I went to church this morning. That in itself isn’t such an unusual thing, after all it is Sunday, but I don’t usually attend church, I haven’t in a number of years. Without getting into a lot of personal issues and events, the church where I raised my kids, and I, parted company a number of years ago, my daughter still attends regularly, but I couldn’t quite find my way back. This particular church suffered a number of situations and personalities and events that got in the way of what’s important in life, and a number of those I’d raised my kids with, including myself, just stayed away. My spirituality was in danger, and I’m quite protective of that.
Anyway, a new pastor was installed today. It was a sort of rebirth, or new beginning of sorts for this congregation, and many of the old faces were present, those I’d raised my kids around, and I felt a renewed sense of community. But that isn’t what this musing is about. In 1996, as a Sunday School teacher, and local handweaver, I did a program for this church, one Sunday in May. I brought in one of my 25″ floor looms, threaded with a 4 shaft bird’s eye, and I put it on the altar. For the service, each of the Sunday School children came up one by one, and wove a thread across the warp. Each of the members of the congregation wove in a thread as well. When someone couldn’t be there that Sunday because of an illness or injury, someone wove in a thread for them. The cloth, as it took shape, came to represent the community or congregation of this particular church, gold and silver threads, and black and white threads, and the metaphor here, was how critical each thread was to the whole cloth. If one thread was removed, the cloth wouldn’t be as structurally sound, and there would be a definite hole in the cloth.
There is a wonderful poem, The Plan of the Master Weaver, most weavers have heard of it.
The Plan of the Master Weaver
Our lives are but fine weavings
That God and we prepare,
Each life becomes a fabric planned
And fashioned in His care.
We may not always see just how
The weavings intertwine,
But we must trust the Master’s hand
And follow His design,
For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side,
While we must look from underneath
And trust in Him to guide……
Sometimes a strand of sorrow
Is added to His plan,
And though it’s difficult for us,
We still must understand
That it’s He who fills the shuttle,
It’s He who knows what’s best,
So we must weave in patience
And leave to Him the rest…..
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why–
The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver’s skillfull hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
Anyway, I mounted the cloth, with this poem in a frame, with the date and event, and it hangs in the auditorium of this church, off the sanctuary. I spent some time looking at it during the dinner reception for the new pastor. I thought about so many things in my life, where I am part of something greater, and that each person’s contribution no matter how big or small is pretty critical to the whole, my guilds, my family, my neighborhood, my weaving community, even the classes I teach, and I even thought of it this afternoon, when I went down to Morristown for my recorder ensemble rehearsal. Here it is even more obvious when someone is missing from the group. There are two sopranos, two altos, two tenors, and two basses. If one of them is missing, the music is somehow not complete.
I like that about life. I like to think that everyone has something to contribute, and that everyone’s contribution is important. And without someone, there would be a hole in the cloth. Life is about teamwork. And getting along. And holding together in the darkest of times, and the best of times, and all those normal average times in between.
So I went to church today, and I saw a lot of old friends, and I thought a lot about what I do, and my contribution to the “cloth” no matter how big or small. I’m glad I went, it was good to get away from the computer, and my studio, and just be with people, and I think for now, I’ll go again.