I’m not in a great place mentally about church right now.
I realize the practice of going to a church building to worship has been interrupted in many ways by the pandemic, but my lax approach started showing up long before the pandemic.
I got the weekly email from the church I still belong to on Friday, and it talked about “worship in the parking lot.” Since I have been so sporadic about showing up, I am really not sure who I would still know if I presented myself at this parking lot worship experience.
I think I’ve been a little petulant with God about this. I’ve switched churches (and denominations) many times over the decades. I kind of wonder if I got a little attached to the novelty of being the “new person” in a congregation. There’s a flurry of “being welcomed,” the fun of getting to know new people, the relief of leaving any unfinished business behind.
The church that felt most like home closed in 2012. I had already left it for very good reasons (and the reasons weren’t just about me chasing the novelty of being the new person). Yet, returning to attend its closing service was like a door closing in a way.
I know (fully) that the church is not the building. I know it’s the people, and I know I haven’t contributed in any consistent way keeping the fabric of any congregation from growing weak and being shredded in the last few years.
There’s no neat and tidy ending to this post, just the acknowledgement that I miss making that contribution; I miss the moments of contemplation and worship.
I miss a communion that is about more than bread and wine.
Welcome to this week’s Five Minute Friday. Our instructions, via creator Kate Motaung: “Write for five minutes on the word of the week. This is meant to be a free write, which means: no editing, no over-thinking, no worrying about perfect grammar or punctuation.” (But I can’t resist spell checking, as you can imagine.)
Wife of one, Mom of two, Friend of many. My pronouns are she/her/hers.