Honest

We're in an interesting spot this Sunday. Maybe it's the time change or the change in seasons. Maybe it's the sunshine after a rainy week. 

 Light. Goofy. Tangibly aware of the Grace that surrounds us. 

And, it's honest, but it isn't the entire truth. 

 Because, it slips sometimes. And, then, there is a different kind of honest. 

Silent. Unspoken. Dealt with as gently as we possibly can. 

 A thousand things going on under the surface, these remnants of a long week that we can't seem to shake. Perhaps aren't meant to shake. 

 If there was any place that we ought to bring ourselves broken and tired and joyful and transparent, this is it. This community designed to look like Christ. 

Church is the place where we come honest. 

And, it's odd, this sense that we can come honest without necessarily using words. Odd, but, for today, true. 

 When our silence and our presence are the most true things that we can offer in the quiet moments. When even in our play, the silent connection of a laughing glance is of highest importance. 

 We play Duck, Duck, Goose at their own impetus, listing off the books of the Bible with each tap on the head. Interrupting the litany of the Old Testament with a, "Jesus!" before running, laughing to a new spot. 

 Build shapes out of groups of middle schoolers. Circles and squares. Vehicles and Thanksgiving dinner. The color blue and the Eiffle Tower. 

 Let them slide across the floor like rockets and collect a stack of half a dozen name tags. 

 Shoot rubber bands at empty pop cans and play the drums on empty tables. 

Sing with unguarded hearts. 

 Noisily quiet. But, honest.