Sunday: On Church pt 1
Jeremiah began the day at 5:00am this morning. He didn’t feel like beginning it alone, he felt compelled to share the miracle of the morning with us all by incessantly calling from his room (which he shared with his brother), “Mama, I’m doooone! Mama! I’m DONE! MAMA. I’m ALL DONE!!!” Before long we were all done any hope of slumber, and the day began.
Today was (still is, as long as I stay up till the end of this post) Sunday.
My boys like Sundays. They know it as ‘church day’ and ‘soup and bread’ day and ‘taste some wine’ day.
Lately, I’ve come to know it as “Oh Lord…can I do this?” day, and “Well, it IS an outing…” day, and “Would anyone notice if I left them in a pew and grabbed a nap” day, and “If we can just make it through to the Eucharist I’m gonna sing the Hallelujah Chorus” day.
But, they’re view or mine, Sunday comes and we do walk over to that little white building and…
Many of my readers have various views and backgrounds and experiences when it comes to the practice and presence of the local church. My own experiences and conflicts and thoughts and choices could fill several posts. It’s a tough topic. It’s a tough choice.
Church (and for the sake of this post, unless I comment otherwise, I’m referring to the local church expression; the congregations and gatherings and such; not that universal community of Believers) is weird. Figuring out why it exists is foggy. Figuring out why we should exist within it can make a mind go dizzy. Figuring anything true or balanced or applicable, in the midst of the opinions and beliefs of family and friends and the whole gang of Others, well, that’s purely ridiculous.
So, I’m not really going to touch on any of that. Today.
For the moment, I’m going to share a glimpse into our present church experience, and why it’s adding such richness to my family, and why it’s brought me back into a local sanctuary after almost three years of being away.
Jeremy and I are both from Evangelical backgrounds. His dad was and is a minister, my family was and is involved in their local assemblies, and we were brought up to ‘go to church’. We did, it was great, and we had a whole lot of life and moments and teaching and thought in between those Sundays.
Jump ahead to our student years together.
Vibrant Evangelical community. Lots of friends and moments. Good times.
And then…it just started to feel ‘off’. And I began to crave, deeply deeply crave, some quiet. I lost the inclination to attend a show, or to hear long soliloquies to the unseen, or to put so much noise and work and fanfare into something that had the potential to be much more beautiful.
So I stepped back. And then J’ did as well.
And then, somehow, we stepped into the small sanctuary of a simple Anglican church down the road.
And I wept.
That first simple liturgical service began a whole new series of steps and questions for our family. It was beautiful. It was simple. There was sound teaching, kind people, food, touch, students, seniors. There were prayers and readings, quietness, shared voices, and a mix of thinkers and believers and…people, just Being.
So we began attending.
(and this is turning out to be one long long post. Soo…gonna post, and keep going.)