Come On In!

In Lancaster, NH we lived in a great neighborhood with a mix of families with young kids like ours, people who had moved to town like us, and people who had lived in their homes for many years and had raised their kids and now enjoyed watching the rest of us raise ours. We were at the corner of Elm St. and Burnside St. and Winter St., in area called “Pill Hill” by locals because of the doctors, nurses and pharmacists who had lived there over the years. We were part of three houses in a row that had kids all about the same age and a group of six of them roamed in a pack from backyard to backyard, and house to house, sometimes literally walking through the middle house to get from the first house to the third.
Each winter we extended hoses from each house to fill a good-sized ice rink that the dads constructed in the backyard of the middle house. Each summer weekend we shared at least one meal, often grilled, as an impromptu potluck. And most other nights, Mark, the dad from the house on the corner, would knock on our back kitchen door while we were having dinner or just finishing up. He’d knock and we’d all yell “Mark!” and he’d walk in. Molly, as a young kid, was in the habit of adding a little more informality to the names of her favorite adult guys, so she’d yell “Hey, Markie Boy!” (Her other two favorites, Genie Boy and Jonnie Boy, didn’t seem to mind either.) The whole scene was reminiscent of Norm walking into Cheers.
I remember wondering once why Mark even knocked. He could see us all through the backdoor and must have known he’d be happily welcomed in and that we wouldn’t mind if he dropped the formality of knocking. But we’d never actually said, “hey, Mark, just come on in. You don’t need to knock.” I think there was something about the whole ritual that we all liked. There was some joy to responding to the knock by yelling “Mark!” or “Markie Boy, come on in!” And I’m guessing there must of have something satisfying for Mark to have two of his close friends, and their three little girls, shout his name in a warm welcome.
In my job as an interfaith chaplain at a small, rural hospital, when I pray with patients, or when I offer a blessing at a public event like the hospital’s annual meeting, a Chamber of Commerce dinner, or high school and college graduations, I always begin by asking for God’s presence, inviting God to be with us in that moment. Although at public events, knowing that everyone assembled may not direct their prayers to God, I ask for the presence of “the Source of All Compassion.” For me, that’s God, for others it may be Buddha, the Universe, Muhammad. Whoever it is or whatever it is, that we are inviting in, it seems important to do just that. In church language, that’s exactly what “invocations” are, prayers requesting or invoking the presence of God, even though we know God is already present. This God, this Source of All Compassion, comes to me in the form of love and comfort, and usually in the shape of other people. I believe it is always present and that we always abide in God’s grace, but it’s important to me to both invite God in, and welcome God in, in whatever shape and form I experience God, or this source of compassion. Sort of like inviting Mark in nearly every evening, even though we anticipated he would be there, and he knew he was welcomed there.
I have a Jewish friend who begins each day, before she even sets her feet on the floor, with a prayer that is roughly translated from Hebrew to “Welcome to my day, God. Help me give it a good ride.” It’s a very personal invitation, her own invocation, with her expectation that the answer is, “yes, of course I’ll be with you for the ride, wherever it takes us.”
Whatever title we use, what if we not only welcomed God (or the Source of All Compassion, or the Wisdom of the Universe, or the Strength of our Ancestors), wholeheartedly into our day, but what if we also welcomed each other with a genuine cheer and heartfelt acknowledgement? For me, believe it’s the same thing. We can’t hug or even shake hands in these times of COVID-19, so it seems all the more important to greet and welcome each other with warmth and affection, even the people we see every day. Most especially the people we see every day. Maybe saying “It’s really good to see you today,” to a coworker we see five days a week, will be heard as “I’m glad you’re in my life.” Perhaps enthusiastically saying “I’m glad you’re home,” to someone we live with, will really feel like “I’ve been looking forward all day to seeing you.”
Mark has long since moved from the North Country of New Hampshire, as I have, but I hope he sometimes remembers knocking on the back kitchen door of a house on Elm Street, where he was welcomed in with cheers, and one little girl’s shout of “Markie Boy, come on in!” And may we joyfully invite the presence of love into our lives, in whatever shape it may take, including our friend Mark.