Previously: Restart, Frankentree, Bing
The Sunday before the season began, a group from the congregation stuck around after worship to decorate the sanctuary. This included the only other family in the church close to my own family’s ages, the youngest of whom is a boy in early elementary school.
My sermon that day featured a reference to the movie Deadpool and Wolverine, which was a significant moment for me because it was my first time letting my geekier side show in this context. In case the reader is worried, I kept everything PG. And in case the reader is interested, I related the movie’s concept of an “anchor being” to what the first chapter of Colossians says about Jesus as the one who holds everything together.
Anyway, this illustration caught the attention of this little boy (or his parents) enough for him to show me the LEGO figures that he’d brought with him that day: Iron Man, War Machine, and Ultron. And so we enjoyed a moment of bonding over our mutual enjoyment of Marvel characters.
As the decoration began, this boy put his figures on some of the bottom branches of the Christmas tree slowly being erected near the pulpit. It was one of those little experimental times when a kid says to themselves, “Hey, this makes sense to me right now and I want to see what happens when I do it.”
Unfortunately, by the time we were finished, he had realized that he’d retrieved Iron Man and War Machine back from the tree, but not Ultron. He voiced this concern to the room, and the majority of those who’d stayed behind sprung into action to search for this lost toy. They’d heard a child’s concern, and they were going to make it right. People of all generations, whether they knew what Ultron was or not, combed the tree’s branches and looked around the rest of the sanctuary on the off chance that he had been placed somewhere else.
Alas, he would not be found that day. But I had already made plans to begin a fresh search the next Sunday before worship began. My own efforts didn’t produce anything, but he and his father rushed up to the tree during the pre-service music, and after a few minutes he proudly held up his prize as he returned to where his family sat, as if to say “Rejoice with me, for I have found my lost LEGO!” The liturgist even announced this happy resolution during the announcements, and all of us gathered that day did indeed share in his rejoicing.
I don’t always know what faithful action looks like. I don’t always know what’s best for how the church should serve as witnesses to the world around it. I don’t always know how a congregation should best offer love to one another in a way that builds everyone up rather than does harm. And for just over five years, I didn’t want to deal with those questions any more, at least in the same way that I’d been doing it. I was tired and frustrated and I needed to stop that one way, and try something else.
Now that I’m going through this restart, I’m not tired now. But I still don’t often know how best to explore these questions out of acting on my best educated guess. And one such best guess that I can make about how to be a community of disciples is to celebrate with a child for any reason, no matter how small.
This week, when the carols are sung and the candles are lit, I’ll look for other ways. But I’ll give thanks for how I’m still, after all these years, seeing such things happen.
If you enjoyed this reflection, check out my Advent book, Four Weeks: Reflections for Advent.
Jeffrey A. Nelson 