Showing up for church when I don’t want to

I often attend church when I would rather be somewhere else. There are Sundays when the weather seems too perfect to be inside, when I’d rather sit outdoors at my local pancake house and read the paper. There are Sundays when my mind is racing or there are too many things on my to-do list. And there are Sundays when I’m just tired of church, of the hypocrisy of religion. I confess that there are plenty of Sundays when my doubts outweigh my beliefs. But I show up.

Sometimes I attend church out of duty and obligation. As a minister and a dean of a theological institution, I’m expected to go to church. Church is an extension of my workplace. As a Christian parent, I felt obligated to raise a child “in the way she should go.” There are plenty of Sundays when the service is boring, the minister preaches for way too long, and the ushers act confused. There are Sundays when the announcements, which are broadcast on a screen, are repeated ten more times anyway simply because people like to hear themselves talk on the mic. But I show up.

I show up because God always meets me when I am faithful. God always shows up. Sometimes God shows up in the parking lot, in the person who greets me with a firm handshake or a hug. Sometimes God shows up in laughter over bagels during coffee hour. Sometimes God shows up in the face of the impossibly cute toddler who wants to play peekaboo with me all service long. I show up and God shows up, and not necessarily in the sermon. I often encounter the holy presence of God before the pastor has spoken a single word.