A few weeks ago I had my annual physical and even though I thought I was too heavy, it appeared to go well. Only one task remained: My doctor told me to have an electrocardiogram. Years ago I had a heart "issue" but I have since been told it cleared up, though I still take pills from "back in the day." The echo is to give me an opportunity to get off of these pills.

Usually when I visit people in the hospital, it is they, not I, who have the best view of the ceiling. Not during my echo; instructed to lie on my side, I had a excellent view of the ceiling, and preferred it, frankly, to staring at a screen depicting the "live" beat of my heart. In truth, I lay there thinking neither the screen nor the ceiling felt comfortable; both were too clinical. 

Now that I am home again, I am writing and thinking about how I feel more at ease in a room with carpet and a soft-pillowed chair. I enjoy my dog's presence and I like that we are surrounded by floor-to-ceiling shelves of books with the sound of classical music in the background. 

Hospice houses attempt to provide this touchy-feely ambience, but "there is no place like home." Still, when my time comes what better place to provide me with the care and comfort of a hospice house? In part, because of community; but I am not always ready for community. Half the time I am happy to be alone with dogs, books and classical symphonies.

Rather than continue to make this a dilemma, my mind chose to remember a comment from one of my Saturday morning friends at the local morning eatery.  In this column I had written that the worship of God was best done in church and this friend challenged me, saying that worship can take place in many places.

I have come to agree with her, but I do so with one caveat: The need for community. We need community not only for this day, but for the future. Jesus spent moments in solitude, but He always returned to community.

Let me tell you something you would not otherwise know about The Bennington Congregational Church. It is a mega-church. You would not see this if you only attended Sunday morning services. To fully realize the size of our congregation you must go out onto the streets of several towns and communities. You must eat at several different restaurants. Finally, you must tag along with those who serve soup. All of us; we reach thousands.

Many in our church community are not ready for a sermon. Some prefer not to sing, or want to sing different songs than what we sing on Sunday. For many, creeds do not cut it and for umpteen others prayer has become stale.  

But all of those we serve want a listening ear. All need a shoulder to cry on. Only a sensitive care-giving community can hope to provide this faithfully and unselfishly.  We strive to instill this in community, but walls seen and unseen too often get in our way.

We as a church strive to be unfettered and accepting and just love everyone so that we can generate the same warmth we get from books and dogs and music or whatever you hold dear.  When we succeed, you and we will see the lights dim and the curtain rise on a bliss unsurpassed.