I wasn’t supposed to be here this weekend. I was supposed to be out of town.

In the before times, I had excitedly written down a wedding in my planner for May 16, with three exclamation points.

I would have picked out a cute dress and shoes and fascinator and gotten to meet extended family members, and catch up with friends, and dance, and eat cake. At some point, I probably would have had to suppress an inner monologue about how loud some music was (I’m a terrible young person…I really don’t like loud music. How am I supposed to hold a conversation if I can barely hear myself, let alone someone else???).

But of course, these are the present times, and the wedding my cousin and his fiancee had imagined six months ago didn’t quite turn out the way he probably thought it might have. It wouldn’t have been safe to have so many people coming together from across Michigan and beyond. No party is worth the spread of contagion right now.

So I didn’t get to walk into a church and try to be subtle as I took note of hymnals and bulletin boards and signage and layout (yes…yes, I do have very particular interests). I didn’t get to compare outfits or wait in line to shake anyone’s hands or awkwardly try to remember names of people I hadn’t seen in a while.

But I still got to see my cousin get married. He and his bride still got to say vows in front of their pastor, their friends, their parents, and their extended families, even if the majority of us couldn’t be there in person. We still got to pray together and reflect on scripture together and hope together that their lives would be full of joy and support and partnership.

Through a screen, I watched them walk down a path to a porch instead of down an aisle to a chancel. There was birdsong instead of any instruments. But that didn’t make their vows any different, and it didn’t make their love for each other any different, and it didn’t make their wedding any less real. There wasn’t a bouquet toss, or a cake cutting, or a series of teary speeches, but those things aren’t what make a marriage.

It was small and simple, a ceremony pared down to its heart: vows made in front of God and witnesses to love and honor each other, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse.

True, they started their lives together in a time of sickness; a time that in many ways is more “worse” than “better.” But they also started their lives with an act of love: keeping people safe by keeping them apart.

I wish that I could have been there to celebrate with him in person. I wish that their lives together had started under different circumstances. I wish that they could have heard the voices of all the people supporting them and their new beginnings, instead of just watching us wave in dozens of little boxes across a screen.

Afterwards, still dressed up in my spring dress and fascinator, wearing the new shoes I’ve had no occasion to wear in two months of owning them, hair curled and makeup done, I set up a tiny “reception” for the friends I would have sat with. We played games, introduced cats, and laughed at the absurdity of all of it.

It was different. All of it was very different than any wedding I’ve ever imagined, or attended, or read about. But different isn’t always bad. And I hope that their lives together can only get better from here.

Well…I guess I owe my cat an apology.

We have had an unwanted guest here in the manse off and on for a while now, and you may recall how I have lamented that my six-pound cat, Gingersnap, was a DECORATIVE cat and not a FUNCTIONAL cat. How could she stand by and permit a mouse to move into our home? How could she sleep knowing that her own food was being pilfered? Did she have no feline pride???

Tonight, while I was putting together worship materials for Sunday, I heard a suspicious ruckus coming from the kitchen. Before I could even get up, however, Gingersnap pranced towards me with something in her mouth. Naturally, I initially assumed that it was a toy.

It was not a toy.

It was a mouse.

Not a catnip mouse. A MOUSE mouse.

I was able to scoop up the mouse in a washcloth and escort it outside, where I hope that it recovers from its night of terror and goes on to live a full and happy life (*OUTSIDE*).

Apparently, my tiny snuggly lap cat had it in her all along to be a working cat. Who knew?

I think that many of us have surprised ourselves over the past two months. Some of my peers have turned to me for advice on how to lead worship virtually or set up lighting for filming, something I would never have anticipated even three months ago. I’ve kept a sourdough starter alive for two months. Webinars, podcasts, and online research have taught me more than I ever thought I would need to know about copyright law in regards to online worship, how to engage with communities over distance, how to create outlets for virtual fellowship, how to host movie nights and game nights and virtual cat introductions, how to create rituals that might help people feel connected from far apart. For my own mental health, I’m trying to limit my screen time as much as I can, so I’ve been reading physical copies of novels–the library stored within the memory of my e-reader is much larger than the library in my living room, but I still have plenty to last me for a while. I’ve also dyed my hair for the first time in five years, re-organized my craft room closet, and played with some new cocktail recipes.

