Who Needs the Lights Anyway?

A few years go, while the church sanctuary was being renovated, we gathered for worship in Fellowship Hall. It was a tight fit, and having vacated a space 5 or 6 times larger than we needed, we were unaccustomed to proximity. Our more recent practice had been waving to one another across the chasmic spaces spaces between; sitting shoulder to shoulder, close enough to actually feel the warmth of another heart-pumping human being, was initially a bit disconcerting. But we came to like leaving our binoculars at home, recognizing each other now simply on sight, up close. When we eventually moved into the worship space re-sized to actually fit us, it was on dramatically more relational terms.

More than one person yesterday commented on that memory as we moved, once again, back into Fellowship Hall for worship. The reasons were different. A major storm Saturday night and into the wee hours of Sunday morning knocked electricity out in several neighborhoods around town -- one of which included the church. We arrived, then, to find none of our usual amenities -- lights, air-conditioning, sound system, coffee. Most of those we could probably make do without, but how could we possibly have church without coffee? But we are nothing if not flexible, and in the spirit of that ancient proverb, chose to light a candle instead of curse the dark. In the bathrooms that was literally so. In the hallway leading to them we switched on a battery powered camping light to show the way. The sanctuary having precious little ambient light and absolutely no moving air, we returned where once we had been -- raising the blinds and panes in the Fellowship Hall windows to allow in both light and breeze. And then we crowded in.

And then we burst into song. And prayer. And more. And it was very, very good. Everyone echoed the thought; and how useful it apparently is every now and then to get disrupted. Part of it had to do with informality -- with the almost raw sense of "winging it," but there was something deeper, I think, than that. When routines suddenly can't lead us, we all have to be on our toes, paying attention, watching to see how we will best proceed. At a very different level, we become engaged.

I was corrected early in the course of the morning after I greeted someone at the door. "We don't any power," I explained as I pointed the way to our temporary meeting place. To which she responded, "We have power; it's just not the kind that turns on light bulbs."

Point well taken. Nothing could have been more evident once we were together. Yes, it was warm, and yes the fit was a little tight. But yes, there was also power -- the kind you don't need light to see.