Churchgoing

I’ve been on the comfortable side of church for most of my life. Always at the same church, always with my family, always surrounded by familiar faces, always in the know. I may not be able to tell you everyone’s name, but chances are that I could describe who else they’re related to, where they stand on church matters, and whether or not they attend faithfully in the summer months. And of course the new people are always easy to spot.

For the past year or so, however, I’ve been given the opportunity to be the new person, the visitor. I’ve come to experience what it is to sit alone, to watch closely for cues as to what’s coming next, to walk quietly out after the service in hopes of avoiding the awkward aloneness of my state. Now, there's no need for concern; as a natural introvert and one who does not wish to draw attention, I easily manage this without a depressing thought, for I know that I’m headed back to a dorm full of friends and a room full of homework. But I realize that not everyone is so fortunate. For many, the simple act of setting foot anywhere alone is hard, and places of tightly knit community are doubly so. The act of breaking into an established group takes great courage, and the greatest battle comes not in choosing a pew but in deciding to step out of the car alone.

About four months after I started going to Sunday morning service alone, someone really said hello to me for the first time. Her simple introduction and invitation to sit with her family made my day a little brighter. A year after I began attending, a man deliberately tracked me down after church and introduced himself, inviting me to lunch with him and his wife whenever I had a free Sunday afternoon. He went a step further by giving me their phone number. Once more, his simple gesture of welcome made my day a little brighter. Even one who is content to be alone likes a little notice now and then.

Having grown up in a single church, I find it natural to look for the faces that I recognize, to speak with those I know share common interests, and I'm comfortable enough to keep to myself. I’m all too often blind to faces I don’t recognize, or I reason away why I, with many more qualified and friendly people surrounding me, should say anything--if I say nothing, surely someone else will. But I am no inventor of thoughts. I’m certain this same line of reasoning has passed through the thoughts of churchgoers for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. If I say nothing, chances are that no one will. The absence of welcome speaks loudly.

So, although I am not inclined to step out of my comfort zone and social circle, I am coming to the realization that I must open myself to the notion that the other person has already stepped foot out of his car, and perhaps I ought to congratulate him with a welcome.  What follows next is entirely up Christ.