Do you believe in magic?[i]
Not the sleight of hand or “where did the elephant go?” sort of stage magic, but the sense that certain things must be done in certain ways in order for something to happen? Not a recipe, per se…. but a way of controlling something normally beyond our control. It’s the lucky shirt you wear to the game or Grandma’s pie plate that has never failed to turn out a perfect crust.
It’s that pew you sit in every week; perhaps because it’s the pew your grandfather sat in or it’s the first pew where you honestly felt comfortable in church. If you had to move? Change pews? The magic is gone. (For those of you feeling somewhat smug, imagine if we didn’t sing Silent Night on Christmas Eve. It’s that sort of thing.)
We’ve had a few months of not being able to sit where we know we belong, where we’ve felt the magic happen, and for some folks it may feel like we’re losing our religion (or that we’ve lost God).
I wonder if that is why we so desperately desire to go back to our sanctuaries. It’s beyond a sense of comfort and familiarity, but rather a desire to connect with that which has seemed fleeting via Zoom or Facebook Live. We miss one another, yes, but I think on some level for many have never found God anywhere else. We miss that sacred space… that sacred geography.
We profess that we worship a God who cannot be enclosed by the boxes we create. We worship a God who has spun the very stars into existence and who also knows every hair on our head. We claim to be in relationship with One who is not bound by space (or time) but is our very breath, and yet our pew is still our pew. Our church building is still our church building, and if we aren’t there we have no real access to God.
This understanding of magical and sacred space happens outside of church as well. As we begin as a Presbytery to make decisions about Vanderkamp, it’s helpful to remember that this has been sacred ground for many. It is a place where, like your favorite pew, there are memories and moments that are held dear. For some it is where their relationship with Jesus was kindled around a campfire, or in the quiet of a cabin. This is more than a camp – it’s a place where folks regularly encountered God.
Breathe deep, friends. Grieve. Lament. Mourn…. and know that this relationship we have with God is so much more than place. I don’t know what the future will bring. I do know that the Spirit will be there in the middle of it… regardless of whether we are in our sacred spaces or at home on our couches. There’s nothing magical about it.
[i] The anthropologist in me understands the difference between magic and religion is one of control. Magic, by definition, is defined by human agency. By doing things in the right way, things normally understood as beyond the ability of humans to influence are impacted. Crops grow. Sickness is cured. Weather patterns change. With religion, adherents may become supplicants – those pray or beg deities they believe in for crops to grow, sickness to be cured, etc., but the power to do so belongs to the supernatural. Of course, this is a simplistic explanation, and the lines I’ve just drawn are blurred in any number of ways.