Puppets are a Microcosm of Church

There are moments in congregational life when something small reveals something much bigger.

During our Sabbath worship service at Southminster last weekend, the sanctuary went completely dark. Windows covered. Lights off. A holy hush. And then, under blacklight, the gospel began to glow.

What most of us saw was beauty and creativity. What many of us didn’t see were the hours (LOTS of hours!) spent beforehand: taping, draping, adjusting, re-taping, lighting, and rehearsing. The kind of quiet labor that makes it all possible.
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It occurs to me that the Puppet Proclamation that night is a parable of what it is to be church together.

Our puppet team ranges in age from 8 to 82, and everything in between. People who are new to the artistry and people who’ve been doing it for years. People who don’t mind the spotlight and people who prefer the shadows. They show up together. They laugh together. They encourage one another. They eat pizza together. They proclaim the good news of the gospel together.

It’s a living picture of what God calls the church to be.

The puppets don’t come to life on their own (even though in the darkness that night, it almost seemed like it!). Someone is underneath them, making them move. Someone adjusts lights. Someone watches for cues. Someone helps with props. Proclamation becomes a shared act. The good news shines because many hands are involved.
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In a culture that likes to divide us by age or ability, that kind of togetherness almost feels radical. An 8 year old learning confidence from an 82 year old. An elder delighting in the creativity of a young adult. Generations leaning toward one another instead of drifting apart.

The church, at its best, is intergenerational. It’s playful. It works hard. It appreciates beauty. It takes the gospel seriously without taking itself too seriously. It understands that fellowship over pizza can be just as formative as an hour spent in a committee meeting or in the Sunday School classroom, because belonging is formed in ordinary moments.

Watching our Puppet Team that weekend, I was reminded that what we’re building at Southminster is not simply programming. We’re building trust. Shared memory. Courage. Joy. A community where different ages and experiences are not obstacles, but gifts.

In the season of Lent, we speak of transformation. Sometimes that transformation glows brighter than we expect. Sometimes it looks like fluorescent fabric in a darkened sanctuary. Sometimes it sounds like laughter during rehearsal. Sometimes it looks like climbing tall ladders to hang black plastic in just the right places.

However it appears, the light breaks through when we offer our gifts together.

And it is so incredibly beautiful to behold.

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