place- Rev. Rob Benson said the question itself was wrong. He remined us that there is nothing that we can do. That eternal life is a gift, given to us freely. (Romans 6:23) There is nothing we can do. It’s a gift.
There was more music. A flutist played Mozart’s Exuberance, the traditional hymn Be Thou My Vision was sung by the congregation, and the service ended with the singing of a South African hymn “Thuma Mina” (Zulu for “Send Me, Lord”).
Somewhere in there things broke open for me. I don’t know whether it was the music, being in a beautiful place in the country, being with my wife of seventeen years, seeing a church that expresses what I know is true of God’s kingdom, or being reminded that God loves me freely. Whatever it was, I had a sense of being in the presence of the Divine, and tears just started flowing.
Celtic spirituality has a term called “thin places.” Those are places where the dividing line between heaven and earth is very thin. Most people think of it as a particular place. Iona in the Scottish isles, the rim of the Grand Canyon, or the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. Mine was Reel Pizza that day. Seeing something of what church could be, being reminded of God’s gift to us all, and having the beauty of the music of all sorts made the line between heaven and earth very thin.
Everyday I have people tell me that this idea of a church where all are welcomed and accepted as they are is not Christian and will not last. But I know better. Because I was in Reel Pizza, and saw it there.
Michael Henderson 