A few weeks ago, my husband and I were late enough to church that we found ourselves and a few other families stuck in “standing room only” until the dismissal of the young children to Sunday school freed up a few seats. It’s not an uncommon occurrence — neither the packed sanctuary nor, as my husband could tell you, my knack for underestimating how much time it will take to get ready for church.
“How are we going to squeeze everyone in for Easter?” we wondered with our fellow latecomers. “Is this the best problem ever or what?”
I’m still not sure how we’re all going to fit on Sunday, but I can’t wait to see. Here’s hoping the HVAC cooperates — once, a few months ago, the heater conked out early Sunday morning and we got a last-minute email warning us to bundle up and come ready to warm the air with our voices. It was absolutely wonderful.
We are blessed to be led by pastors who do not shy away from speaking truth, and who preach every week of Christ’s sacrifice on the cross to atone for our sins. They and their families give freely of their encouragement and hospitality. We’ve enjoyed barbecues, board games, and prayer around their kitchen tables.
And we are blessed to be part of a church body that takes seriously its obligation to care for one another and gather together. Every week, we walk up to the front of the sanctuary to receive the Lord’s Supper. People make their way back down the center aisle to return to their seats before taking the elements together, and my favorite moment of the service is watching the worshipful faces of so many people I love as they walk past me. I am not an expressive congregant — I think the last time I raised my hand during music was at a high school youth camp, and even then, it was probably because everyone around me was doing so — but on more than one occasion, the humble, joyful procession has brought me almost to tears.
On those days when we’re late and walk in after the first song has already started, I can hear the sound of 200 voices inside before I leave the parking lot. No matter where you sit, chances are you’ll only be a few rows behind an inquisitive baby making eyes at you over his mother’s shoulder. Sometimes an emphatic squeal or coo lands right as the pastor has paused for effect, and everyone chuckles.
It’s not the kind of place where people are content to only know you at a surface level, either. We share lives together enough to learn each others’ struggles, funny stories, recipes, and life lessons. I’ve gotten to know the personalities of the kids I teach in Sunday school and watched them grow older. I’ve seen the church surround new parents and grieving spouses alike with care and casseroles. I know my husband and I are the subject of many friends’ prayers.
I say all this, not to the credit or glory of any of these people that I love so much, but to praise the God whom they serve and whose love fills each of their hearts. They would be the first to tell you that He is responsible for any of the goodness they practice. Like all churches, ours is full of sinful, broken people who have nothing to offer but their testimony of Christ’s love for them. It is His presence and faithfulness that makes our church such a wonderful, welcoming place.
Around the country, churches will see a bump in attendance for Easter, but year-round attendance is threadbare. According to a Gallup survey published last year, only 3 in 10 Americans say they go to church every week or almost every week. For those who self-identify as Protestants or simply “Christians,” that number is only 44 percent, and for self-identifying Catholics, it’s 33 percent.
I hope ours and every other Gospel-preaching church in America is packed on Sunday. But I also hope they’ll be packed the week after, and the week after that. If you’ve been needing some extra encouragement to commit to being in community with your local church body, let me give you some. Going to church won’t magically make your life perfect, but it offers something better: a fellowship of people whose lives reveal God’s redemption and who are eager for you to partake in the same redeeming love.
Elle Purnell is the elections editor at The Federalist. Her work has been featured by Fox Business, RealClearPolitics, the Tampa Bay Times, and the Independent Women’s Forum. She received her B.A. in government from Patrick Henry College with a minor in journalism. Follow her on Twitter @_ellepurnell.
