Ministry Of Presence

“Then he gave orders to the centurion that he should be kept in custody but have some liberty, and that none of his friends should be prevented from attending to his needs.” – Acts 24:23

Some of us are probably feeling closer now to being able to empathize with Paul in his period of interminable imprisonment. One person wrote in a New York Times article: “Quarantine is one of the many waiting rooms of life, and its own special circle of hell for people raised with the illusion that we control our destinies. We prefer to believe that anything can be overcome if we just try hard enough. But there is no trying in quarantine. There is only the sitting, and, if you wish to retain your hold on your sanity, the letting go. What comes next? No one knows.”

Paul certainly didn’t know. He was shipped from one Roman politician to the next, from motives and for periods of time entirely out of his control. One of the hardest things about the recent changes is the not-knowing: not knowing what will be canceled next when, how things will now look, how long it will all last. I find myself refreshing news feeds, wanting to know and predict and control, but we can’t know. We are in a situation where we don’t know. And we have less to distract ourselves from anything other than just being. 

I’m finding that, ironically, all this social distancing is making me ask, what does it mean to be present? What does it mean to be present with and for each other? We’re used to presence occurring within the framework of various external structures, like school drop-offs, work routines, church services—but now we’re having to reexamine what it actually means to connect meaningfully with another person. To “be” with them, not “do” with them, or fit the being in-between the doing. This is a time that can expose the underlying loneliness and isolation we feel. That makes us rethink our habits of connecting with others. And that is not necessarily a bad thing. It can be a chance to reflect and even to experiment. Instead of seeing faces pass by during a Sunday morning service, perhaps we stop to think about those people and send one of them a text. Instead of getting ready for one activity after another, perhaps we sit on the couch with our kids and read a new book to them all afternoon. 

Last night, our small group decided to still meet. We typically meet in the church building, which has never felt anything more than functional, but last night was different. We washed our hands, served the food, ate outside, lingered and talked and laughed and prayed: and there was something symbolic somehow, about us sitting in this space that was now otherwise empty. The conversation wasn’t always profound. We didn’t follow an agenda or study. But I felt the ministry of everyone’s presence. There is something powerful, and powerfully Christ-like, in the simple determination to be present. There is something valuable offered in that presence alone. All the activities and services in the world can’t necessarily bring it: but it can be found in the simple intention of a few people connecting with each other. It gave me hope, that we’ll continue to find ways to do this, even if it can’t keep being in person.