I’ve been thinking about answering this question from the standpoint that the New Church is so sensible and inspiring that it’s easy to recommend.  Obviously, this is a question that can come up in a deep conversation with a friend, or talking about where you send your kids for school, or in a conversation at a memorial service, or even when you’re just standing in the grocery store line.  Sometimes it’s just a passing question to make conversation, and other times it is asked with an actual desire to know more.  I want to be ready to happily discuss the New Church as something that’s made my life much better.

One good piece of advice I heard is to focus on something you like about the New Church: “It’s a new Christianity and one thing I really like about it is …”

Other possible ways to answer the question might include:

“It’s a really awesome form of Christianity that makes sense to me, appeals to both my head and my heart, and holds out hope for all people on the planet.”  

“It’s a worldwide Christian community devoted to living the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ in His Word and its deeper spiritual meaning.”

“It’s Christian, and it relies on the Bible and also teachings that help us understand the Bible’s deeper meaning.  It makes clear the Bible’s messages about one God who created us in His image, loves us, and actually came Himself into the world to show us the path out of any dark places in which we might find ourselves.”

My husband and I have four kids, ages 5-13, and it feels to me like we’ve reached the golden age of family music appreciation. I can get nostalgic about the simpler days of Raffi and Lori songs—although no one is ever too old for Raffi and Lori songs—but these days it’s so fun to discover and listen to music together. We make playlists for sing-alongs in the car or kitchen—or groan-alongs when musical tastes conflict. We sit in church together while the organ postlude vibrates through our bodies and the space (and some of the kids groan along to this too).

I like watching my kids’s taste develop as they pick up songs from outside sources, although that has its challenges. Sometimes a new song doesn’t line up with my own idea of what makes good music. A wise sister-in-law said that when her kids are consuming media she doesn’t prefer, she tries to find out what they like about it. Maybe I don’t like the overuse of pitch correction in a pop hit my daughter likes or the heavy bass in my son’s latest earworm, but when it’s not a moral issue, I think of my sister-in-law and try to be curious rather than critical.

“Then Peter came to Him and said, “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Up to seven times?”

Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven.” (Matthew 18:21-22)

Forgiveness is a weighty topic. In reality it’s messy, often involving personal and painful situations. And it is clear that the Lord tells us we are supposed to forgive, not just occasionally or when it suits us, but up to seventy times seven. The breadth of this command can feel overwhelming, especially when we face it in the context of our own wounds. But it’s also clearly important that we wrestle with it. 

I generally find the idea and practice of forgiveness easier in personal relationships. Or rather I shouldn’t say easier, but simply a necessity. It is clear that I should work to move past hurts with my husband, sister, mother: there is a relationship at stake there. But it’s much harder to hold when it’s not so personal, when the hurt comes from those who are more distant, whether they are public figures or strangers whose actions affect me or those I love. What about those who commit atrocities in the news, like murderers or child abusers? Or acquaintances whose views or actions have hurt people or ideals dear to me?

There are lots of analogies to describe what grief is like. One that especially resonates with me is that grief is like a hole in the floor of our house. When the loss is fresh, it seems that we can’t escape the room that has the gaping hole in it. It looms large before us and we fear falling in and never being able to crawl back out. 

Eventually, we find that we are able to navigate carefully around the hole and maybe even venture to other rooms in our house. But sometimes, when we aren’t paying attention, we will suddenly find the hole right at our feet, threatening to pull us over the edge. This happens when unexpected things trigger our grief—a certain smell, a date on the calendar, coming across a memento, or just because it’s time—whether we like it or not—to feel the hard feelings again.

As more time passes, we wind up spending less and less time in the room with the hole in the floor. The hole is still there, of course. It doesn’t get smaller. But, if we let it, the house gets bigger. And herein lies the key to growing with grief. We can only extend this metaphorical house of ours if we allow the Lord to be the Architect. If we hand our lives over to the Him, including all of our joy and all of our sorrow, He will expand our dwelling into a veritable palace. He will enrich our lives by adding countless rooms full of experiences, memories, opportunities, and love. So much love. The new love in our lives doesn’t erase our loss, but it can soften the edges of it.