I pulled a loaf of sourdough bread from the oven and popped it onto the cooling rack before getting out a blank greeting card and pondering what to write in it.
I didn’t know my new neighbors’ names, so after jotting down our names and phone numbers on the inside of the card, I simply wrote “Welcome!” on the front of the envelope. I took one of our church’s information cards out of my purse and wrote “watch online” next to the social media usernames and service times. “This is awkward,” I thought. Inviting someone to church online? Was this a completely useless gesture? I wrapped the still-warm loaf of bread in a tea towel, slipped on my coat, and grabbed the cards. My husband was working in the yard but paused his raking to accompany me to meet the new neighbors a few doors down. I stuffed a mask in my pocket just in case. In our corner of the world, it’s hard to know if a mask will be welcomed or mocked. I knocked on the door of the new neighbors’ home, unsure if anyone would answer.
This year has felt like a long pause in the area of outreach. Our church had been reopened (with lots of precautions and distancing) for about five months before returning to streaming options only. During our reopening, we started a small weekly event for kids in an underserved part of our community (again, with lots of precautions) that steadily grew each week before a considerable spike in local COVID cases shut our doors once again. Our local schools closed for a month to try and stem the rising numbers. My local coffee shop is still open, but a new sign on the door mandates mask-wearing for the first time. Three of our church members have passed away from complications of COVID-19, and many more have contracted the virus and struggled through recovery. While not under any kind of official lockdown, we still find ourselves exercising the caution of April and May all over again.
My five-year-old asked me the other day, “Mommy, when will COVID be over?” I shrugged and told him I didn’t know. At five, his earliest memories in life will be wrapped in pandemic restrictions and conversations. He is used to wearing a mask, washing his hands often, and keeping distance from others. He’ll sometimes yell at his older brother to stay six feet away when he’s grumpy or irritated. He knows why we don’t get out in big crowds or have people in our home like we used to. He’s not afraid, but he is aware.
I wrote down my new neighbors’ names when I returned home from dropping off the bread and inviting them to watch our church services online. I didn’t get the feeling that church was something they were interested in, so my invitation to join us online must have felt strange to them. Still, we chatted and laughed and discussed their move to our small, quiet town. Besides praying for them, I don’t really know how to reach out to them in times such as these. Last year I would have invited them for dinner or at least to make s’mores in our backyard around the fire pit. Depending on who you’re talking to, either one of those options are still perfectly acceptable. Or not. I’m not debating what’s acceptable or ridiculous or irresponsible. I’m simply trying to navigate what is.
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I queried some folks from different parts of the country to see how they are reaching neighbors and the unchurched in their communities as well as how they’re staying connected to their churches. I feel desperate for new ideas or methods of practicing hospitality when opening your home isn’t always the option it used to be. Here are some of the ideas and tips I received:
- We made cute, simple ornaments to give to our neighbors. In the past we made cookies, but we don’t want to share germs this year with food.
- Sending a note/text/call to your neighbor and church family.
- Asking if you can send pizza to your neighbor who has hungry teens. It’s a fun surprise when they are doing online learning. We did this for our neighbors who live behind us. The mom had emergency surgery for a heart attack and almost passed away. We sent pizza to the high school kids.
- Watch social media for your neighbors’ updates and see if there are creative ways to serve and love their family. (The Nextdoor App could be helpful here!)
- My husband and I lead Zoom Bible studies. He has a men’s study, and I lead a ladies’ study. We have a time to pray, connect with each other, talk about the sermon the previous week, and talk about action points.
- Grab some of your church family and adopt a struggling family for Christmas gifts.
- Text a verse or encouraging article to friends and people at church.
- Text and ask your neighbors, “How can I pray for you? How is COVID impacting your family?”
- I have lunch or coffee with my friend/mentor at least once a week or every other week. We sit outside.
- I’ve done a few “drive-by” visits. I’ll text a few members that live in the same neighborhood or close by so I can make the most of the time. My mom (who is high-risk) and I stay in my car and talk to our church family in their driveway.
- You could have a small backyard get together if someone has a nice yard. Have food outside.
- I’ve had several church members bring us food at different times.
- Send cards!
- I try to gauge people’s COVID comfort level. I read somewhere that this is helpful especially when making plans. I don’t want to eat inside right now at a restaurant, but my friend might. So, I just always ask beforehand if it’s okay if we eat outside. With it getting colder, this becomes an issue.
I’ve sat outside with friends for coffee, dropped off numerous pots of soup on the porches of friends or church members who’ve battled COVID. I’ve texted, mailed cards, and had conversations in driveways. I’ve attended Bible study and Sunday school online; I’ve played the piano and listened to my husband preach in front of a camera in an empty church building for weeks. I’ve attended multiple funerals wearing a mask and sitting alone. And—I’ve withdrawn into the sanctuary of our home and watched Netflix, read fiction, cooked an endless stream of comfort foods for my family, and wondered if we’ll ever have much life beyond the doors of our home again. The days are shorter, and the cold of winter is settling in. Our outdoor attempts at connection will soon have to wait until spring.
And yet, while I scramble for ideas and try to stay connected through screens and mail and driveways, I have a strange and resolute confidence that the church will prevail. The body of Christ has withstood two millennia of crises, wars, persecution, and plagues. The kingdom of God grew anyway. Still, the gospel goes out far and wide. People love and are loved with the love of Christ. The sick and poor are still attended to, though in different ways than before. While I fear for the people on the fringes of church life, I am not afraid for the church as a whole. Those who are committed to Christ and His church will have to work harder to love the wayward into the fold, will have to be creative in sharing the gospel with neighbors and co-workers, will have to sacrifice things other than time or money to share Christ in their community. The church has always had difficulties to overcome.
Perhaps one day, when COVID-19 is a ghost of the past and quarantines are remembered with a rosy nostalgia, we’ll see that God used a pandemic to sift us. Perhaps He used months at home to reveal where our true allegiances were. Maybe He worked the closing of the church doors for good purposes when we realized that we treated church as optional long before we ever used the word “pandemic” with regularity. Like the church has done in every trial or terror of the past, this could be when we learn again what faithfulness really is.
Maybe we knock on the door, maybe we stand in the driveway. Maybe we send cards or deliver food, maybe we work through our church member list in prayer each week. But I am convinced that we must work with what we have as the church has done for centuries past. Faithfulness is still our call, and God will still aid us in it.
Like the church has done in every trial or terror of the past, this could be when we learn again what faithfulness really is. Faithfulness is still our call, and God will still aid us in it. Share on X
*Special thanks to the people who emailed me all their ideas for staying connected.
Photo by Dayne Topkin on Unsplash
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.