It started with a chicken hat.
During worship on Sunday, one of our families was watching our livestream when one of their kids commented on Henrietta, the chicken hat that had appeared earlier in worship. By that point, I had tucked Henrietta away, out of sight.
One of our young adults running the livestream noticed the comment and, during the service while we were collecting the offering, asked if we could bring the chicken back into the worship space for the family joining us online.
It was a simple request. A small moment in the middle of everything else happening on a Sunday morning.
But as I walked to my car after worship, I kept thinking about it.
We can never become so committed to our way of doing things for God that we miss what God might be doing through someone else.
Sticking with a plan we’ve invested in, or changing course in the moment because something special might be happening, is always part of worship’s balancing act. In reality, it’s a balancing act whenever we invest our time and creativity in something. In group projects, weighing new feedback against what’s already planned or prepared can be difficult.
We spend hours planning, preparing, practicing, and putting everything in place. We want it to be meaningful. We want it to be beautiful. We want to offer our very best to God.
And we should.
But somewhere along the way, if we’re not careful, what we are making for God can become more important than the people we hope will encounter God through it.
My first thought when I heard the request to bring Henrietta back was to make sure the student worshiping online knew their voice was heard.
We should never be so busy or so committed to the order of worship that we don’t pause when a child has a question or an opportunity to grow in faith presents itself. Those moments of curiosity, wonder, and even silliness can become some of the most meaningful opportunities for discipleship.
Sometimes the most important thing we can do in worship isn’t what comes next in the bulletin. It’s what happens when we notice the person in front of us.
But then I caught myself.
Why would that only be true for children?
What about the senior who lives alone and comes to worship hoping for a moment of connection? What about someone carrying grief, wondering whether anyone has noticed their absence or their pain? What about the person who finally works up the courage to ask a question they’ve been holding onto for years?
And what about our young adults?
I recently read The Loneliness Epidemic, and one thing that stayed with me was how deep the loneliness younger adults experience. We often imagine loneliness as something older people experience most, particularly those who live alone or have experienced significant loss. But loneliness spans generations, and many young adults struggle to find places where they are genuinely known, heard, and valued.
That matters for the church.
Because authentic belonging isn’t simply about having a place where you are welcome to sit. It’s about knowing that your presence matters. That your voice matters. That when you speak, someone is listening.
And sometimes, that means moving a chicken hat.
It would have been easy to dismiss the comment from the livestream. After all, worship was already moving along. We had a plan, a purpose, and a direction.
But one of our young adults saw an opportunity to help someone else feel included, and cared enough to speak up.
That is something worth celebrating.
Not because Henrietta the chicken is particularly important, but because the people behind that moment are.
I wonder how often we miss those opportunities because we’re too committed to the way we expected things to go.
How often do we become so focused on our plans, our traditions, our schedules, or even our good intentions that we leave no room for the Spirit to interrupt us?
Sometimes we become so busy trying to do something for God that we miss what God is trying to do among us.
And that’s the distinction that keeps nagging at me.
Our plans are not bad. Our traditions are not bad. The time and energy we spend preparing meaningful worship and ministry are gifts we offer to God.
But they are still our plans.
And if we really believe that the Holy Spirit is moving among us, then we have to leave room for the Spirit to surprise us, interrupt us, and occasionally reroute our carefully prepared plans.
Sometimes the answer to a request will be yes. Sometimes it will be not right now, or perhaps there’s another way. We can’t abandon every plan every time someone suggests something.
But there should never be a time when the answer is that your voice doesn’t matter because we’ve already decided how things will be.
At Rehoboth, we talk a lot about making room for all to follow Jesus. That isn’t just about opening the doors or inviting people to attend. It’s about creating a community where people experience real belonging because they know they are heard, valued, and loved.
Even when they’re worshiping through a screen.
Even when their suggestion isn’t part of the plan.
Even when it involves a chicken hat.
And maybe that’s what I appreciate most about that moment. Someone joining us online made a comment, and a young adult in the room cared enough to notice and bring that voice into the conversation.
For a moment, the distance between worshiping online and worshiping in person got a little smaller. Someone who wasn’t physically in the room was still part of what was happening there.
That’s the kind of community I believe the church is called to be.
One where we make plans and offer our best, but hold those plans loosely enough to recognize when God might be inviting us into something unexpected.
Because at the end of the day, the goal isn’t to make everything happen exactly as we planned.
The goal is to make room for God to work in people’s lives.
Our way should never become so important that we miss what God is doing.
Even if following God’s lead means making a little room for a chicken.
