Welcome to “Between Sundays,” our midweek connection that is replacing “Coffee with Donn.” The primary purpose of having something here midweek is to foster our connection, but the Substack Lives I had been doing wound up getting missed more often than not. This format is a little more sustainable. I’m aiming to have a short audio posted each week, ideally on Wednesday evening, but maybe on Thursday. Each will be accompanied by a transcript for those who prefer to read rather than listen. I encourage you to connect with me and with each other by commenting on an episode if you are so moved. In any case, I hope this new format will provide you with some support and encouragement as we journey home together.
Have you ever noticed that some things don’t seem especially important until you’ve gone without them for a long time?
Last week I attended the Holston Annual Conference. For many pastors, that’s a routine event. They go every year, see familiar faces, conduct the church’s business, and head home. For me, it was different.
Except during the years when annual conference was held online because of COVID, I’ve never been able to attend in person. Our disabled daughter Hannah’s care needs made it impossible for me to be away from home for that length of time. Every year our bishop graciously granted an excused absence, and every year I watched from a distance while others gathered. Her passing last December enabled me to attend in person for the first time.
So walking into that room last week felt a little like stepping into a family reunion I hadn’t realized I had been missing.
Yes, there was business to conduct. There were reports to hear and votes to take. But what struck me most wasn’t any of that. It was the people.
I spent time with friends and colleagues I care deeply about. Some I hadn’t seen in years. Others I’ve mostly known through Zoom screens and email messages. There was something surprisingly meaningful about sitting at a table together, sharing a meal, laughing at stories, and simply being in the same room.
I met lots of new people, some whose names I recognized and some complete strangers and yet members of my family. They greeted me the way you might greet a cousin you’re meeting for the first time.
Although I didn’t get to talk with him, one man caught my attention when he was called out from the stage. He was ordained seventy years ago. Seventy years. And he has not missed an annual conference since his ordination. He continues to attend long after his obligation to do so has ended.
Nobody attends annual conference for seventy consecutive years because they’re fascinated by parliamentary procedure. You do that because something deeper keeps drawing you back. Connection. Belonging. Shared purpose. The reminder that you are part of something larger than yourself.
As I reflected on that experience, I found myself thinking about Jesus.
We often talk about his need for solitude, and rightly so. The Gospels repeatedly show him withdrawing to quiet places to pray. He sought silence. He sought time alone with the Father. There are moments when he leaves the crowds behind and disappears into the hills simply to be alone.
But that’s only half the picture. Jesus also gathered people around him.
When Mark describes the calling of the disciples, he says Jesus appointed them “to be with him.” Not simply to learn from him. Not merely to work for him. To be with him.
And in the Garden of Gethsemane, on the night before the cross, Jesus asked Peter, James, and John to stay near him. Even in his deepest struggle, he didn’t choose isolation. He desired companionship.
The pattern we see in Jesus isn’t solitude versus connection. It’s solitude AND connection. We need both.
I think we’re living with a deficit of connection these days. We have more ways to communicate than any generation in history. We can text, email, post, video chat, and message people across the world in seconds. Yet many people still feel alone.
Perhaps that’s because connection isn’t just the exchange of information. It’s the sharing of presence. It’s the friend who sits across the table. The church member who remembers your story. The person who asks how you’re doing and waits for the real answer. It’s showing up, year after year, until relationships become part of the structure of your life and transcend doctrinal disputes—or they should.
John Wesley understood this. One of the distinctive features of Methodism from the beginning was its connectional system. People weren’t expected to follow Christ entirely on their own. They gathered in classes and bands. They watched over one another in love. They prayed together, learned together, and sometimes carried one another when faith became difficult.
The structure wasn’t just organizational. It was spiritual. Wesley understood something Jesus had already demonstrated: we grow best when we grow together.
That’s one of the gifts I received last week. Not a new idea. Not a new program. Just a fresh reminder that God often works through relationships. And perhaps that’s worth remembering this week. Maybe the next step in your spiritual life isn’t another book to read or another podcast to hear. Maybe it’s a phone call. A cup of coffee. A conversation. A chance to sit with someone and simply be present.
After all, even Jesus didn’t try to walk alone.
Let’s pray.
Father, thank you for creating us for both solitude and companionship. Thank you for the people who have walked alongside us through different seasons of life. Help us make room for quiet moments with you, and help us remain open to the relationships through which you often speak, encourage, and strengthen us. Teach us to be present for one another with grace and kindness. And remind us that we were never meant to journey alone. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
