I had brunch with an old friend today, and talk turned to church (it was Sunday, after all). As neither of us are particularly traditional folk, waking up for church every Sunday isn’t high on our list of priorities.
But then we started thinking…what is “church” anyway? It’s a gathering together of like-minded people to share time with each other.
My friend’s church: hiking through Amicalola Falls, viewing nature in its purest form, the snow still coating branches and forest floors, with friends who equally appreciated the activity.
Going to an excellent live show, where the musicians are on and the crowd is connected and you can feel everyone else in the room.
Spending time with family, recounting stories and laughing late into the night.
As for me, I haven’t figured out my church yet. But as the last strains of A Prairie Home Companion drifted through my speakers, I found myself singing along to their last song, a tribute to George Beverly Shea.
Oh Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder consider all the worlds thy hands have made…then sings my soul, my savior God to thee.
It was the part of traditional Baptist church I’ve always loved…the good old hymns. It’s all about what brings you closer to what you deem most important…I feel these songs. And I sang with the audience, and I remembered every word.