First Church of the Living Room

By Kathy Deters

I have a confession to make: I haven’t been to church since Christmas Eve.

Like most of the Midwest, we got socked by a nasty cold virus that took us down, systematically, one by one…coughs, fevers, ear infections, followed by another round of coughs, fevers and ear infections. For weeks it dragged on, our house a veritable symphony of coughing at night and lifeless activity as we struggled through the daytime hours. As it passed through each family member one by one, then turned around and knocked us all down again, my family resembled extras from a bad zombie flick.

Finally, after more than a month of antibiotics, cough medicines, ear drops and doctor’s appointments, we agreed over Saturday dinner that we were, without a doubt, well enough to return to church. And then we woke up today to find four inches of freshly fallen, untouched snow on our street.

And like a zombie movie, we wondered if the snowpacalypse was as bad outside our subdivision as it was within. Had the highways between St. Charles County and St. Louis County been plowed? Had the bridge over the Missouri River been treated? Were cars slipping and sliding willy and nilly in Chesterfield? And so we resigned to miss church…again.

As we sit snowed in, I lament that I won’t get to enjoy the choir’s music, that I won’t hear the pastor’s message (though this is now available on the Discover St. Mark website), that I won’t have the opportunity to visit with dear friends (though it’s nice to be able to stay connected with many of them over Facebook). But mostly I regret that my kids are missing this important time at church.

And then I reflect back to the months after each of our children were born, when we found ourselves in a self-imposed lockdown to keep them healthy (and to avoid the awkward feedings, crying jags and messy diaper changes that always accompany newborns and excursions outside the home). I remember feeling guilty then, too, particularly after the birth of my third child, when the older two were missing the important lessons that accompany our weekly church visits.

Back then, my mother told me that having grown up in the country, it wasn’t uncommon for her mother to ask her to make up Sunday School lessons for her younger brothers, when the trip to their tiny country church simply wasn’t possible. And so we instituted our own makeshift church service, which my children and I affectionately nicknamed, “The First Church of the Living Room.” It was a few minutes of prayer, followed by a couple of rounds of “Jesus Loves Me,” a few bible stories from one of their books, and then some coloring. Simple…but meaningful.

Now that I’ve found a church family where I feel I belong, I realize nothing can replace that experience of being part of something bigger…seeing the good that my brothers and sisters in Christ are doing throughout the community and around the world, for example, or listening as my children contribute their voices to the youth choir. But the snow that now has me trapped inside my own tiny three-bedroom ranch is a nice reminder from the heavens above that Christ’s teachings don’t stop at those stained-glass windows; they are here, in my home, in my living room, waiting to be shared.  And so, for this unexpected snow day, I give thanks.