This past Sunday, the priest at the Anglican Church we’ve been attending, gave us a “Liturgy Moment.” It’s a brief explanation of why we do something in the liturgy.
He spoke about “the gathering” which is sometimes a hymn. It is, he told us, a time to remember why we are coming to Church. At least that’s my recollection. I had a virus or something that mimicked depression and it knocked me down and out of regular operating procedure.
But I’m pretty sure that’s what he said.
My answer as to why I attend Church on Sunday morning has ranged widely over the years. I was afraid of going to hell. I needed community. I thought I absolutely had to.
At this season of my life, I go to be reminded that there is hope and good left in the world. I sit with clients who tell me the most heinous stories of abuse, molestation, rape, defilement, and addiction. They let me into their pain of their life, which has led them to sitting there in front of me. I have a great counselor face. I don’t let their pain show. Oh, there are times after they leave I have to shake it off.
But I have to go one and meet the next person, unassuming and non-judgmental.
After a week of this, I need to be reminded that there is something good, something hopeful, something divine in this life. My belief in God has been separate from my attendance in Church (yes, yes… I know), but in this season, it may be even closer than I realized.