Holy Awkwardness

“Travelling Christmas carols!” my friend Faye announced. “I saw it in a movie once and I think our church should try it.” I asked her what travelling carols are and she described a group of carollers with candles lit and faces aglow, singing their way through the neighbourhood. We would add carollers as we walked along. Those who heard the carols would slip into their coats, mittens and scarves, and join the chorus.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

We planned a route and called our event, Carols on Kathleen Street. We wrote a flyer announcing the event for our neighbours and delivered them on the first Sunday of Advent—which was also the first real snowfall of the winter, thick flakes gathering on the once – green grass. The people of Kathleen Street have a Christmas tradition of tying big, red, velvety bows to the large trees that line the sidewalks, and the day of our flyer delivery happened to be the day the bows went up.

I submitted the makings of a Christmas card to our local copy store, with instructions for a Christmas greeting and text inviting people to join our Advent and Christmas worship services. For the front of the cards, I chose an image of the lovely stained glass nativity scene from our church sanctuary.

“This window is yours?” marvelled the copy store’s graphic designer, who had at first glance assumed that the photo was a stock image. Yes, that window of the calm, holy family of Bethlehem is ours. It is ours to ponder as we gather to worship each Sunday, and it would be ours to share as we passed these greeting cards to our church’s neighbours after carolling. For some people who lived near our church building, it would be the first time they had really seen this image, as the stained glass picture is difficult to see from the sidewalk. They, too may have been surprised by its quiet beauty.

Inside and out, our church is beautiful. Our staff and volunteers maintain a very well kept facility. When my grandparents came to town, even the church bathrooms impressed my Grandma. Not only are the bathrooms clean, they are cosy—right down to the baskets of paper towels on the counters and the little tables topped with flowers in the corners.

Our church building also has wonderful spaces for large groups of people to prepare and share food together. I’ve always thought of church hospitality as being like my Grandma’s kitchen—warm, tidy and welcoming, a place where there is always enough room and enough food for one more at the table. Hearing Mark Buchanan discuss his book, Your Church Is Too Safe this past year complicated my view of hospitality in the church. Being ready to serve as a host to newcomers is important, but true hospitality also involves taking the risk of stepping out of the church building and becoming a guest. For Buchanan’s congregation at the time, that meant stepping onto the nearby native reserve to get to know their neighbours in Duncan, B.C.

Rev. Roland De Vries of Kensington, Montreal, wrote a missional identity statement, his own attempt to think through ideas of what it means to be church today, and posted it on Facebook. He writes that seeking out “threshold spaces” is an important way for congregations to relate to their neighbourhoods. These are places where all the parties involved are on equal footing. He gives the example of Paul and Lydia, who, as recorded in Acts 16:11 – 15, meet on a neutral ground, a place of worship outside the city of Philippi. If either one was the host in this place “outside the gate by the river” it was Lydia, who worshipped God there regularly (Acts 16:13). Paul shares Christ with Lydia from his non – power position; he is on her turf. She goes on to insist on hosting Paul in her own home, making Paul, in De Vries’ words, “doubly the guest.”

De Vries writes: “The members and friends of congregations should make a habit of walking through their neighbourhood, praying for their neighbourhood, entering into conversation with those who live/work in the neighbourhood, and should become aware of the struggles, concerns, and joys of its neighbours.” As an example, De Vries’s congregation at Kensington has partnered since March of 2011 with a local community organization, Bienvenue à NDG. The church provides a meal for new immigrants to the neighbourhood, while the other organization co – ordinates the workshop. The joint effort is called Les Saveurs du Monde, Flavours of the World.

Understanding the somewhat abstract idea of a threshold space might begin by crossing the literal threshold of the church. At Camp Kintail’s speaker series this year, David Csinos called this kind of risk – taking “holy awkwardness” for the sake of Jesus. We welcome the stranger by stepping out and being the stranger. In so doing, we model the generous love God showed by sending His son to be a stranger among us, to cross the threshold of heaven for our sake.

Which brings us to the threshold of our church building one crisp December evening last year. A group of 20 – odd people from our church gathered in the hall, sang a song or two, and then crossed the threshold to stand on the sidewalk of a neighbourhood home, ring the bell and begin to sing. Our motley group, including elderly people, Sunday school children, and those in between, sang carols. Even members of our church choir participated, though the cold air wore out their voices for the next day’s church service. We held flickery, battery – operated candles in our mittened hands and huddled together in the chilly air. Whether or not the door was opened to us, we offered our Christmas card to each home.

It was awkward. Some houses were darkened, their owners elsewhere. Some people were home but just didn’t open their doors—either in spite of or because of the flyer promising our presence. Perhaps we should have highlighted in bold that we were not collecting money. Perhaps we should have picked a different night. Perhaps the era for door – to – door carolling has come to an end. At the majority of homes, no one came to the threshold.

Awkward, yes. But it was also magical. The songs carried beautifully in the cool evening air. Some families gathered at their front doors to listen, pajama – clad toddlers pressing their noses to the glass. One man shook his head in disbelief and took a cell phone video. “I never thought,” he said, “I would ever hear carollers again.” And, miracle of miracles, one family caught Faye’s vision and joined in the carolling, even coming into the church hall to share Christmas cookies and hot apple cider with us as we chatted and warmed our chilly fingers and toes.

Months later, my husband, Allan and I were serving as chaplains for a week at Camp Kintail. On a balmy July evening, we gathered around the glen campfire with campers and staff to sing out the end of another full day. “Someone’s gotta keep it on going,” we sang. “There are so many folks who haven’t heard. You can count on me ‘cause I’m showing there are so many ways to spread the word.” The warmth of the campfire and the camp song remain with us back in the city as winter nears again. Those folks who haven’t heard may not happen into our building, but hopefully we can meet some of them at a threshold.

We plan to carol on Kathleen Street again this December. The most I hope for is, as we again step across the church threshold together, that Jesus himself will be present with us, making holy any awkwardness.