This is something new for me: I’m choosing to go to church on Sundays.
It’s true: except for a 2 year period when I lived in Boston, I am, for the first time in my entire life, choosing to go to Church on Sunday mornings. What I mean by this is that the rest of the my life I didn’t have a choice. As a kid my parents were church people, and as I’ve said elsewhere–I didn’t feel I had much of a choice in the matter.
In college I worked at a church, and then right after I got my masters degree I started working as a pastor–and pastors can’t just decide to go to another church on a whim–there’s the sermon and all that to deliver on.
Up through June 24, 2012, every Sunday of the year, every year, except for vacations, I had no choice on where to go to church. I had to go.
The reality is right now I not only can go to any church, I could perhaps even skip church and nobody would notice much. They would all assume I had other important duties elsewhere, or might even be speaking at another church. So, it’s all up to me now.
It’s got me reflecting on why I go to church in the first place. It’s got me making true choices about where to go to church, and what to do once I get there. The wingtip is on the other foot for this pastor (if I owned a pair of wingtips, that is).
So, here are some first shot observations about why I think I go to church… more on all this later:
- Deciding to go to church is a chance for spiritual unity for my family.
- Coming to church all together in the car is good for us… it’s a weekly pilgrimage for my family.
- It’s a chance to chance to give money–I become a consumeristic Scrooge if I don’t give.
- It’s a chance to see what my money is contributing towards–a weekly “status report” on my biggest investment.
- I get to hear testimonies… that stuff is really happening, among people I barely know, but who are impacted by God and my church.
- I miss out on the political junkie shows on the network that usually tick me off more than inspire me.
- I get to hear about justice instead of politics… the politicians seem to have forgotten right and wrong in the fight of winners and losers, and the church is remembering.
- I hear a different view of the economy than the weekly grind I usually hear–a different way to see the money in my pocket too.
- I get an irrelevant interruption in my week that feels odd–but a good sort of odd… it’s different and jarring, it wakes me up.
- I see bizarre symbols – stained glass and pulpits and the bread and the cup and the cross and the baptismal: stuff that says: we ain’t in Kansas anymore.
- I am forced to contemplate whether sacred space might actually exist–when every bone in my body fights the notion.
- I get to participate, whereas most of my life the arts are consumed as entertainment, in church the arts are usually participatory
- I have to state scripture when they do those readings… These are forced on me… I have to read it before checking the slides first. This makes me submit. I don’t like that. But I need it.
- I get to have hallway conversations where people ask me questions about my life–the weekly rhythm of church is better than daily in ways, and better than occasionally. It’s big picture without being distant.
- I can hear a preacher speaking in a way I wouldn’t, and in a way that applies to US not just me. I learn to listen for US, not just ME. I only have two of the 3,000 ears.
- I am exposed to Christian worship music. I don’t like most Christian music for a variety of reasons, but church forces this on me in worship–and I find I sing these songs to myself later more often which is good for the soul.
- I get to hear how the church is helping the poor–with some of my money perhaps–and how the church is doing things I would never be able to do on my own.
- I get to hear the way the church views hot button issues of the day–my worldview is shaped on Sundays.
- I am exposed to people of different races and ethnicities and socioeconomic classes and nationalities and educational experiences.
- I get to hear what the church is doing overseas and pray for it.
- I hear of ways to volunteer my time in ways that fit me–or that fit someone I know that I can pass it on to.
- I hear cool quotes from the pastor that I can tweet out to my friends.
- etc.
How about you… why do you go to church?
Or, if you have to go currently–why would you go, if you could choose (I’m looking at you, pastor-types).
Hey man. I’ve had considerably more time to consider this notion, because like you I went straight from growing up in church to working in one. It wasn’t until September of last year that it even became remotely optional, and for the first few Sundays that I skipped (for a myriad of reasons), I found that I actually missed the weekly gathering of God’s people.
So for the feeling of belonging to a Body I began going. Luckily I found a church that was extremely welcoming from the first moment I stepped in the door, so it made the transition to a new church far easier. A few weeks at the “church buffet” would have left a poor taste in my mouth and a lot of discouragement in my heart.
I like most of the points on your list. One especially stuck out to me: I am forced to contemplate whether sacred space might actually exist–when every bone in my body fights the notion.
I’m not sure if this is found to be true in pastor types, but I feel like most of us struggle with a sort of cynicism as regards the church. We see “behind the curtain” and typically without regularly finding the “wizard” back there… He most often shows up for the congregation as a whole on Sunday mornings, but when we’re trying make sure the sound is working, the computer guy is clicking slides appropriately, the music is in tune and perhaps even in heart, the offering plates are actually somewhere to be found, the mic is turned on, etc, etc, etc, etc… Plus when any of those things don’t go well we get a full view of the underbelly of the congregation, and that’s not pretty…
No, for the first time in a LONG time, regardless of what I know lies just “behind the curtain”, I’ve finally started seeing and feeling the wizard on a near-weekly basis. The space has become sacred again.
Which then scares me, because how many churches are still truly sacred space for the pastor? If it’s a necessary dichotomy of truly finding God on Sundays or running the church to help others find God, then I’m honestly scared to death of crossing the altar again.
ALSO: A few more reasons I go:
– The chance to see healing in action! At our church, four restored marriages in the last year!! One guy on the wagon after years off!! And so many people fighting their sin in ways they didn’t know they could!
– There is a camaraderie and spirit of unity that can’t be found or hardly replicated outside of church walls
– It’s where most of my friends are
– It is entirely safe space where I can be myself entirely (hit a wall and repent… there is nothing left but yourself then)
– To see the younger pastors on staff develop and grow
– To see the “fruits of our labor” – new people from the community coming and going, lives turning around, a lined altar – and entirely in part to God, but hopefully because the church is truly trying to be His.
Yep… for sure. I find all of these in my heart as well.
Nice Oz metaphor… indeed.
I share a lot of the same reasons: equips me to be a better pastor by observing pastors, forces me to listen to worship music which I don’t normally, but I know is good more me in reflection, keeps me connected to the Church family, the Church is God’s primary means of grace that I can place myself in, I know it would be easier to not go next Sunday if I didn’t go this Sunday, I don’t want to be a hypocrite because I am sick of hearing the Church is nothing, but hypocrites, it helps me remember I am supposed to love others, Church helps me heal from wounds, it enlivens my faith to see others of my faith. These are a few.
excellent list!
same.
I have heard the book “Bowling Alone” frequently cited as a description of the collapse of community in the U.S. When I see lives lived so alone, or even just solitary families, I get a very sad feeling. Being a part of a weird institution that sings together, chants together, recites ancient creeds together… it is so strange (perhaps increasingly so) compared to the backdrop of American individualism. But we need each other, and we need to belong to and contribute to and learn from something greater than ourselves.
The State is another option for many of course. But it’s too large and intangible for me.