Life is faire

The Church Faire conjures up images of earnest people engaged in an earnest pursuit. To most, I imagine, it is a relic of a kinder, gentler time -- the 1950s maybe. When home-made apple pies, books for a buck, knitted sweaters and costume jewelry were the currency of Christmas. I think of the Church Faire as the most subversive, counter-cultural day on the church calendar. Think of it: we reclaim a full Saturday from frenetic month of December. (There is no other day in the entire church year that we do this.) We spread good will, effortlessly. We sell hand-made articles, made by the hands of folks who attend the church. Kids wander around with a few bucks shopping for something for their mom or their dad with a ferocious dedication. There is no sermon, though there is music. There is no reading from Scripture, but there is lived theology. The doors are wide open and all are invited in. Somehow, against all odds, this Faire tradition continues. I think, in part, because it gives us something we wish we could have in worship all the time: a full-bodied, incarnate sense of community. In part, because there are people who are willing to be keepers of the flame, who understand, perhaps even on a subconscious level, that they are engaging in the sacredness of covenant. The covenant that is this: that we walk together. For most of the year, we walk to different drummers and that’s fine. But on Faire day, we all walk to the same beat. The beating heart of community.