I didn’t feel like going to church this past Sunday. It was hard getting the family out the door. I was tired. I wasn’t in the mood for mauve carpets, praise music and a long sermon after the splendor of the Eucharist at St. Thomas Church last week. But a beautiful thing happened.
There’s a young man who comes to our church with his family and who has a significant disability. It’s the kind of disability that twists the body, distorts the countenance, and makes ordinary communication impossible. This young man seems to like me. Maybe it’s because I do some work with disabled people and this sort of thing doesn’t phase me. Maybe it’s because I can communicate with him a little better because of my son’s disability. Maybe he knows I need a friend.
After the service, he was sitting by himself and I went over to say hi. Through a bit of improvised sign language, he told me he had a toothache and was going to the dentist. He seemed delighted that I understood, and as is his way, gave me a big bear hug. Then he signed “I love you,” and I signed “I love you too.”
THERE was the Church: a delight in understanding another person, a delight in being understood, a generous outpouring of heartfelt fellowship, and a sign of love that closes every distance.