It did not quit raining before 10 a.m. and a group of us met and huddled under the huge cedar tree on our land and figured out Plan B, which ended up being a shortened service at a nearby congregant's home. We sang our songs, read a poem and a reading, did the "accessories" to the services, and I gave them a few paragraphs from the sermon. Then we broke up into dyads and talked about times we'd felt really valued for who we are.
I preceded my words with a story my dad told one day long ago when the attendance at church was sparse because of weather.
One Sunday morning there was a terrific snowstorm and the only folks to make it to church that morning were the preacher and an old farmer. The preacher got warmed up, they sang a couple of hymns, the preacher spoke for about forty minutes, they prayed, and then there was the benediction. As the old farmer was shaking hands with the preacher at the door, he said to him, "well, parson, that was a fine sermon, well spoken, full of gospel truth, and lots of good points, but you know, if I went out to feed my flock and only one sheep showed up, well sir, I sure wouldn't feed him the whole bale of hay!"
So they didn't get the whole bale of hay. I will save it for later in the year, as I feel it's an important enough topic to offer it to a larger group. We had 21 people there, but that's a skimpy crowd for us.
I do like House Church, though, with people scattered around the cozy room, little children playing on the floor, and warmth and tenderness abounding. Wish you'd been there too!