(Contributed by Osheta Moore. Read more about our writers here.)
I was raised in the South in an enthusiastic charismatic church. Everything we did was loud. We prayed loudly, we cried at the altar loudly, and we really took to the heart the clap your hands and make joyful noise passages.
I don’t know why my memories of church were always so loud. I’m sure we loved Jesus and were bubbling with excitement, but sometimes I wondered if maybe our loudness was an indicator that we hoped the louder we were the better God could hear us, or maybe hopes to “fake it until we make it” using volume to generate a confidence and hope when we actually felt quite vulnerable and desperate. Every Sunday, was loud. Loud became common and expected. Most assuredly, not sacred.
Now don’t get me wrong, we have fond memories quiet moments. Every first Sunday, we took communion, remembering Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross for us through taking the elements of the bread and wine. Our pastor would get up and lead us through the scripture of the last supper and a deep sense of solemnity would come over me. In those quiet times, I truly believed that Jesus love. Those moments were expressively quiet and in my mind sacred.
So my mind divided things into two categories: 1. Sacred (which was always quiet, always important, always solemn). And 2. Common (Everyday things were joyful, loud, fun, and sometimes trivial). There were things and moments that were sacred, and things and moments that brought joy and never the two shall meet.
When my children were little I attended a Mom’s group where the speaker encouraged us to see the sacred in our everyday mothering. She pointed to Brother Lawrence who washed dishes and met with the divine. She suggested that we might tap into the joy of motherhood if we elevated the diaper changes, the potty training, the time outs from ordinary to sacred.
I scoffed at the notion. This crazy loud existences of three kids three and under was in no way, shape, or form sacred.
To me sacred was well... a sacred word. You don’t say, “This mushroom and sausage deep dish pizza is sacred” or say to your child, “Do not touch mommy’s sacred bottle of nail polish”. After having children, I often sung the praises of my coffee maker and flocked to the altar of Starbucks and called all that sacred, but I knew I was being cheeky. Because, of course, the true meaning of sacred was important, solemn, quiet.
Driving away from that meeting, I thought, "How does something become both sacred and joyful? When sacred means quiet and solemn and joyful means loud and exuberant?”
Reluctantly, I took her advice and tried to see sacred in the everyday and as I ascribe worth to wiping bums and disinfecting little hands, the Lord helped me realize that my definition and expectation of the word sacred was totally off. Sacred doesn’t mean solemn anymore than joyfulness means loud.
Sacred means special, set apart, meaningful.
It’s any moment, activity, or place that we’ve paid special attention to, in order to make space for connection with our God, our spirits, and each other.
So sharing gifts on Christmas morning can be sacred, praying with a scared child who has just has a nightmare can be sacred, taking your oldest child out for some one on one time can be sacred, enjoying a hot bubble bath after a long day of caring for your children can be sacred and, YES, a coffee date with a good friend can be sacred! Thank God! All these moments can and will be permeated with joy because of the special attention made to them.
Photo Credit: Carlos Paes
Originally Published 1/13/2016
