Last year, I decided I really needed to put down some roots and get myself a church home.
Seems like fairly basic stuff, I know, but life circumstances, lots of travelling etc, had left me hanging as a bit of a spiritual wanderer. I always went, just not consistently, to the same place, each week. I figured I was getting spiritually fed, so did it really matter if I wasn’t seen at the same place, by the same people, every week?
As it happens, yes it does. But I had to put down some roots to find out why.
I was chatting to a friend last week. She and I are theologically (roughly) on the same page but how our faith is expressed, is radically different. She’ll veer toward bells and smells, whereas I’m more partial to a bit of enthusaistic arm waving. We were chatting about the difference in Communion style and for me, as a fairly recent adoptee into Anglicanism, I said how much I enjoyed actually getting out of my seat and walking up to the Altar, to receive the bread and wine.
‘Yes’, said friend….’there is something quite profound about being served communion by someone who knows you…’
And that suddenly made sense. That’s what church for me, at least, is all about.
It’s about being known. It’s about being able to ‘tell all’ to your church leaders, to have friends, share stuff, have meals together, ask questions, to miss a service and get calls from people asking if you’re ok. It’s about being missed.
Sure, you can probably be spiritually fed in other ways and maybe even survive as a Christian outside of the church, but you miss the amazing part of being part of a community.
On Sunday, we had Communion and my friend’s words were ringing in my ears as I walked up to the Altar. It’s about knowing and being known.
And there’s no better place to be really known, really loved, than in the safe place of a stable church, which genuinely loves people.
There’s no point in going to church???
I beg to differ.