On Why I Go to Church, Part II

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, the Creator of Heaven and Earth. I believe in Jesus Christ, His only begotten Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit and born of the virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilot, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended into hell. The third day He rose again from the dead. He ascended in to Heaven and is seated at the right hand of God the Father almighty. From thence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit. I believe in a Holy Catholic Church, the communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the Body, and the Life everlasting. Amen. In case you haven’t noticed yet, i have been raised in the Christian Church, and am myself a confessing believer. This is the second post which concerns my motivations, not for my conversion (which is a completely different story), but for my involvement in the institution of the Church. It is written more for my own satisfaction than anything else, so if rather incoherent introspection does not interest you, i recommend that you skip them. Otherwise, part I is here. The negative impression I mention in Part I of these reflections was furthered by my work in the church archives. One of my tasks was to put together a database of all the pastors. Among other things, i had to look up which article of the church order was used to depose or separate preachers who were deposed or separated. The number of deposed preachers has skyrocketed in the last twenty or so years, and generally the cause is extremely ambiguous. My father currently pastors at a church where the previous preacher was deposed, for reasons that were not made public. Rumours abound, and it is very difficult to get the congregation to trust him and each other, not to mention the other churches in the area. Even the congregations of the same denomination are reluctant to work together. My grandfather, albeit unintentionally, also encouraged my bitterness. He is officially retired, and does interim pastorships at churches that lack a minister. These congregations are often troubled, and suffering some recent great divide over some triviality, such as which hymnal to use or the colour of their carpeting. Most have had some difficulty with their pastor, too. I could give you a list of churches all over the country that have split up for some reason or another, some grievous but often ridiculous. And so i looked forward to college as a chance to escape church. I was sick of church. It didn't do a thing for me, and i figured i had better give it a rest. I believed that Church embodied all that was wrong with Christianity and even (considered historically) humanity. Although i could see this worried my parents, and my father sometimes asked me unpleasant questions, no one directly opposed my resolve. I note here, as an aside, that i have never had what is known as a conversion experience. I have a not altogether unwarranted skepticism of conversion experiences. Yet… i can no longer completely discount them. There is an evening church service on campus. I attended a few times, as a counter-irritant to my heathen sensibilities (i.e. to make my mother feel better). One night they served communion. I have no idea what the sermon was, and i don’t believe i knew then. Understand that because of my qualms i had never made any public declaration of my faith, and therefore had never partaken of the Eucharist (this is very unusual in my denomination – most people would have done this years ago). After the service i went for a walk in the back parking lots, simply to escape the crowd. But I could not stop thinking about the Communion – about the Sacrifice poured out not just for me. I had the most astounding and blindingly obvious of revelations. Church is not about me. It wasn’t the Church that was irrelevant, but I. My withdrawal from the Church no longer seemed a noble and superior form of faith, but stupid and hypocritical. And i wept, though out of joy or regret i do not know. As for this particular church, well… I could no longer in conscience wait around until I found a church that “fit” me. I called my father who recommended a couple of friends who might serve as mentors and counselors, one of whom had been the preacher during the service i have just mentioned. Upon being informed of my intentions, she suggested i go to church with her sister the next week, as she knew the pastors there and it would be convenient for me. So i did, and spoke to the pastor, and joined the choir, and attended the catechism classes, and at last made a profession of faith. And God, in His grace, selected for me a church that suits me far more than anything i have come across before. It is a large though simple structure composed of red brick. There is not an overwhelming population of college students, which i very much appreciate (most of my close friends are nearer my parent’s age than mine; besides, I hate being labeled and herded). The congregation is, on the whole, well educated and responsible. Besides all this, they have an organ – a real pipe organ. Instrumentalists and singers abound, and the choir’s music selection is beautifully diverse. I would be incredibly surprised if more than a couple dozen of the congregation would know my name or even recognize me, yet, these people are my people. Their song is my song, their griefs my griefs, and their joys also mine – not for what they do but to whom they do it. Here, with these my people, I will worship our God.