I’m not sure how many churches have Tibetan Buddhist Trader Joe’s Delivery Time as part of their Sunday ritual, but one of the spiritual gifts of little congregations is our idiosyncrasy. The small church can be delightfully, beautifully weird.
Our small church has partnered with a local Buddhist temple for years now, as our desires to feed the hungry align. Their colorfully decorated van picks up food from Trader Joe’s that would otherwise go to waste. They bring it to us, and we set it out in our Little Free Pantry. This past year, we collectively offered 35 tons of food to the food-insecure in our town, and a large portion of those donations came from this partnership.
For years, food drop off and sorting happened midday on Wednesdays, but a recent shift has resulted in the work happening on Sundays — right after worship during the very start of the hallowed social hour. And this has changed the entire dynamic.
That first Sunday, I was a bit anxious. Is this shift an intrusion? What impact is this having on our life together? Does this change serve an evident purpose?
Because change in the small church is either all in or all out. Rather than following a formal process of decision making, small churches change things organically, as a community encounters a new opportunity or challenge. This means that small churches will both fight imposed change to the death and, simultaneously, can turn on a dime. Like I said, we’re weird.
In the case of changing the food packing to fellowship hour, the answer was immediately apparent. People were still socializing. But they were doing so while moving, sorting, weighing and stocking shelves. One can talk over a meal, but one can also have a good chat during the shared preparation of a meal, and that is precisely what we were doing.
There were other things I noticed. Like, say, the visitors to our church who, coming into the social hour, immediately found their place working side by side with long-time church folk.
Or, just as notably, the children of the church, who eagerly took to working side by side with the grownups. A task done joyously and together feels a whole lot like play, after all.
This last Sunday, two rambunctious boys of the church eagerly and voluntarily took point in the process. One arrived at the helm of a push cart, grinning wide with his face full of new adult teeth. We piled it high, and the smile never left his face as he pulled away.
The other, much smaller, wheeled up with a handcart as tall as he was.
“Are you sure you can handle this box?” I said to him, seriously. “It’s very heavy.” “Very heavy,” he nodded, just as seriously. “I got it.” He repeated those words like a mantra of encouragement as he wheeled the box away.
Back and forth they went, until the job was done.
All of us, young and new and old, can appreciate a clear and self-evidently good purpose, and the blessings of a new and gracious thing. Particularly if afterwards, we know there will still be snacks.
