Covid separated us from our farm in 2020. Even those of us attending in-person events and the rekindled Sunday Services must do so in a distanced, abbreviated, and/or otherwise limited fashion. We are still unable to simply “be” in our bucolic, peaceful space in the world.
This past Sunday, the kids and I took our puppy, Te’o, to church for some exercise. I sat alone at the fire pit, enjoyed the silence, and took in the newly renovated Memorial Garden. I strolled up the Garden path and sat on one of the benches by our chalice as the kids failed at teaching Te’o how to chase a ball. I walked by our, dare I say iconic, silos and around the back of the church to Bellwood. Even on a gray day, the space shines.
As with the rest of Mother Earth, the farm remains. Waiting for us. It sentries as a uniquely meditative place for a stranger. For us, though, the space transcends the peace. We hear the whispers of those that built this community. In the crevices and corners, there are images of memorable services, In cookouts, choir practice, singing Silent Night outdoors as Santa flies overhead, our kids’ first RE class, charity auctions, committee meetings, covenant groups, weddings, memorial services, and more potlucks than can fit in the biggest crockpot.
I don’t know if it was kismet that brought me to church on Sunday. Just being there recharged my love for and dedication to the church. It reminded me that our grounds are just as much a member of our community as I am. If you happen by on a weekend, do your soul a favor: pop on down and spend a few minutes just being there.
Submitted by Alex Saksen