Overcoming Barriers

Walking up to church one Sunday this past December, I was amused to find a remnant of the preceding night’s downtown festivities—a single section of city-owned barricade, used for our Mardi Gras and Christmas Parades.

Standing solitarily, the forgotten barricade's singleness was peculiar, and in the light of day so obvious, but it remained merely as an oversight in the chaos of parade cleanup. Some city employee would come for it Monday morning, and the minor mistake would soon be forgotten.

My 7-year-old ran right up to it, pretending to climb it like he had at the parade. This time, though, instead of reaching from the sidewalk over the barricade into the street for goodies, he faced the church with his arms outstretched.

Yes, my boy, the good stuff is on that side, I thought and smiled.

The image of him blocked from the church and reaching for it from the curb struck me with a metaphor that resonated in the busy days that barreled into Christmas. Yet again, there were so many things keeping me from the true focus of the season.

The metaphor smacked me again in the midst of our quarantine isolation. 

From one perspective, this was the view that day in December:

But from another vantage point, this was the view:

What a difference a few feet made in perspective--enough so that I was moved to snap these couple of photos that winter day many months ago!

The idea of barriers or obstacles that need to be overcome in order to be present in our holy nave (Episcopalian, here), nearly knocked me into the street then and hit even harder today.

I self-sermonized: How many Sundays do I face barriers even in Ordinary Times (another liturgical word thrown in for fun)? Sleepy children, uncomfortable “church clothes,” exhausting work weeks, late night college football games, Sunday youth sports obligations, Mardi Gras balls, drizzly weather, or (equally distracting in this glorious beach town) perfect boat/beach weather— all things that have admittedly blocked my family from the routine of Sunday community corporate worship.

Have I let these things act like barriers to attendance?

You bet.

Are there people within my church family and the greater family of the world’s communion of believers who have far greater hurdles to attendance than I?

Most certainly. Illness, grief, transportation issues, economic fear are very real barriers to Sunday mornings.

And now COVID-19. 

My parish has been eternally blessed by the clergy and staff of Christ Church Parish's pursuit of all possibilities. They've encountered their own barriers in this new season. They've persevered mightily through bandwidth limitations and social media platforms and likes and views and preaching into what feels like a void-- all in the name of the Almighty and His followers. 

And now, despite their absolute exhaustion, they are welcoming us back-- albeit in very small groupings with RSVPs and masks and strategy and logistics that protect the flock and fold. 

Thanks be to God. 

When we attended a quiet evening service with a dozen or so other worshippers hungry for the Bread of Life, when my soul finally dwelt in the pews of that space, I struggled.

It was different. Hard. 

Because that Holy Space so completely feels like both a spiritual and a physical home, with church friends who are spiritual family for my husband, children and me, that place where our barriers usually fall away once we are seated in the pew, I was surprised that I wasn't instantly back in my church mindset.

Without the extended church family surrounding us, it wasn't the same. I wasn't prepared for that.

I missed you. 

It's a barrier I'm working on right now. I'm not completely "there" yet. I pray that's ok. The hiatus has been hard, but the return is proving just as difficult.

Back on that long ago Sunday in December (when I would have stared blankly if you had foretold the events of the spring and summer of 2020), I remember, as my son climbed down from his post on the barricade, we were greeted by our friend and priest at the door, and all the other imagined barriers to entry fell away, too. 

That day we were where we needed to be, doing what we needed to do, even though sometimes back then showing up felt more routine than ritual just to get our family of five there with any regularity.

I'm sensing I'm going to have to fight that barrier harder than ever-- that I have to work to bring the ritual back into routine.

Oftentimes for me, the reward for breaking down the barrier, for climbing the walls, for walking past the distraction and focusing on the door is the ability to turn around and see the impediments from a different angle.

If nothing else, the hindsight offered by COVID-19, social distancing, and quarantine does offer a healthy dose of perspective from any angle.

And if one thing is clearer now than ever for me, it's that I miss my church family even more than I miss my church, and I am reaching across the barriers, both physical and intangible, to each of you with outstretched arms of love.