What new skills have you learned during these strange times? How have you surprised yourself? I would love to hear your stories…although I sincerely hope, for your own sakes, that they do not involve catching a mouse and carrying it around in your mouth. Gingersnap does not want to have to share the spotlight of being the best rookie mouser.

What about church do you find yourself missing the most?

If you’d asked me three months ago, “What would you miss the most if you were unable to attend church for an extended period of time?” I think I probably would have said something about getting to participate in ancient rituals, layering my voice on top of the voices of countless millions of people of faith who have gone before me. I almost certainly would have waxed poetic about the profound beauty of receiving communion. Maybe I would have recalled the satisfaction of offering something lovely to God, like the tablecloth I helped embroider by hand for my church in Washington, DC, or the delicately harmonized anthems I once sang with my home church choir, or just the feeling of standing in the warm rainbow light of our stained glass windows.

But now, as much as I miss the beauty and as much as I yearn for communion, I think I’m finding that what I miss the most is the voices.

I miss hearing someone else read the morning’s scripture. I miss hearing dozens of voices fall together into the familiar cadence of the Lord’s prayer. And I think that, most of all, I miss being able to say, “peace be with you!” and hearing the words “and also with you.”

When I sit in the spare bedroom that was once my craft room, filled with neatly labeled boxes of colored papers and costume pieces and spools of thread (now neglected and pushed aside out of the camera’s frame of vision), I find myself nervously beginning Sunday services with the words “Good morning” instead of “Peace be with you.” The absence of an echoed “good morning” is easier to bear than the absence of the words “and also with you.”

To say “Good morning” is familiar, and welcomingly everyday, the expression of hope. To say “Peace be with you” is scriptural, and sacredly special, the giving of a blessing.

My craft room doesn’t feel like a sacred space, for all that I’ve tried. I know that God hears me, but talking to my camera feels like talking into a void. I miss the echo of blessings, the unison prayers that feel like an embrace, the voices that come together to enter God’s courts with praise.

I suppose that all of this is just a long way to say a simple sentence:

Peoples,…I miss you.

Everything does not happen for a reason and God did not concoct this pandemic to punish us, to test us, to teach us something, or for any other purpose.

Not everything has a reason or a purpose. Not all questions can be answered.

We believe, above all things, that there is one God and that our God is fundamentally good: God is the essence of goodness itself, and of love, and of welcome, and of grace. We believe in God because God is good, and loving, and welcoming, and full of grace. We do not believe in God because God gives us easy answers, or solid comforting answers, or even vague answers. We believe in God because we believe that God is greater than all things, that God made all of creation, and that God loves all people.

Good things do not always happen to people who deserve them and bad things do not always happen to people who deserve them, either. It isn’t fair, but it is a fact of the universe nonetheless.

I hope that you are managing to find bits of joy these days. I hope that you are finding yourself reconnecting with people–over phone or video calls, through social media, across a backyard fence, by snail mail, or any other way. I hope that you are finding yourself able to do something that you enjoy, whether that’s an old hobby, books, Netflix binges, card games, art, cooking, exercise, or anything else. I hope that you are maintaining hope.

But I also want to remind you, in case you need to hear it, that it is okay to fall apart. It is okay to despair in what the future might bring. It is even okay to be angry at God. You can do all of those things while still steadfastly believing in our God who is good and loving and welcoming and full of grace. Even Jesus wept at the death of his friend Lazarus–even knowing that he held the power to bring him back from the dead. There is an awful lot going on around us that is truly tragic and it is only human to grieve those tragedies.

Our faith is not built on solid, comforting answers. There is far too much complexity in the universe to expect simple explanations at the foundations of it all. But I can promise you this: no matter what happens, God loves you and God is with you. God has seen us through times of pandemic before and somehow, God will see us through again.

