Author HANNAH DUGGAN

On my desk I keep a framed black and white photograph of a bride on the steps of a church. Tulle bunched in her left hand as she ascends the steps, she looks into the camera as though a friend had just called her name on the happiest day of her life.

Beside her picture I keep a color photo of a young airman in his uniform. In these two familiar faces, I can point out my brother’s blue eyes, my own sharp eyebrows, and the tenacious Irish spirit that has led our family for generations.

When I look at those faces, I remember who I am and where I came from. For this reason, I always keep my grandmother’s wedding photo and my grandfather’s Air Force photo nearby. When I am uncertain, when I begin to lose myself, I study those faces. I remind myself that I am the child of the airman with the blue eyes and the bride on the sunny steps.

In uncertain days such as these, we all need a reminder of who we are and where we came from.

I woke at 5 AM on Sunday, March 15th, like a child on Christmas morning. Any other day, I would have rolled over and fallen back asleep, but who could sleep on such a day? All of my church services were canceled, my corner of the country awaited the apocalypse from their toilet paper towers, and the President had called for Americans to look to God and pray. (What kind of a day have we lived to see?)

In moments such as these, when the constructs we created don’t hold up and panic fills the pasta aisle, people need a grounding, calm assurance. With the temporary suspension of church services, the Body of Christ could easily suffer an identity crisis. However, this weekend, I have witnessed something else entirely.

I have seen churches pop up in living rooms all over the country.

I have seen strangers calling out to one another, “Stay safe! Stay healthy!”

I have seen college students, removed from their housing, proclaiming God’s provision.

I have seen believers choosing worship, choosing faith, and choosing to speak life over one another.

I have seen tenacity in the smiles of my ministry team as they said, “Let’s do this.”

I have seen the Bride, and She is lovely.

As this strangest of weekends draws to a close and this first week of our altered existence begins, the Bride of Christ is not questioning who She is. On the contrary, She is in her sweet spot. She smiles at us from the black and white photographs of church history, reminding us who she once was. In her comforting maternal way, she tells us the stories that stretch from the book of Acts to the current persecution of the saints in the Middle East. She reminds us that the freedom to gather is a privilege, not a prerequisite.

The gospel is not chained. The Bride is not insecure. And–as my students loudly remind me on a weekly basis–the Church is not a building.

Be assured, dear believers. Your God is at work among you.

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