A Different Sort of Homecoming

This past weekend I attended Homecoming. Often when you hear that word, Homecoming, your thoughts turn immediately to football. Homecoming brings to mind images of a crisp, autumn day; cheerleaders shaking pom-poms, their cheeks rosy from the cold as heavily padded football players take the field; pretty girls wearing pastel gowns and cheap tiaras, smiling and waving to a crowd of cheering onlookers, bundled up in LL Bean and North Face jackets, a cup of steaming coffee or cider warming their hands.

But this weekend was a Homecoming of a different sort. This Homecoming was held at my church, The United Church of Christ in Norwell. For many, Labor Day is the official end of summer, but for me it is my church’s Homecoming Weekend. On that day, our Sunday service returns to its regular 10:00 a.m. time slot. Those of us (and I consider myself one of the worst offenders) who spent summer Sunday mornings sleeping in, reading the paper and making our leisurely way to places like Canobie Lake Park, Duxbury Beach or the New England Aquarium now set our alarm clocks in order to be showered, fed and in our seats by 10:00 a.m.

Summer is a time for vacations. Families take vacations from their everyday lives. Workers take vacations from their jobs. Kids take a vacation from their studies. And I, unfortunately, despite my best efforts, tend to take a vacation from the things that are good for me: healthy eating, exercise and religion.

During the summer I have every intention of eating fresh fruits and healthy salads. I tell myself that I will bring the kids with me to the gym, or go while they are in camp. And I will absolutely, without a doubt, continue to attend church every Sunday. Unfortunately, burgers and margaritas are awfully tempting, and when the kids are in camp it’s much more fun to go to the beach than the gym. And though our church’s summer service lasts only 45 minutes, most Sundays I just couldn’t seem to get myself out of bed in time.

Muscles that are not worked regularly become flabby, and the same holds true for my soul when I skip church for too long. It doesn’t help that my weekly Wednesday morning bible study takes a break during the summer months. While tidying my bedside table, I was disheartened to find a thin film of dust on my bible. A friend and I had decided to do a bible study together on our own this summer, had even gone so far as to order the workbooks online. We made it through one chapter.
That’s not to say that God wasn’t present in my life during the summer months. I found myself praying all summer long; for friends who needed strength; for my husband as he lay in the emergency room with acute appendicitis; for my children as they traveled on the bus to and from camp. Still, it just wasn’t the same

So clearly, Homecoming was an event that could not be missed. As I parked my car, I wondered if anyone would reproach me for being away so long. The first face I saw was my friend Cathy, who runs the church school program. “There she is!” she cried exuberantly as she threw open her arms wide for a hug. We caught up for a few minutes on our respective lives before I walked up the stairs and into the sanctuary. I nodded and greeted other familiar faces as my sons and I settled in our seats.

Throughout the service, I realized just how much had I missed the sounds of our impressive choir, the sweet strains of the organ, the steady sureness of our minister’s sermons. I missed hearing the sincere prayers voiced by other members of the congregation, reciting The Lord’s Prayer while holding hands with the person on either side of me, and greeting those around me with a warm handshake and the word, “Peace”.

It was all so familiar, and yet there were subtle changes as well. A young couple sitting behind me had a new baby in tow. There were new faces in the choir. Friendship Home, which was still a construction site last spring, is nearly complete. And my older son, who used to enjoy going up to the front of the church during the “time for children” opted to stay in his seat instead, whispering ,”Mom, I’m too old for that.”

When the service was over, I collected my things and made my way to the back of the church. A woman came up to me and said, “I haven’t seen you in such a long time!” There was no reproach in her voice, just a warmth that told me she was genuinely glad to see me again. I admitted that I had been the invisible woman all summer. “However,” I said, “I’m back now.”

With a smile, she replied, “That’s all that matters.”

I now know why they call it Homecoming.