Many may be left feeling detached in a year of social distancing, locked buildings, and online services. We long to be meaningfully connected both spiritually and physically. A lack of community and care may leave us feeling functionally like a “spiritual amputee.” This void makes us more keenly aware of our need for the hands and feet of Christ working together. Isolated Christianity is incomplete. We appreciate, like never before, that it takes the whole family of God to understand the whole love of God.
I long to sing, sit under the preached Word, receive communion, pray, and serve together. And to be honest, I am also missing the fellowship around doughnut holes and coffee. I know you might think one of these yearnings is not super-spiritual, but hear me out. We need to have an apologetic of doughnut holes. It is more than a sugar rush or quick continental breakfast. Making space for this kind of gathering is an invitation to experience the gift of “koinonia.” Those moments whet our appetite for pursuing rich communal body life. They are a foretaste of feasting together in eternity.
As a pastor’s wife, I likely have had one too many doughnut holes, but I maintain I have been profoundly nourished by gathering with my people. This sacred space may last only a few minutes, but it has afforded me the privilege to listen and learn. Listening to a church member looking for employment or a young mom who is overwhelmed by potty training. Learning from a 5-year-old about the Bible verse she memorized in Children’s Worship or the tooth she lost since I saw her last week.
The hospitality of the gospel makes space for people who are bruised and broken by the Fall.
The pandemic has universally affected everyone, and yet our experiences are not universally similar. Prayerfully, there is a day coming soon when we will be able to reengage in person. And when that day comes, perhaps applying our defense of the doughnut hole will inform a gracious reentry.
One definition of hospitality is to make space. It is more than space around a table to eat, but rather space for people. The hospitality of the Gospel makes space for people who are bruised and broken by the Fall. Space in conversations to listen to stories of how the repercussions of COVID-19 have shaped individuals’ lives. Space for spiritual family reunions, which don’t just assume people are where we left them the last time we were physically together. Space to hear how our brothers and sisters have grown through adversity. Space in a pew for a new person who may have found us online and is ready to see if our church lives out what the newcomer heard through their laptop.
Space for thanksgiving for things we may have taken for granted. Space to serve needs that surfaced during this challenging season. Space to laugh, cry, and dare I even say, hug. Space to stop, sit, and maybe even eat some doughnut holes together.
The question is, when we return, will there be space? We are His church, and we have the divine privilege of embodying the welcome of the Gospel. And as a weary world that has contemplated life and death during the last year leans in and looks, may that world see the beauty and blessing of belonging on display. My reentry prayer is that God would make our churches spaces of grace.