Megan Hill

Nearly every Sunday for the past fifteen years, I’ve gotten a migraine headache. It typically sets in sometime after the benediction—while I’m standing on the church lawn talking with members and visitors.

For nearly a year, though, our dining table hasn’t hosted a single Sunday lunch or Friday night supper. COVID-19 has reached its long fingers even into my century-old house, largely precluding indoor hospitality.

Last Sunday, our church regathered for the first time in months. We wore masks, we social-distanced, we didn't touch the door handles, and we sat next to open windows. We only sang one hymn–at the very end of the service–to minimize the possibility of airborne transmission.

Every few months, my church gathers in the fellowship hall for a slightly different purpose...

For families with kids, Sunday mornings can be a theater for spiritual drama. Whether you have toddlers who scream that their church shoes pinch, or teenagers who slouch out the door fifteen minutes late, it's not easy to get to church.

Jim came to our church from prison. Over the decades, his life had taken many turns, but none of them had passed through the door of a gospel-preaching church.

Around the corner from where I live, a house is for sale. In bold green letters, the lawn sign reads: “I'm Gorgeous Inside!”