Sunday, April 7, 2024 - Missed you

 This sermon was preached for Sunday, April 7, 2024 for the second Sunday of Easter. The texts for this sermon were: 1 John 1:1-2:2, John 20:19-31, and Psalm 133.

In my childhood church’s Sunday school classrooms there was a chart on the wall with all of our names and little boxes with dates for putting stickers in for all the Sundays you were there in class. The stickers on my and my sister’s rows were neatly placed in just about every other column, for just about every other week, because the other weeks we attended my father’s Catholic church. I remember wondering what happened on those Sundays we weren’t there. Wondering if we only half belonged - even though my name being there on that list meant I surely did belong for real. 

I’ve heard many stories over the years from folks whose Sunday schools had perfect attendance awards at the end of the church school year - and I’ve also heard other, heat-breaking stories about being shamed, subtly or not so subtly, for missing services. If you’ve listened to any of my sermons up to this point, then you know that I believe shame has no place in church. I know for a fact that shame makes it harder for people to return to church.

I liked what the church school classes at my last parish did. They drew and mailed postcards to the kids who missed church for whatever reason. The postcards said you are remembered, you are missed, and you matter. 

Thomas missed a Sunday - the best Sunday. While the disciples were gathered in a locked room on that first Easter Sunday, Jesus showed up in their midst. To a frightened huddle of his grieving friends, Jesus offered what they sorely needed most: peace, joy, and the Holy Spirit. Hearing about it from everyone else later, I can’t help but imagine Thomas felt a bit put out. But Jesus shows up for him the next Sunday, too. He has heard what Thomas needs - to put his hands in the wounds on Jesus’ body - and that is precisely what Jesus offers him. 

This past week, the New York Times reported on the rising rates of chronic absenteeism in American schools. The lead quote for the article summed it up like this: “The pandemic changed families’ lives and the culture of education” and quotes a Duke University research professor: “Our relationship with school became optional.” The article states the facts - an overall 15% increase in the percentage of public school students missing 10% or more of the school year for any reason. Most notably, rates of absenteeism got proportionally worse across all sorts of demographic categories, including income and race. The article also goes on to guess at the reasons - heightened student anxiety, the ability to keep up online, parental overwhelm. Has there been a cultural change about what constitutes too sick to go to work or school? Has work from home broken families’ habits? Did remote schooling break parents’ trust? Absenteeism, one researcher notes, is socially contagious. It’s not hard to read in between the lines for which reasons for missing school the reporters have more or less sympathy for: the kid who needs to take care of younger siblings vs. the wealthy Anchorage family who jets off on a off-peak-priced ski trip.

But while the why is a fascinating mystery, it’s just as important to notice the impact of students missing school, whatever the reason. Measurable academic consequences, learning loss, and disciplinary issues. Kids falling through the cracks. The educational and social impact lands on everyone - the kids who miss and those who don't. The article features educators’ laments that supportive relationships have gotten harder to build between students and between students and teachers when people just aren’t there. 

Schools have tried all sorts of things to stem the flow - pajama party days was one example - but according to the article, the only things that seem to work long-term are 1. home visits to investigate and address a specific family’s barriers to attendance, 2. one-on-one relationships with a caring teacher, and 3. personal texts quite like those church school postcards letting parents and kids know they were missed, their absences have an impact, they matter.

Reading this article, I couldn’t help but think about the trends we’ve been seeing in the church over the last decade or so. It’s a given now that typical attendance patterns for most Episcopalians is about every other Sunday, and increasingly, especially for young families, that’s been moving toward once a month. Once upon a time, weekly Sunday church attendance would have been a given, a fact of life in a town like East Longmeadow - a religious obligation, but also just what most people did. So it’s fascinating to witness something that I assumed would be an unchanging fact of community life - the majority of school-age children consistently attending school every week day - is also coming apart at the seams, despite the legal obligations. 

Reading the article, I had this sense of - it's not just us, it's not just church, it's clubs and community in all its forms, even what had previously seemed so mandatory: work and school. Which makes what we do here, gathering and building and rebuilding relationships, both all the harder and all the more important.

I want to say here that I really don’t question people’s reasons as to why they aren’t in church on a given Sunday. I don’t judge and I never want to shame. People often give me very good reasons for missing church, anyway. I particularly love when people tell me they went out to walk in the woods and met God there in a new and meaningful way. It’s delightful to hear about people’s amazingly restful vacations or how good it felt to see dear friends and family they haven’t in a long time. 

The why isn’t too important - unless it indicates something more serious like a health issue or a crisis of faith. But I do notice the impact of people’s absences, anyway. I miss your presence when you aren’t here. Or when you’re here on the livestream but I have no way to know. I miss you. 

The other more practical impact is that it’s hard to build community up when a lot of people are only here some of the time. It’s harder than ever to maintain momentum in various ministries and projects, harder to get people to get to know each other especially if - and it’s sort of funny to watch when it happens - folks get out of sync with each other with the whole every other Sunday thing. Missed Sundays add up, the disconnection is real. I also often find myself thinking: oh man, you missed a good one! Jesus showed up! It was awesome.

At the end of the day, though, our faith is not primarily about you and I showing up. It’s about how God shows up, every time. About how God will come to where you are, to meet you in what you need. Even if God sometimes makes you wait a week. 

So, so many of Jesus’ parables and stories and teachings are not about praising the ninety-nine sheep who dutifully show up in the pasture where they’re expected to be. Jesus is more often speaking to the sheep who’s wandered off and can’t find his way back - to the prodigal son who’s afraid there is no way back. All these stories say: you matter, you are missed, God is longing to welcome you home. 

But say you’ve been here the whole time - maybe you even came to the majority of our Holy Week services - maybe you’ve rarely missed a Sunday in your life - or maybe you’re even paid to be here. It's not a mistake that the ninety-nine sheep and the dutiful brother characters are miffed in Jesus' stories. What is the message and the Good News for you and me?

It’s twofold: one is that the reassurance that God’s love for us isn’t based on how often we show up. God doesn’t take attendance as if it’s a scorecard and neither should the church. We aren’t any more or less valuable to God or our community because of what we do or how often we show up. Our worth and value is unshakeable and grounded in God’s grace. That's Good News for everyone.

The second message is this: we have a role to play in welcoming the one who’s been away. In helping them to know they belong - letting them know they matter. I wonder about learning from what the schools are trying. Not ineffective gimmicks like pajama day but the long, slow work of relationship building. Listening with curiosity and empathy to each person’s why and working to lower their particular barriers to attending - childcare, transportation, general overwhelm. Sending those texts and postcards that say we miss you, you matter, it's not the same without you here. 

Through it all, we stand firm in our faith in “what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands.” We keep the lights on and the doors unlocked - holding a space open for Thomas. As John writes “we declare to you what we have seen and heard so that you also may have fellowship with us…We are writing these things so that our joy may be complete.” You here in fellowship with us makes our joy complete. 

I suspect you already know what that feels like to step back inside a church after a long absence, warily or sheepishly or with relief. So many of you have shared stories with me about times you had been lost or disconnected and wandered back wondering if you could ever belong - and found that you did. And found that Jesus had showed up just for you. 

For over two thousand years, Christians have been gathering every Sunday, week in and week out, secretly in locked rooms and boldly in city squares, in crowded, giant auditoriums and in bare living rooms. Jesus has shown up every single time - whether there’s two or three or three thousand. He'll be here next week and the week after that and the week after that. Thomas's absence wasn't the end of the story. Neither is yours or your neighbor’s.

Jesus has shown up and will show up - in the bread and in the wine and in our hearts. Offering himself, for you.