The people we are at church

I like the people we are at church.  I don’t know if the setting actually changes us, or if I just have a perception (accurate or not) of how we appear that pleases me.  Even if the morning was filled with battles over why we don’t eat cheese for breakfast or the necessity of using the restroom before we leave, it somehow seems to fall into place when we enter those doors.  Regardless of what happened that morning or even that week, we are there as a family and we are reasonably put together.  We are bathed and dressed up, toddler bed-head deliberately tamed because, after all, it’s Sunday.  We are there for a reason – to share in a community of faith – and we have identified this as important enough to the life of our family that we haul ourselves out of bed each week for the early service.  And sometimes, it just works.

 

I like to think there is a spiritual presence in the walls of the church that places a calm on our morning.   I know this has more to do with a mindset than a setting, but maybe, just maybe this is our weekly recharge and we need this place to help us refocus.  As I sit in the pew next to my son, I don’t think about the times he’s tested my patience that week.  Somehow being in church reminds me that he is an incredible blessing from God, and I only see the positive things.  I notice the way he stares intently at the pipe organ while the music plays and pretends to read the hymnal to sing.  I admire the sweet profile of his face and brush the hair away from his ears.  Fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of God – that’s powerful stuff.  And when he folds his hands in prayer to mimic those around him, I’m convinced he can do no wrong.  I am so grateful for what we have, and it leads me to want to give back.

 

Of course it’s also possible that part of this equation is just my enjoying the perception of family I hope we project.  Fellow church members fawn over our son and tell us repeatedly how adorable and sweet he is.  Who doesn’t love to hear that?  People compliment his outfit and I feel a sense of relief, thinking to myself, “Oh, good, they don’t realize he has exactly three ‘church shirts’ and one pair of ‘church shoes’ that provide for a less-than-impressive rotation.”  I vainly imagine that there is something to be admired about our little family, that we might actually be thought of as having our stuff together.  That thought, even if it only lasts an hour or two on Sunday mornings, is such a refreshing break to allow myself after a week filled with mommy guilt and self-doubt.  For whatever we’ve done imperfectly in the last week, it’s right that we’re there.  And that’s all that matters.

 

Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had our share of, err, learning opportunities with our son regarding whether he should sit in church through the sermon or go play in the nursery, what is an acceptable distance to be separated from Mommy during the children’s message, and what actually constitutes a “whisper.”  But somehow on Sunday mornings I recognize these things as adequately trivial.  My perspective on things that would perhaps rattle me in a different setting is more accurate when I’m in that place.  We’re just an imperfect but loving family working on it week by week alongside everyone else.  We don’t do everything right, but at least our focus on Sunday mornings is in the right place. 

 

That place….I wish I could get there more often.  Sure, we go to church regularly and are often there a couple evenings a week for various activities.  But beyond the physical sense, I wish I could more often get to “the place” that the church provides me on Sunday mornings.  The sense of calm and mature perspective on what really matters, a time to refocus on something outside of ourselves and stop to appreciate what God has provided.  I need to find more moments like this in my day and for my family, because I really like the people we are when we’re there.