What’s special about a church building?

I’ve walked in and out church doors for so long I had forgotten. The strangeness of a building, a gathering, an hour or two or three on a Sunday morning where you, me, anyone can simply walk in and sit and listen, maybe meet someone new. No ticket required. No purchase of a pint or coffee or burger and fries in order to stay. You don’t need a bike. You don’t need to know how to sew or sing to be a part of this living thing that comes into being every week.

You could go to a park or free museum, sure. But that’s a different kind of public space, isn’t it? We’re occupying the same general space. We might be in proximity to other people, but people come and go; you could go there the same time every week and never see the same person. Or maybe by chance I walk my dog at the same time that you walk your dog and we exchange polite eye contact or friendly banter, share the names of our dogs (but not our own names), say hello and goodbye and that’s enough.

How many buildings or events do we pass by in our daily lives where we could simply stop, walk in, sit down, and participate—and this is what is actually expected, even hoped for? Imagine seeing a band playing in the park, and as I walk by I unpack my ukulele and simply start strumming along.