Today was a lonely Maundy Thursday. It’s the day of the church year that remembers Jesus’ last meal with his friends, because even God needed to draw strength from friends during a time of pain and heartbreak and fear. It is especially difficult that during this time of pain, heartbreak, and fear, we are unable to physically share meals with our friends. I am immensely grateful that I was able to enjoy a virtual dinner party in “THE UPPER ZOOM” with Bill Kolasa, the Londons, Nancy Kuzniar, and Skip Lawver. After our evening prayer together this evening, I had another zoom session, this time with seminary friends. We recorded ourselves singing “Were You There” for Good Friday…except that, unfortunately, it turns out that there is *just* enough time lag that our voices became a surreally layered mess. Regardless, it was still a blessing to be able to spend time with them and I’m sorry you won’t get to hear their voices. 🙁

On Good Friday at 7pm, the video of the tenebrae service that I filmed with Pastor Jackie of Marble United Methodist should be premiering on our facebook page. Tenebrae is the Latin name for “a service of shadows.” As Jackie and I took turns reading parts of the passion story, we blew out candles to represent the light of Christ leaving the world. Speaking of old languages, “passion” in the archaic sense refers not to a strong feeling but to the suffering of a martyr, so when we refer to Christ’s passion, we’re talking about the crucifixion narrative. At 8pm, I will lead a short evening prayer on facebook live.

I hope that many of you will join me this Sunday as I live stream worship on Facebook at 10am. You can follow along with the prayers, readings, and hymns, which will be published on our website under the heading “Worship” in the main menu. Following our worship service on Sunday, you are invited to a virtual coffee hour! You can join in the conversation by clicking

https://zoom.us/j/146874134?pwd=K1krZkFrTnJMTHFoV2JwdTk1QWdXUT09.  If you don’t have the set-up to join a video conference, you could also join by telephone by dialing (312) 626-6799 and entering the meeting code 146 874 134, followed by the password 075003.

It will be a very different kind of parade this Sunday, as we each reflect on the palms from our own homes. We are still unable to open the church to worship together, but remember that when Jesus entered Jerusalem and was greeted with waving palm branches…that wasn’t a formally planned, officially sanctioned, scheduled in advance event. People were waving what they had on hand–pulled from the trees that lined the streets. If someone really impressive and important were about to come down your street, what could you grab within a minute or two that would be colorful or festive or get their attention? Conveniently for this weirdly specific hypothetical scenario, I happen to keep all of my long scarves hanging on the door of my coat closet, so I would grab the fuchsia one with little rhinestones and wave that. But maybe one of my neighbors would have foam fingers, or some kind of flag, or a hastily scribbled sign, or a bubble wand to blow bubbles with. What would you grab? Send us a picture of yourself with it and we’ll put them into a “parade” (i.e., collage) in our next newsletter!

Every night during Holy Week, I will be live streaming an evening prayer service on Facebook at 8pm. You don’t need to have a Facebook account to watch the service.

On Maundy Thursday, I will be collaborating with First Presbyterian Church of Saline for a virtual service (more details to come). It’s been really hard for me to come to terms with the fact that I’ll be eating alone that day, because Maundy Thursday commemorates Jesus’ last supper with his friends and is a powerful reminder that even God needed friends to support him in a difficult time. It’s not the same, but I’d like for us to be able to eat dinner together over video…we can call it The Upper Zoom!!! (yes…yes, I am very pleased with myself for that wordplay) Join me online and I’ll be able to seat us at “tables” by dividing us into smaller subgroups for easier conversation. More details will come for that, as well.

I’m still working out the details for what Good Friday will look like, since obviously we’ve had to scrap the plans for the interactive service that Peoples would have been hosting, co-led by several other local churches.

Holy Saturday will be especially poignant this year, as we are surrounded by absence–the absence of our regular activities, the absence of many of our friends and families, the absence of physical touch for those of us who live alone, the absence of our congregation gathered together. On that day, two thousand years ago, when Jesus’ body lay in its tomb, I imagine that all of Creation felt that absence somehow.

Well. These are interesting times, aren’t they?

When I decided that I wanted to be a pastor, YouTube, Facebook, Instagram, Zoom (etc., etc., etc.) didn‘t even exist, so I had no reason not to assume that any ministry I did would take place in a physical building with other humans physically present. It was comforting to me to think that my background in theater, public speaking, and stage light design might come in handy as I created engaging services for a future church.

