Don’t get me wrong, I love lounging in my pj’s—with no intention of wearing real pants all day. But after nearly three months of Sunday video services viewed from the sofa, the novelty has worn paper-thin. I want my sacred assembly and I want my people. So there—I said it. A bit whiney? Maybe. But this isolation grates like tin-foil in my teeth.
The gospel messages on my screen do enrich me, but I feel like a zoo cat in a cage—pacing, wearing a rut in the floor as I peer between the bars into a beautiful world of people I can see but not touch. I miss worshiping with my church family. I miss the singing, the fellowship, and the shared focus of all to the holy words being uttered. What a fine fettle we are stuck in.
And our King David in Psalm 42 seems to be locked in the same pen. He laments his inability to assemble in the house of God. No one really knows why he cannot worship in the temple. He lays ill in Psalm 41, so perhaps this explains his confinement. But his words of woe reverberate through the ages in this lament of intense yearning.
As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?
Psalm 42:1-2
These things I remember as I pour out my soul:
how I used to go to the house of God under the protection of the Mighty One
with shouts of joy and praise among the festive throng.
Psalm 42:4
Charles Spurgeon’s comments on this Psalm hits home:
“Sweet bitterness—The next best thing to living in the light of the Lord’s love is to be unhappy until we have it and to pant hourly after it.” “He who loves the Lord loves also the assemblies wherein his name is adored.” “David was never so much at home as in the house of the Lord; he was not content with private worship…”
Though I know God’s presence dwells with me always, I long to walk into His holy presence in our place of worship. I also admit a less lofty need— I need a hug or ten from my family of believers. Maybe David shared this basic need too, with his exuberant spirit he seems like he would have been a hugger.
And it’s not just because I’m an extravert. For optimal mental health, seven or eight daily touches are needed, according to some researchers. Penn State investigated specifically how hugs affect happiness. They had two groups of students, the first had to record the amount of reading they did each day for a month. The second test group’s instructions were to give or receive five hugs a day for the same four weeks.
The reading group showed no change in happiness over the month-long study. The hugging group fell short of the goal but still averaged forty-nine hugs for the month. The result? They found their happiness level rose exponentially.
Why would a hug matter? For science nerds—Oxytocin, aka the love hormone, is the secret sauce. When social bonding occurs, the levels of Oxytocin rise in your amygdala which governs fear, anxiety, and aggression in your brain. The love hormone instead—sends a message of love and well-being.
And as I mourn my inability to assemble in the house of God with those I love, I bemoan the fact that even when we can assemble safely, I won’t be able to hug, and I’m a hugger. But at least I can see those precious faces in person even if I am 6 feet away.
So for now in sweet bitterness…air hugs will have to do. But just you wait, when that vaccine busts us loose, I’m going to be first in line to bear hug any willing victim…I mean participant. 🙂
How are you feeling my friend? Share in the comments—any things helping you cope.
Loree, I loved this because it explains how so many of us are feeling. I have a lung condition and my oxygen level runs lower than the normal. I have had to be so careful and have stayed at home. I want to be with family and friends. Thank you❤️
Hi Sharon! You are smart to stay in but I know it is so hard. We need our people!❤️