Sundays, Together

Today was like many other Sundays, except I woke up later than usual and was late for church. When I realized this, I immediately felt a sinking feeling in my gut. By the time I would get to church, I knew I would miss the worship set — my favorite part of Sunday service. I knew I might also miss our church’s prayer time, where we have the opportunity to publicly confess, pray, and praise together. 

I lay in bed for awhile, considering whether to sneak in late and slide into a back pew or stay home, make eggs, and listen to a sermon online. Then I realized we would be continuing in our series on Ephesians 5, and the sinking feeling returned. I stayed up too late last night, and didn’t have the energy to parse through a passage that has sparked so much personal and communal controversy in my life. But I got up anyway, because I missed my people.

I’m sure I will write another post discussing Ephesians 5, but for now, I celebrate my people.

My church people are crazy. They debate, they love, they cook, they sing, they shout, they serve, and sometimes (often) we disagree, but at the end of the day, they’re my people. We’re a motley crew of native Detroiters, city transplants, musicians, engineers, mothers, artists, athletes, children, and enneagram types, and I love us. We are all so different, yet something miraculous happens on Sundays, when we all sit and stand together under the same fluorescent lights singing to our God with one, resounding voice. We become a part of something larger than just our church — we become the Church.

I am grateful for Sundays because they remind me I cannot worship fully on my own. Some Sundays my throat feels a little scratchy. Sometimes the PowerPoint slides with the song lyrics are off. Sometimes it’s hard to believe the words in front of me, but I sing anyway and God moves. It’s on those days that we all need each other to sing a little louder, to remind us what line comes next so we can continue on.

I ended up going to church and sliding into a back pew, as planned. I missed the worship set, and the prayer time, but I heard the whole sermon, participated in communion, and sang a little at the end. 

After service, we turned to one another and continued our conversations from days and weeks ago, as if no time had passed between. Later on, many of us spent time together playing games, talking about our faith, expressing our disagreements, eating ice cream, and enjoying the muggy, overcast weather the day had brought us.

I am glad I got up and went to church. I am thankful for Sundays.

I am hoping this blog can be a virtual Sunday. A space to worship, to remember, to pray, to doubt, to comfortably say “I’m not sure yet” in response to today’s most pressing questions, to be the ones to ask those pressing questions, to wrestle and fall and fight and climb and walk forward once again together.

So here’s to this space: to a community of writers who are equal parts courage and fear, who are full of doubt and faith, of hope and darkness, of grief and joy, and everything in between. Thank you for reading. Thank you for listening. And thank you for pulling up a seat to our table — it will always be big enough for everyone.