When I started seminary in 2012, we didn‘t talk about church websites or social media presence or audio files or copyright law. We practiced baptizing baby dolls, and memorized liturgies, and got comfortable using microphones, and went on field trips (to other denominations’ churches, to a cemetery, to a courthouse). I learned a lot from seminary and I will be forever grateful to the pastors, musicians, professors, and fellow students who taught me countless things…but it’s funny how many new things I’ve scrambled to learn over the past two weeks that never once came up in seminary.

In the past two weeks, I’ve learned how to host video conferences on Zoom, how to live stream a worship service on Facebook, how to add entirely new pages to the menu on our website, and how to set up lighting in my craft room to avoid looking like a shadow demon on camera (the struggle is real). I’ve learned that the internal microphone in my laptop is not ideal for live streaming; that copyright licenses often cover music that is sung in a live church service but not music that is recorded and uploaded to the internet; that according to our national church’s rules, I cannot personally cancel in-person worship but need the majority vote of our Session; and that the external microphone I bought offers significantly better audio quality (even if it also picks up on a wider range of sounds, including the cat on the other side of the door).

Needless to say, I know that I’ve certainly learned a lot of new things during these past two weeks…and I bet you have, too. I’d love to hear about your unexpected lessons and new skills!

I hope that many of you will join me Sunday as I live stream worship on Facebook at 10am. You can follow along with the prayers, readings, and hymns, which will be published on our website under the heading “Worship” in the main menu. After worship, you are invited to a virtual coffee hour on Zoom! There will be a link to join posted on our Facebook page, but if you don’t have the set-up to join a video conference, you could also join by telephone by dialing (312) 626-679 and entering the meeting code 113 977 353. On Wednesday at 8pm, I will be live streaming an evening prayer service on Facebook.

In light of our governor’s guidelines, and by the decision of our Session, we will continue to worship in our own homes until at least April 13. This is disappointing to all of us, and not a decision that was made lightly. As I begin to put together alternative services for Palm Sunday, Holy Week, and Easter, I ask that you pray for me, just as I am praying for each and every one of you.

We are swimming in uncharted waters.

None of us were alive the last time a pandemic of this magnitude hit the earth and seminary sure as heck didn’t train me or any of my colleagues for an event anything like COVID-19.

We can’t gather together for in-person worship for the time being and I can’t tell you when that sad fact will change. In the meanwhile, I’m trying to create as many opportunities for engagement as I can. Some of you may have caught my first ever Facebook Live Wednesday evening prayer service, which I hope to make a regular event for as long as it is meaningful to our community. I also hope to have better audio quality for the next evening service, with an external microphone ordered and coming soon. I have already hosted video conferences for several church committees to maintain their regularly scheduled meetings and I hope to set up more soon. Are you part of a committee with ideas to share, concerns to voice, or contingency plans to make? Let me know, and I’ll set up a virtual meeting. Are you living alone or feeling lonely and missing the conversation at coffee hour? I would be happy to set up video conferences just for casual chit chat…we could all sit in our own homes, drinking coffee or tea, and catching up. Communication technology is blessing to our current situation.

For those of you spending more time than usual browsing social media, Alayna and I have been posting as much positive content as we can. We know that there is a lot of scary news going around and that it can be overwhelming. If you are a person who watches the news on television, please change the channel every now and then to something more uplifting. Knowing the exact up-to-the-minute statistics won’t keep you any healthier. If you are finding that your eyeballs are glued to reading news coverage of the spread of the virus, please take a moment to turn to the comics section, watch a live stream of otters playing, or look for some of the positive news that is happening (I promise that there IS positive news happening).

Because we can’t meet for in-person worship, I’m trying to come up with creative alternatives. Worship resources should be added to our website soon, hopefully allowing you to follow along with the service that I am trying to put together for Sunday morning. I’m even planning a socially distant–but physically present–service for Palm Sunday! My idea is that we could meet at our usual time for a “drive-through” service: each car will be handed a palm branch and a page of prayers as well as the day’s gospel story, and then we can all drive around the neighborhood, waving our palms.

