We buried my mother-in-law this past Friday. The memorial service wasn’t at church, but in a large multipurpose room at the retirement home where she and my father-in-law lived (and he still does). Most of their Houston friends live there; some of them aren’t all that mobile; and it was easier to bring the service to them than vice versa. The clergy were happy to accommodate that request.
The priest vested for the service. Later the symbolism dawned on me: Our dress announces our culture, our values, the things we deem important. I thought of English explorers dressing for dinner in the jungle.
In this case, the priest’s vestments subtly announced that "church" isn’t a building: it’s wherever the people of God gather in his name.
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