My family moved several times throughout my childhood, as did my paternal grandparents, so it was my mom’s parents’ house that served as a constant “home” for me, though we often made it to Virginia only once or twice a year. There was some irony in this, as my mom herself had never lived in that house for more than a year or two. Her dad served in the Army, and she moved countless times throughout her childhood. But when he retired, they stayed in the house on Ravensworth Road, just off the beltway, for twenty-five or so years.
When they sold that house to move into a senior living community farther from the city and closer to my uncle, I mourned. Held tightly the memories of neighborhood parks and the closest Metro station, rehearsed the smells and room lay-outs and the countless games of make-believe my sisters and I played over the years. I brought friends and eventually Josh, and then Fiona, to that house, and when we left it for the last time, I felt like I was losing a part of myself.
Last week, I flew to Virginia for a few days to spend time with my grandparents in their “new” apartment, the one they’ve been in for close to a decade. It was the first time I’d been in their presence in years, and of course, we’ve all changed. They’re a little more frail; I’m a lot more purple. But their place smells like them; familiar photos sit atop dressers, and the art I associate with them covers the walls. I miss their old house (and she does, too), but moving was the right choice, and being with them in their new place feels just as much like home as ever.
I’ve been thinking about our sense of place a lot lately, and moreover about the relationship between our church campus and our church community, so when I saw the cover story in the most recent issue of The Christian Century, I picked it up immediately. It’s time to reimagine the church parking lot, G. Travis Norvell posits. Norvell leads a historic downtown congregation in Minneapolis, a congregation which, for a long time, seemed destined to be limited in its ministry by the limited availability of parking. For a good chunk of the last part of the 20th century, that was the common wisdom: to grow, a church needed ample parking.
But, Norvell notes, it’s worth considering what else a church can do with that kind of space; space that’s not just dedicated to church members driving in for a few hours each week. What if that kind of space hosted tiny houses for those leaving homelessness, or a farmer’s market, or camps for kids?
The article struck me as we reflect on what it means to share “our” spaces; to use them in ways other than what we originally imagined or intended. We have started a lot of these conversations as we have considered short-term relationships with Publix and the Constellation Charter School. Ideally, we would have been having these conversations before these specific opportunities were raised; but I am also certain we will continue having them in various forms for a long time to come.
Our neighborhood is changing, and so perhaps our call as a congregation is shifting, too. The Vinery process promises to help guide our reflection on our relationship with our university neighbors, and the Financial Sustainability and Stewardship Committee is gearing up to examine the costs, challenges and opportunities of maintaining our campus and ministries, and seeing them grow and thrive.
The thing I have always loved about lent is the call to self-reflection and truth-telling – not in the interest of naval-gazing or self-reverence, but as a prerequisite for Eastertide: a time of new life, new vision, and new possibilities.
Whether it’s our parking lot or the west wing, responding to a cruel legislative session, greening our life together, or rethinking retreat traditions in light of the pandemic, this is a wonderful season at UCG, and I’m grateful to be making a home among you.
Grace and Peace,
Bromleigh