“What a joy it was just to be in the sanctuary! I cried!”
These are sweet, genuine sentiments that I often hear these days.
The psalmists agreed:
“O LORD, I love the habitation of your house and the place where your glory dwells.” Psalm 26:8
“I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the House of the Lord!’” Psalm 122:1
But I have a confession: I really struggled to find a passion, joy, or energy for returning to corporate worship. And I know from Marco Polo conversations, texts, and whispered thoughts, that I am not alone.
Was it COVID-19 fear? For some: yes, absolutely. We were a diverse community with a spectrum of health concerns and even political views. Personally, I was COVID-scared to come back. I have tangoed too many exhausting weeks with illness to be completely health anxiety free. Yet I am also deeply sure that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in Heaven. My struggle was not rooted in health concerns, though I understood and acknowledged people who were in that place.
I had been white-knuckling my way through Sunday mornings for a long while.
Let me begin to explain myself, then, with a request that you turn on your memory and imagination for a moment. Have you ever been on a hike (or in a dance class) and not noticed the stinging blister until you stopped to rest? Have you taken a full breath of air after being sick for awhile or after allergy season and realized, “wow! I was not really breathing well that whole time!” Surely you have, and you know that often a moment of calm or break from an onslaught of input can provide the opportunity for self-assessment, feelings checks, and wider perspective.
Back in April of 2020, after a few weeks of awkward adjustment to worshipping in front of a TV or computer, I dropped my real and metaphorical shoulders for the first time in a few years. I unclenched my fists. I had been white-knuckling my way through Sunday mornings for a long while. This realization was not news, per se, but I was taken aback at how intensely glad I felt to have a break.
Yes, of course, my life phase has had much to do with it. Parenting in the pews is no joke, and when you are in zone defense mode as opposed to one-on-one, consider the ante officially upped. There’s nothing quite like listening to a sermon to glean any one drop of help or insight while one school-aged child is actively heckling the preacher, one tween has tied his draw-string over his face as tightly as possible, one is talking full-volume about the letter being written that will finally convince you a guinea pig IS in your future, and the preschooler repeatedly tosses his shoes into the pew in front of you. (These are the days of our lives…)
Parenting at church can be absolutely exhausting. Keeping children under control in a dangerous, construction-zone building while attempting to accomplish all the micro-business of being in a community just about killed me — deliver that dish, make that coffee date, follow up about that kid’s behavior in Sunday School. Add to that all of Satan’s lies (“Wow, they must think you are SO full of yourself.”), all of our own insecurities (Did I just call that woman I met last week by the wrong name?), and we have a real recipe for burn-out.
There are a lot of things that can make a Sunday morning difficult. We are all walking our own custom-designed minefield.
But corporate worship isn’t about parenting performance or validation. And I have heard enough times “my kids are the loudest and most distracting” to know that we are all over-reacting. There just isn’t enough room in that sanctuary for that many superlatives to be assigned. Guess what: one day your children or mine really will be the loudest in the room, and for the most part we will be surrounded with compassion and solidarity.
Non-parents: I see you too. We all are walking into a social landscape each week. “Is so-and-so mad at me? Will I be invited this time? Will someone be hurt if I fail to say hello? Am I going to this event for the right reasons? Is it ok if this time I just hurry out so I don’t have to deal with anyone? How can I find the right person to receive this verbal vomit?” The needs are deep and big!
“We are the body of Christ!” we think. “If a person here doesn’t know they are loved, they’ll be scarred by church forever! Come to think of it: do I even ever feel loved??” Again, the superlatives are tempting and oppressive at the same time.
There are a lot of things that can make a Sunday morning difficult, from comparison (that ever-present thief of joy) to potty-training to ADHD to illness to past trauma to loneliness… We are all walking our own custom-designed minefield. The pause that quarantine enforced no-doubt shed light on a number of pain points, weaknesses, and frustrations.
Hopefully, the Holy Spirit has been fully engaged in addressing the issues in our hearts. A season of major upheaval (that seems to be approaching a close but could very well not be over) I dare say necessarily forces us to take stock of ourselves and our contexts. There is so much we took for granted: the sight of another worshipper lost in love for Jesus, hands raised, even the Lord’s Supper itself. We miss those things. But, being sinners not fully conformed to Christ’s likeness until Glory, there are issues and challenges that can turn our walk up to a church door into a painful slog.
I continually come back to two things:
What is worship for and who is it for?
What might God be asking me to do differently?
As to the first item, worship is firstly for God and the shaping of our hearts. The Creator of the Universe deserves our praise and recognition whether we feel like doing it or not. He has asked us clearly to do it together, to assemble, to raise our fragrant prayers, songs, and offerings to him as a community. Jesus Christ is in love with his people: you, me, messy children, people who make us mad, people who look perfect already, and countless souls we don’t even know around the world. Scripture is too full of analogies, from bodies to buildings, to ignore the fact that this faith, this religion is not a solo sport.
The second question is humbling and hard: What might God be asking me to do differently? To expand that: What sinful coping mechanisms have I employed? What sinful thoughts have clouded my experience of worship? Friends, these considerations are not for the faint of heart! Thankfully, Jesus’ blood covers us, and the Holy Spirit moves in us to will and to act according to His purpose.
I’m not going to share my own answers to those questions. (I mean: I’m open and willing to be raw, but that’s a tall order!) I do think we each would do well to ask the questions, especially if our hearts lurch a bit at the thought of re-entry.
This post was in my mind for some time before I wrote it, and it has lived quietly unseen in my Google drive for months. I have prayed and walked aimlessly, casting my gaze to the clouds hoping, “LORD, show me what this all means. If I publish this, let it be a blessing and not a curse! Give me a desire and Holy Spirit power to face my own barriers and sin!”
Back in July, with my prayers and walks in mind, I entered into worship in front of my TV. I could see on the feed the people in the front rows. I saw hands raised, heads bowed, even knowing glances from side to side. And, Church Family (as I have often called you with real affection into a microphone), I missed you a lot. We have been back to in-person worship since about August, and in many ways, I still miss you! This strange in-between time has been equal parts joyful and sorrowful, though I can say it has not been stressful. I thank God for that.
Trinitarian Lord: be tender with the bruised reeds and strengthen weak knees. Even in these bizarre circumstances that shock us, You are in complete control. Please teach us to worship in spirit and in truth.