What would be meaningful to you in this uncertain season? How can I pray for you? Do you have other ideas of how to stay connected while we’re apart? Please let me know!

I hope that we can make “mini Mouse” newsletters a regular item in your inbox during our time apart. How are you filling your time? Are you working on a hobby, spending more time with pets, cleaning out an ancient closet, writing poetry, creating art, or anything else you might like to share? We’d love to include pictures of what you’re doing or making! Heard any good jokes lately? We could use a laugh! Watched any good films? We would be happy to read your recommendations!

Know that I am praying for each and every one of you, that you stay healthy, that you stay connected, and that you stay strong in the faith. We will get through this. I will see all of you again.

A few months ago, I was getting ready for bed when I suddenly heard a small suspicious rustling sound in the cupboard over my stove. I pulled over a chair to stand on, opened the cupboard door, and locked eyes with a teeny tiny little field mouse. I looked at her. She looked at me. I closed the door, backed away slowly, and gave Gingersnap a very long lecture on how she is useless as a cat. She’s very pretty, but she’s USELESS. She is a decorative cat. Maybe other people’s cats are FUNCTIONAL cats, but mine is purely DECORATIVE.

Instead of whatever else I might have spent the next day doing, I deep cleaned the heck out of my kitchen, vacuumed the cupboard in question, clorox wiped it thoroughly, stuffed steel wool in the gap around a cord where I assume the mouse got in, and then, just for an extra layer of safety, I placed the cat in the cupboard for a few minutes so that she could shed some fur as a warning that a cat lives here. I don’t know if the fur would do anything if a mouse did happen to get back in, but look, I wasn’t really sure what else to do.

This cupboard has since been renamed “the penthouse mouse house” by friends who are entirely too clever for their own good.

But the next week, I was reading a thriller novel with the cat snuggled up on my lap (she’s good at snuggling; just not mousing), and like, five characters had been murdered, and I was a few chapters away from the end and things were getting really intense…

…and then suddenly I started to hear noises coming from my kitchen.

* scratch scratch scratch *

Eek!

Admittedly, I was a little on edge because of the scary novel.

I set down my kindle, scooped up the cat, and carried her towards the source of the suspicious noises. Did I really think a six pound cat was going to be much of a defense? Well, no, but gosh darn it, if it WAS a mouse, I was holding her responsible!

The noises stopped once I turned the light on.

I haven’t physically seen a mouse since that first incident in the penthouse mouse house, but I know it’s been around. An individually wrapped chocolate was mauled by tiny teeth, its wrapper shredded into tiny pieces. A tiny footprint was left in a smudge of flour. I don’t leave food out, so I’m not sure why they keep coming out, although I have a theory that it might be going after Gingersnap’s dry food bowl. You would think that she would feel invested if her own food is being stolen, but oh no. Far be it for her to get her pristinely white paws dirty!

I’ve been mumbling and grumbling about “that stupid mouse” for a while now, and plotting how to defeat my new arch-nemesis.

But then I come over to church and stage photo shoots with a mouse toy in a dress, whose adventures I share on our facebook page every Thursday. Church Mouse is a perfectly acceptable mouse. And now here I am, writing an article for The Church Mouse Newsletter.

I suppose, however, that there must be a difference between Church Mouse and the penthouse mouse house mouse. One is a silent toy, who neither eats nor steals nor makes suspicious noises. The other is a living breathing thing whom God created and (for some reason) declared good. Church Mouse is an idea, not a real mouse. I project onto her a whimsical personality in order to highlight things going on around the church building. She can be whatever I want her to be.

It’s a lot easier to deal with ideas rather than actual living beings. Ideas don’t make the same kinds of demands and messes. Living beings have real needs and sometimes it’s uncomfortable for us to make sure those needs are met. Our ideas aren’t always accurate portrayals of reality.

It’s good for us to challenge our ideas by doing research and by interacting with people whose ideas might be different. Sometimes the difference between what we think and what is really true can be quite sizable.

Sometimes the difference is even more uncomfortable than the prospect of deep-cleaning the kitchen yet AGAIN.

shalom and agape,
Rev Leia Rose Battaglia