Borderline church
Somehow, like millions of other folks around the world who profess to be faithful, I sandwich God around my life. I make my time with Him at my convenience, usually while on the road. I know I'm not alone, but it still doesn't take away from the fact that I do it.
"You should be happy to give God one or two hours a week on Sunday, for all of the time He gives you," my sister often chides me, if I'm moving too sluggishly on Sunday morning, or mumble I have too much homework or paperwork to do. My church attendance track record over the past three or four years has been about 50 percent, sometimes 30 or 40, and I'm not proud of that. She's right, as usual. And I know it. Each and every time that I miss church, I think very seldom is the time spent on that momentary occupation (sleeping, working, driving, shopping, or drinking coffee with friends) better than time spent in the pew, in worship.
I do realize we aren't going to heaven based on our house of worship attendance. I get that. I'm certainly not judging those who don't go. A friend of mine went to Catholic school for 12 years and will often say she's had enough hours spent on her knees in mass from her youth to last her a lifetime. Another friend often says it's unfair to put God under a roof in a church, and bottle Him up, as if we must only go there to find Him.
When I was a child, we missed church on very rare occasions, such as the Wayne County Fair, when Sunday was the only day my father could go. Skipping church meant he'd get a good parking space and not have to wait in line for his meatloaf at the Grange Hall, thus it was preordained by God. Sometimes we missed church in the summers, too, if Dad took us somewhere, like Roscoe Village or Tappan Dam.
However, those events were not weekly, and we sweated through many a Sunday. The small oscillating fan on our side of the church just never seemed to blow any air back to the Hauenstein pew.
Over the years, I've come to grips with the fact that people go to church for many different reasons. Family visiting relatives during the holidays come, out of respect or tradition, while others come searching for answers or to praise God. Some attend out of a sense of duty and obligation. Others go because their friends and second family are there. Still more come for socialization, with church being perhaps the only place someone speaks directly to them, shakes their hand, hugs them, or provide any physical contact during the course of a week. Some people come to be seen, and feel more superior to the heathens down at Megamart, doing their Sunday shopping. I know I have fit that latter category of superior feeling from time to time. However, when I've gone to Megamart on Sunday morning, during a fit of heathenistic behavior, I love the quiet and pleasurable shopping experience that Megamart seldom is any other time of the week.
Many churches in America have capitalized on that very need of convenience, and will offer Saturday evening services, and a plethora of worship times on Sunday, from early morning to mid-afternoon. Service lengths can range from a tidy 30 minutes, to well, hours. I once sat through an excruciating service at a church where the Rick Warren wannabe pastor gave an 80-minute sermon that had about 15 minutes of key points and 65 minutes of self-congratulation for knowing the key points. My head was filled with many unchristian thoughts, as I wanted to stand up and shout, "In the name of Jesus, will you shut up!" I didn't. I just gripped my seat and prayed for the patience to not walk out, or to judge.
My church has a mostly traditional service, with hymns, and a very Presbyterian start-to-finish mode of operations. However, I can remember years ago, when the then-associate pastor, a wonderful speaker and a woman on fire for the Lord, went 30 minutes over the normal hour to hour and 15 minute time frame. I could see heads bent, in conversation, as we approached the noon hour, still sitting in the pew, waiting on the body and the blood, and the closing hymn. I'm sure many spoke to the head pastor when he returned from vacation to voice their displeasure, as some were doing when we walked out. The message was received. The next week, he too, went a half an hour over the normal time frame. I don't know for certain, but I don't think the time issue was ever brought up again.
As we moved through Holy Week, there was Easter Vigils at many churches, Good Friday services, Easter sunrise services, and my favorite, Maundy Thursday communion. Nearly every day offered a chance to praise God. Some spent at least part of their week in church, praising God. Others did not. That's OK.
Some praise God in their cars, at the stoplights, and some do it over a cup of coffee and the comics, or watching their children look for eggs. The message doesn't waiver, even if my attendance habits do: I am forgiven. I am saved. I am loved. I am, in my very imperfect church attendance way, grateful.