In the midst of a very busy week I am buoyed by the blessings that a community of faith provides. It’s not the grand gestures that make such a difference. It’s the little things, done in love. It’s serendipitous that this poem arrived in my inbox this week from an email list I subscribe to. The poem sums up exactly how I’m feeling this week about ‘church’. Our actions are essential to the one infinite story of what it is to be alive. Yes! You may feel you are just one tiny part that doesn’t really matter. But you do matter. And those little, loving things you do make all the difference in the world.
 
Belonging (Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer)
 
And if it’s true we are alone,
we are alone together,
the way blades of grass
are alone, but exist as a field.
Sometimes I feel it,
the green fuse that ignites us,
the wild thrum that unites us,
an inner hum that reminds us
of our shared humanity.
Just as thirty-five trillion
red blood cells join in one body
to become one blood.
Just as one hundred thirty-six thousand
notes make up one symphony.
Alone as we are, our small voices
weave into the one big conversation.
Our actions are essential
to the one infinite story of what it is
to be alive. When we feel alone,
we belong to the grand communion
of those who sometimes feel alone—
we are the dust, the dust that hopes,
a rising of dust, a thrill of dust,
the dust that dances in the light
with all other dust, the dust
that makes the world.
 

 

 

Shalom,
Rev. Larry