When the Coronavirus hit, we stopped gathering in our sanctuary, and started offering worship online from our homes. This was an adjustment for everyone. As a former photographer, I was reminded that I am more comfortable behind the camera than in front of it. That first week, Sophia and I decided that, even in our less formal settings, we would wear our ministerial robes. It felt right to us to keep some things the same.
That first week, at coffee hour, someone asked if I was wearing slippers on my feet. The answer was no—even though I was wearing blue jeans under my robe, I’d decided to put on the same black oxford shoes I wear every Sunday. It just felt right.
This reminded me of a morning, fifteen years ago, when I was in Chicago to see the UU Ministerial Fellowship Committee. The MFC is the last step and highest bar in our ministerial credentialing process. In our tradition, the MFC is the group that has the power to let you in or keep you out. My appointment with them was in the morning, and I was, of course, rather nervous. I’d been preparing for this moment for a while—three years in seminary and one year in my internship. I thought I was ready, but what if they didn’t like the sermon I was going to preach, or if I didn’t know the answers to the questions they were going to ask?
After I put on a suit and knotted my tie, I sat down to lace up my shoes. They were my Sunday shoes—the same shoes I’d led worship in, and preached in, and married people in. Tying them tightly, the thought came to mind, “I know how to do this.” In that moment, I realized that the butterflies I was feeling weren’t that different than the ones I felt on Sunday, before worship began. I knew how to do this, and it was going to be okay. I’d been practicing ministry; had been putting on those shoes for a while now, and the MFC was there to acknowledge and affirm that.
Over the years I’ve gone though several pairs of Sunday shoes. They have gotten muddy at gravesides and have seen the dance floor at weddings. Mostly they have been my companion on Sunday morning, in the sanctuary where I feel so blessed to preach, and among you people I feel so blessed to serve. So how could I not put them on when I was leading our worship, wherever that was happening?
In this time of so much disruption and dislocation, it feels good, and even necessary, that some things remain the same. My Sunday shoes are a small example of that. When I lace them up and tie them tight, I feel ready to enter into worship with you. On a Sunday I was off, I loved sitting in our yard watching the service. And I was wearing slippers! Which felt like the perfect footwear for that Sunday. But not the Sundays I’m on.
What about you? What are the rituals that are keeping your grounded in these trying times? In the midst of so much change and uncertainty, what have you kept the same? What practices are feeding your soul and helping you to have an open and hopeful heart?
If you’d like to share, please email me. I’d love to hear from you. I hope and trust you have little rituals and practices that are keeping your grounded, in touch with the Holy, and bringing you joy.