Sunday, Sunday, Sunday

This was the first full weekend I spent in town, so I decided to go to church this morning. Now, I'm not a bible thumper. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure there are 6 year olds better versed in the bible than me, but I like to go to church. I enjoy the hour or so of reflection on a Sunday morning, before a busy week. It's been a while since I've been travelling over the weekends and Sundays have been about being lazy lately. Still, I'm in a new town, and visiting a service is a good way to get to know people. So I got up & went.

I felt so welcomed.

I was raised in a Presbyterian church and I know generally what to expect before I even walk i n the door. Big Presbyterian churches don't spend much time getting to know each other, there's too many people! They operate like a well oiled machine. Sunday School, Church (scheduled to the minute), coffee, and you're out. Sometimes groups will bond over bible studies. In contrast, small Presbyterian churches are families in the truest sense of the word. They notice an outsider, and (for the most part) make an effort to make them feel welcome. Occasionally they'll call them out during the service (embarrassing), but the truth is, by the time they get around to calls for concerns or celebrations, you feel right at home. And sometimes they invite you to their potluck lunch.

And sometimes they sit with you and talk to you about anything and everything. And ask you about your life and your boyfriend. And invite you to spend time with them outside of church. Sometimes they ask you to come back whenever you can, and friend you on Facebook (these are the moments when I'm so thankful for the internet).

It was a wonderful, tiny church, with about 35 members in attendance. They clearly celebrated their children (they were everywhere). They clearly cared about their community (the night before they had housed a "Room in the Inn" program, and 10 homeless men slept in the Sunday School wing). They clearly cared about making everyone feel like they were a part of the church. The minister stopped himself and changed his wording to be more inclusive about 5 times during the sermon, in the most sincere way. But what touched me most was the congregation. One elderly man, who had been a member for many years and was living in another area, had been driven to the service by another member. He had on clothes that were brand new and too big for him. He clutched $15 for the collection plate. The pastor welcomed him by name, during the service, and when it was time to get together for the potluck supper, he had no shortage of invitations to sit at tables.

I'm not one to go on and on about church. I'm not one to try to recruit or convert or whatever. But these were real Christians. Good people. Good Sunday. After a week of talking about poverty, about talking about building nonprofits and trying to make a difference, a morning in church, in reflection, is what brought it all home. It's almost Thanksgiving and I know what I'm going to say when we go around the table. I'm thankful for moments of stillness, for thoughtfulness, for welcoming people, and warm places.