EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the first in an intermittent series on the topic of attending church—or not attending church. The series was suggested by contributor Diane Davis: “I hope each person reading this will be inspired to write their own ‘Why I go to Church,’ or maybe ‘Why I don’t go to Church,’ and send it in to Melanie at the Practicing Presence blog Submissions. I’m betting we have a treasure trove of ideas about this and it would be fun to see what’s out there in The Abbey-land.”
These days, deciding to go to church is, well…a decision. Long gone are the days when I automatically went every week because my mother took me, or when I became the mother and thought I needed to herd my sons in that direction. I live in the American culture of now which does everything but send us to church on Sundays. The time when stores were actually closed one sacred day a week is a distant memory. Only about 20% of the people in the United States regularly go to church, so you could say that going to church is actually counter-cultural. While that has a nice ring to someone like me, it’s not the reason I go to church. Some of the reasons I do go are:
1. It puts me in the midst of the ancients. People have been gathering together for thousands of years to acknowledge some kind of power greater than themselves. I love remembering that I’m part of that chain, raggedy though it is. When I walk through the big doors into the Historic Church of St. David’s on a Sunday, I pay homage to that lineage.
2. I get to kneel with others. At my age, I usually feel that I don’t have to pay attention to people who try to tell me what to do, and I certainly don’t let myself be brow-beaten into submission. Therefore, it feels like a choice and a privilege to physically get down on my knees and acknowledge to myself and whoever/whatever is listening that I have missed the mark, once again, and wish for a do-ever in many of my thoughts, words, and deeds, and in what I have done and left undone. Being on my knees with others makes this confession feel real and very humbling.
3. My sorrows become our sorrows. Reading out loud the prayers, singing the songs, and listening to the sermons with others changes my individual pain to a communal pain that I can bear. After the recent floods in the Texas Hill Country, I sat in church with the rest of the congregation and waited for Father Chuck to acknowledge the suffering. When he did, I felt my sorrows become our sorrows. I’ve come to believe that for me, church is not so much about worship and creeds as it is about helping us bear the very hard, suffering parts of life. Jesus said it best: Come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest (Mathew 11:28).
4. It puts me in a different world of beauty. I live with my cat Circe in a small house in suburban Austin. It is a far simpler environment than the Historic Church at St. David’s. I have no cantor at my house to sing the psalms, and no stain-glass windows. When I go to church, I get to hear the language of the Book of Common Prayer ( “…have mercy on us and forgive us that we may delight in your will, and walk in your ways…”) read out loud. I get to hear the choir sing so beautifully that I sometimes get a lump in my throat. In this world, the people are different too. There are babies and young couples, the guy with a ponytail hanging halfway down his back, and the old lady about half a step behind everyone else in the liturgy (me). They are all part of the beauty if you look at it through God’s eyes.
5. I get to see some friends, live and in person.
6. I take what I like and leave the rest. When I go to church these days, I don’t struggle with the dogma. I am grateful to Jesus whoever he is and for his compassionate teachings and for having staying power. I love church at St. David’s for all the reasons above, and one more: Many years ago I was in an extremely vulnerable phase of my life because of what I had done and what had been done to me. For almost a year I would drag myself to the church on Sundays and sit in the back pew and cry (silently) and leave before anyone tried to talk to me. The specific phrase I came to church to hear was “O Lamb of God who taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy upon me.” Whether or not there is a Lamb of God who can take away my sins and have mercy on me does not matter. I needed to hear the possibility that I could be forgiven and that I could forgive myself and others. St. David’s gave me that.
6 Responses
That says it all! It is just beautiful, Diane. Thank you for saying what I could not articulate. Courtney Brown
So, SO thoughtful and well written! Thank you!
So beautiful. So heart resonating. Your words are powerful. Thank you.
I love your thoughts and reflections, Diane! And I love your exhortation to others to think about this question and send Melanie a short blog post! Great conversation!
Amen Amen and Thank you. In your explanation of why you go to church, you have evoked for me the power of the liturgy, the community, the service, and as you say so eloquently, its beauty. And it enriches the memories of family commitments to church and reminds me of how worship/liturgy transcends time and geography. Again, thank you so much for your great care addressing this challenging question.
Diane,
Thank you so much for your THOUGHTful and THOUGHTFUL article. I love the way you reflect on what is most meaningful to you. I was so touched by your tenderness and willingness to share vulnerable parts of yourself. You are so appreciated and loved, Diane.