Maybe I Get It

The other day as I was sitting in church, I think I got it--or at least a part of it. I think I got a little glimpse into why people come to church so regularly every Sunday, and I was pretty moved thinking about it. I had just come from teaching Sunday School, and had just finished ushering my Kindergartners into church as I sat down next to my mom, who is deeply religious and has been taking me and my brother to church practically since we were born. 


I looked around at all the people there: the old ladies who are there every single Sunday, prim and proper, their noses expertly powdered, their makeup meticulous, their pearls aligned just right, some with gloves and hats, some still with husbands, all wearing truly their Sunday's Best; The middle aged couples with kids my age, most of whom are absent from church on Sundays; The younger couples in their late twenties and early thirties who are just starting to have kids. And as I looked around, I realized why I do really like going to church, even when it means getting up early on a Sunday morning. 


I'm not sure if I believe in God, and I don't know what happens when we die--I haven't really figured that out yet--but I've always gotten a warm feeling of community at church, from the time when I first started singing in the youth choir before our voices changed, and now, as I'm a part of the youth group at church. It's something special to belong, to be part of a group--and that's exactly how I feel at church. I can walk in there and instantly see people I know--adults, children, and kids my age--and be recognized, feel welcomed, invited, and wanted.  


And sitting there on Sunday morning, I saw all of these people who congregate here every week, under the big, expansive, strong roof of The Church of the Redeemer, and I saw them as one body, one group. In receiving communion, singing hymns, and listening to the gospel and the sermon, we all share together in something that's much bigger than any of us, but we all put our collective selves into it. 


For an hour on Sunday morning in that church as the sunlight filters into the church and hits the dark umber wooden support beams, we can all be together as one people and one body. We can all share in each other's hurt, pain, struggles, burdens, successes, joys, and jubilation. And through this, there's this heavenly exhale that we all take (that I took on Sunday), and there's this beautiful release, where we can let our problems be lifted up and carried away, feeling lighter and strengthened. I saw the church as bringing out the capacity for people to put aside their differences and share in a deep and firm support for each other. 


I liked thinking about that kind of faith--I think I'll be back.