The Plymouth Church, United Church of Christ - Framingham, MA

           I was up in New England visiting my brother, his wife and their beautiful baby girl this weekend.  The snow that is crushing their neighborhood makes the snow in New Jersey look like fairy dust. 

            Service this past Sunday served a threefold purpose.  One, I had to continue my search.  Two, my brother is looking for a church to attend in his area.  And three, my sister-in-law needed us to get my brother out of the house so she could prepare a surprise party for him to return home to.  He just landed an important job very much worth celebrating.

            So my mother, father, brother and I navigated our way around heaps of snow and headed to The Plymouth Church, a traditional Congregational church in Framingham, MA. 

            After finding our way to the side entrance (the front steps were closed due to snow) we floundered in a lobby-type area for a couple seconds before a very friendly woman spotted us.  She immediately offered to escort us through the basement hallways leading to the front of the church.  On the way she asked my brother if he had been there before as she recognized his face.  But while he had been there before, it had been months ago and he didn’t recognize her.

            If her friendliness and attentiveness to detail was representative of the entire church, I thought at this point, this was certainly going to be a welcoming place.

            And I wasn’t wrong.

            One of the first things the main priest did was extend a warm welcome to guests in the congregation and invite them to join the members of the church for a coffee hour after the service.  And he encouraged guests to fill out an information card (provided on the back of the pews) and leave it in the offering plate.  The back of the card read:

            No matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.

            To the tune of my brother’s slight disapproval, I did not fill out one of these cards.  This was the first time I had to decide whether or not to request further contact with the church I was visiting.  But I decided that I would prefer to keep to my method of being the one to contact the church in my own way ... after posting about them.

            Although I would have genuinely enjoyed receiving a hand written letter (which my brother and his wife received after their first visit.)

            After singing hymns and listening to the sermon I was invited, along with the rest of the congregation, to take part in Communion.  To tell you the truth, I capitalized that for no other reason than that it’s a Big Deal.  This time, unlike at the Catholic church in Stirling, I was encouraged to, not warned against, participation.  I believe the words were:  “All are welcome to this table.”

            Instead of having the people walk up to the priests to receive communion, Plymouth’s method was to have ushers take plates with broken bread and pass them around to the people.  It felt more like a supper that way.  At the Last Supper, Jesus served his disciples.  They didn’t line up to have him place bread in their mouths.  I preferred the idea of inviting everyone to the table and humbly serving them.

            But when my brother passed me the plate, I didn’t take the bread.

            I didn’t want to take part in a sacred religious ceremony when my heart wasn’t in it.  I think there should be some kind of compromise between “you’re not allowed to take this if you aren’t Catholic” and “anyone, anywhere, anytime is welcome to take this.”  Of course, I don’t think anyone should be physically barred from eating ANYthing.  But I think there should be some kind of disclaimer. 

            Communion is important.  If it doesn’t hold meaning for you, don’t participate.  Don’t disrespect its value. 

            I would have felt like an imposter.

            Instead, I sat in the pews and read the sections of the gospels that describe the Last Supper.  Fun fact: the breaking of the bread is recorded in all gospels but John.  I couldn’t get communion out of my mind.  I wondered how it evolved into the inextricable tradition that it is today in most Christian sects.  Was it simply that Jesus said to eat the bread in remembrance of him?  And this was taken to mean: remember forever in exactly this way?  Was it simply a fascination with the bread being Jesus’ body and the wine being Jesus’ blood?  Was it recorded that the disciples repeated this Last Supper among themselves and that it should continue to be done?

            I’m going to have to look into this.  Watch out for a communion post.

            Getting back to Plymouth church and the snow of MA…

            The sermon was about being the Salt and the Light of the Earth.  For anyone not familiar with this popular sermon, here is the passage from the Bible.  Matthew 5:13-16:

    13 “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.   14 “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.

            The resulting message is to go out and spread the word.  It’s a perfect attitude to have toward … newcomers!  

            The priest explained all the different uses for salt.  Salt as a seasoning.  Salt as a healer (for sore muscles.)  Salt as a breaker-upper of all the horrible ice outside.  Then he briefly mentioned the obvious benefits of light.  He was wonderfully vague about what exactly it means for a PERSON to be salt and light.  Yet I was wrapped up anyway in the little poetic parts of the sermon.  When the priest said that the light streaming through the windows and the salt on the ground is a big metaphor for our need to be a shining example today, I thought, “Oh… how nice.”

            I was so far away from wanting my brain to be buzzing this weekend that I actually didn’t understand why my parents and brother claimed later to have been bored and underwhelmed by the message.

            I get it now.  Blame lack of sleep or the persistent migraine I had been hammered with for days, but I was completely content to listen to the nice man talk about the nice salt and light all morning long.

            Snap back to reality, to quote Eminem, and whoops, there goes gravity.  No, really.  Back to reality.  I would like to have the Bible interpreted, not just restated prettily.  I think this message from Matthew is one of the worthiest messages I've come across so far.  If any church is to be taken seriously, they have to show that they are walking the walk.  When outsiders see a genuine beauty coming out of a church they are more likely to be drawn to it.  And I have no doubt that Plymouth church does great things to be an example and helping hand in their community.  They have a commendable Outreach Program that testifies to this.


         But when a message like this is taught, I would like to have the Bible interpreted, not just restated prettily.  The verses I quoted above are abstract and beautifully poetic.  My idea of what a sermon should be is not an elongation of that poetry but a class on what that poem means.