This article was originally published by The Mennonite

I am not alone

I am sitting here at the computer feeling grumpy. I’ve been sick for the past week.

Nothing life-threatening, just really inconvenient.

Doesn’t my body understand that I’ve got important things to do? Apparently not, because my body is taking its own sweet time getting better.

The most frustrating part of my current malaise is that I’ve lost my voice. It’s been gone for over a week now. I had a part in a wedding this weekend. People told me I sounded like the Marlon Brando character in The Godfather. They wondered when I’d tell them about the offer they can’t refuse. It was funny and made me feel a little less like a failure. Still, not good.

Yesterday I stayed home from church for only the third time in my pastoring years.

The worship leader read the sermon I’d written. Another member performed the baby dedication and the recognition of our high school and college grads. Everything went well without me. Madison Mennonite is that kind of congregation.

Now it’s Monday, and I am still moping around. The infection in my eye makes me look like Popeye before he’s eaten his spinach. My voice sounds like it did when I was going through puberty, skipping from one tone to another without regard for my dignity. Blah.

It’s not been all bad.

I’ve learned that I can read fairly well with one eye closed. I’ve watched a couple of movies. I’ve taken naps and slept with no thought of setting the alarm clock.

Even better, I just finished eating a meal brought to me by a member of our congregation. It was delicious and a mood enhancer. I’ve gotten texts and emails from family and friends, wishing me well and asking if I need anything. Members of the congregation signed a get-well card for me.

In fact, when I think about those people and their gifts, I find myself feeling a lot less grumpy, a lot less sorry for myself. I’ve got a community around me. Some are just a short drive away. Others are a short email away. A community of people looking after me. A community of people who love me and are church to me.

Now I’m feeling grateful. My body still feels crummy.

But my head and my heart are looking up. I am not alone. I am surrounded by the communion of saints, the visible manifestation of the hope I have in Christ. I am not alone.

Four small words, and I’m feeling better. I am not alone.

When I am feeling well, it is easy for me to see myself as entirely independent. Self-sustainable. I can take care of myself, thank you very much. That old American individualistic spirit takes hold of me and fools me every time. Community? I can take it or leave it. Church? Don’t call me, I’ll call you.

Sitting here typing away with one eye closed it seems so obvious. How arrogant! How foolish to think that I am ever on my own! How foolish that I am ever capable of managing on my own! How foolish that I don’t need anyone else to make it through this life in one piece!

I’ve attended churches all my life. I know the church isn’t perfect.

I know it can be a source of community and healing and loving support. And it can be the source of abuse and pain and neglect and abandonment. I have few illusions about the church. We are as good at doing harm as we are at doing good.

But I keep coming back. We keep coming back. Because at our best we listen to the voices of those we’ve failed, and we repent and work to do better. At our best, we are there for each other whether we feel a need or not. At our best, we resemble the Jesus whose teachings we seek to follow. At our best, we really are the body of Christ.

It’s time to take a pill and a nap. But before I go, I want to bask a little bit longer in those four words. I am not alone. That’s what my church tells me. And right now I believe it.

Ron Adams is pastor of Madison (Wis.) Mennonite Church.

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