by Dr. Jeff Mathis
One of the most challenging moments of road trips, family vacations, and holidays with loved ones is when those moments come to their conclusion. No one wants a good thing to end.
Many years ago, in an attempt to keep a transcendent experience on life-support a little bit longer, we would rush off to the nearest drug store to drop off rolls of film to be developed. Although people under 30 will not be able to comprehend this, we had to wait for our trip memories to become incarnate expressions we could savor and show to friends.
A couple of days later, we would find ourselves waiting on the attendant behind the counter to fish out our photo packet from a bin of other people’s memories, high hopes, and once-in-a-lifetime experiences. If memory serves correctly, we would hope that the photos had developed well (not always a sure bet, as some of us can attest), and we’d carefully consider who we’d share our pictures with first.
For me, the picture memories were always a mixed bag of emotions. On the one hand, I would feel nostalgic for the extraordinary moments they revealed. But on the other, I would find myself disappointed that the pictures didn’t fully capture what it felt like to be on the ferry at dusk in the Irish Sea, or what it was like to be in Times Square on New Year’s Eve, or at the wedding reception with your best friend (and the bad lighting).
“The photos don’t do it justice,” we would say to a friend while carefully guarding the photo from finger smudges.
And, of course, we’d be right. The photos rarely do the moment justice.
This past Sunday’s Homecoming Service at First Baptist Church was a mountain-top experience. And no streaming video or digitally captured image can truly reflect what it felt like to hear the choir’s powerful melodies or duplicate the warmth of an embrace from an old friend.
The singularly beautiful moments we experience can feel like the changing leaves of autumn in our mountains. Neither our memories nor the blazing fall foliage lasts forever. The glow of the maple trees and the magic of Sunday’s worship linger only as long as we are attentive to them in that particular moment.
Yes, videos and images can remind us of what it was like. But they certainly cannot replace what it was like to be there to experience them.
This week, we bask in the glow of a phenomenal Sunday morning (and afternoon!) at First Baptist. We’ll ‘like’ and ‘love’ photos we see on social media about our day together, and we’ll play on a loop in our minds what it was like to sit in our pew and be surrounded by people who have a shared love of God, one another, and our church.
I feel a deep sense of contentment and thanksgiving for a day of music, reunion, and celebration. I am also mindful that we cannot remain there once a moment is lived, even though a nostalgic spirit wants to pull our attention and energy backward. Our experience must be lived fully, and the energy it elicits should nudge us onward.
I could never understand why, when learning about leading games with children and youth some years ago, it was a best practice to stop a game at its zenith or most exciting moment. In time, I would learn that if you played a beloved game too long, the people’s energy and interest would be spent, and they wouldn’t have anything left in the tank to try something new.
But if you allow a game or a moment to end when thoroughly enjoyed, we’ll have boundless energy to do the next thing.
So perhaps the best response now is, “That was awesome. What’s next?”
