By Clint Wilson

I miss the silence of the church before anyone has arrived,

I miss the altar guild faithfully serving in unseen ways,

I miss the embrace of so many, touches serving as pastoral promissory notes,

Advertisement

I miss the handshakes that express in more English manner the same sentiment.

I miss the child who awaits my high five; or is it I who await?

I miss the excitement of the newcomer, and the stability of the old-timer.

I miss the parishioner who treats my ear like an endless cavern.

I miss beholding the eyes that signal the need for a call or card.

I miss visiting hearth and hospital.

I miss the fervent prayers of old ladies, and our young acolytes.

I miss those who sit in the same spot—the sacred is found in rhythms and place.

I miss processing amidst the people; the psalms chanted by choir.

I miss the Gospel born again into our midst,

Lord, may your Word be ever on our minds, on our lips, and in our hearts.

I miss preaching, even if my people do not.

I miss kneeling and standing, and the moments our idiosyncrasies dissolve and we flow like (baptismal) water together.

I miss the crotchety comments…I expect them and love their heralds.

I miss the organ.

I miss the Great Amen resounding through the Nave, and the squeal of children.

I miss the sound of coffee brewing, waiting to be consumed,

I miss our people, consuming, and being consumed, and thus, becoming what we are:

the Body of Christ.

Fr. Clint Wilson is rector of St. Francis in the Fields Episcopal Church in Louisville, KY.

About The Author

Fr. Clint Wilson is rector of St. Francis in the Fields Episcopal Church in Louisville, KY.

Related Posts

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

  Subscribe  
Notify of