Thursday, October 5, 2006

It’s the strangest turn of affairs, where a few months ago I would’ve advised you on the optimal moment to escape from church–when your neighbors are busy shaking hands is the best time for shaking right out the door–and now, despite my best efforts, there is anticipation for each Sunday.

Lest there be any miscommunication, we’re not dealing with epiphanies as currency tonight. That bank is on holiday. I haven’t bartered Aeropostale for sackcloth, nor has my hunger for succulent media abated for lighter fare. Indeed, this hunger is continually fed, yea, verily by the fast food king of kings come mid-November.

But my week is made different because church has become a large piece, makes it whole, and it’s been a seamless change. A part of it is culture, I think, in which colleagues freely discuss churchgoing, but this isn’t the whole story. I mean, just because everybody wears shoes doesn’t mean you blindly pop for the 8-inch stilettos, you know? Most of all, I appreciate the sermons, and to wit last Sunday’s was probably the best message on tithing I’ve ever heard. I take notes, even, though whether I’m ever going to refer to them is another matter entirely. Right now? The act itself is a kind of miracle.

And being a packaging whore through and through, of course, I’m impressed by how things are handled in a tech-savvy, polished way. Now, praise music, like hip hop, still sounds pretty much all the same to me, but the band has got it. It all seems to be there. Do I regret sneaking out of all those other churches, fellowships, meetings? Not in the least. The challenge now is to commit. The challenge for you is not to worry. This isn’t going to turn into a repository of inspirational passages. We have tradition to uphold, after all.