I remember when we cancelled our first event. I remember when we cancelled everything else. I remember when we cancelled summer plans. That was actually when I realized this was going to go on for a long time...when I realized it was going to be more than a blip. Its persistence into the summer meant it wasn't behaving like illness I had seen before, and that's when I started trying to figure out what music ministry was going to look like when we couldn't be together. It started with my youth choir tour--my last week at Decatur First UMC.
When I started at Oak Grove UMC, I walked the halls wondering what "normal" looked like. I still wonder, actually. There's still so much that is different from the way it used to be. Apparently. I've never seen a single meal inside this church, Wednesday night or otherwise. Even our staff lunches have been outside. [Editor's note: shoutout to Carl and Atticus for getting these staff lunches going. We had a potluck thanksgiving meal today that was fantastic.]
There's been a lot of ink spilled about the "new normal." Some time back, people started to realize that things will never again be the way they were before March of 2020. It's true in virtually every aspect of life, and we're not talking about subtle changes.
But my life was already going to change. Before the pandemic, I had already accepted my new job at Oak Grove. Wednesday night dinners were never going to be the same. Choir was never going to be the same. My entire professional existence was about to be upended. And let's be honest: I was never normal anyway.
The pandemic profoundly affected my work, and it still does. But it didn't affect why I do it, and it didn't affect the most essential aspects of how I do it. Care about people. Lead them in creating profound expressions of faith, hope, and love in a world that needed them before the pandemic just as much as it needs them now. Build a community of people who love each other and their neighbors (because that's how Jesus said people would know we are His disciples). All the rest--the details of what that looks like--are really nothing more than window dressing.
Last Christmas we offered a concert that was recorded individually in homes and assembled on a computer in my house. It was the best we could offer in that season, and I remain proud of each person who contributed to it (you can find it here if you're interested: https://youtu.be/IstlPHxoTaI).
This Christmas we're offering something else. I won't say it's back to normal, because it isn't for a lot of reasons that aren't worth going into right now. But we'll be singing together again in the sanctuary, and that's not nothing. And I want to believe that our concert, Season of Hope, will be a profoundly joyful experience, both for those who perform and for those who listen.
Meanwhile, I've been wondering (along with everyone else) if getting "back to normal" is really something we should try to do, and I'm not sure it is. See, the things that happen to us change us, and that's when we have a choice to make: how will this change me? Will it change me for the better? I'll give you an example. Before the pandemic, I had never streamed at Christmas Concert. Guess what. We're going to stream this one (on Sunday, December 12, at 6pm). The ability to attend a meeting via Zoom has made it possible for people to attend meetings who couldn't before, and that's been genuinely useful. [Editor's note: not only that, but it reminds me of the Jedi council.]
So that's what I'm thinking about lately. Not so much getting back to normal. More identifying the essentials that didn't change because they can't change and figuring out how to put those essentials to work for the betterment of the world around me as it exists right this very minute.
And I'm also thinking about how cool it would be if Zoom supported hologram projection. I told you I was never normal anyway.
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