I walk down the center aisle past silent rows of crimson seats.  Their very emptiness reminds me of the faces, families, and fun times that we have shared in this building as we have worshipped, worked, and loved each other.

Now walking into this building Sunday is an exercise in solitude.  No children are running the halls, in and out of classrooms, snatching donuts from the table in the fellowship hall.  The hubbub of voices is replaced by my echoing footfalls as I hurry to the “streaming studio.”

The stream is over and I go online, I see the comments.  “We are here!”  “Glad to ‘see’ everyone this morning!”   “So excited to connect!”

Although they are simple typed comments, they resonate with a joy and excitement that is familiar.  It is the digital analogue to what used to happen among the rows of crimson chairs.  It is joy in connection, shared moments, corporate worship, and being known.

Parents send me pictures drawn that morning, or post pictures of the kids interacting with me on the screen.  I didn’t see them, but they saw me and knew that I loved them and were excited. 

We were together even in our solitude.

Suddenly the large empty room down the hall is less haunting.  Love has been communicated back and forth.  Connection has been reforged and friendships not only maintained, but strengthened and broadened.  We have not become less connected although the sensations are lesser.  We have, in a strange and spiritual way, become more bonded.  Our shared experience has boiled away the diluted moments, causing us to pack more joy even into a small Facebook comment, “we are here!”.

The moments of solitude have made me so much more aware of the value of our togetherness.  We’re alone, but alone here together.