Tuesday, March 26, 2013

On any other Sunday, the soothing patter of rain would have soundly vetoed my alarm clock, but this past weekend was different. The alarm clock prevailed. I heeded the call, dragged my carcass out of bed, knocked out my morning routine, and then–get this–actually made it to church with five minutes to spare. When you consider how my m.o. on the Sabbath typically calls for showing up 15, 20 minutes late, if at all, and then leaving 10 minutes early, an on-time arrival was a great personal coup.

I’m still not a regular attendee, make no mistake, nor will you find a testimonial from me on a church website or a book jacket. My prior showing was two Sundays ago, and before that? I don’t think I can even express the gap in standard units of time. What I’m doing differently for this round is redefining my reason for going. Previously, attendance was based on any number of factors: perhaps friends would be there, or maybe I was intent on meeting new people, or there was the allure of the effort made.

None of these approaches were sustainable, clearly. The new tack I’m taking actually isn’t very new at all. It’s the narrative tradition, which has existed as long as we have. From cave drawings to movies to radio serials, anecdotes, and Netflix, there is something about narrative we find endlessly fascinating. That’s it. No motives beyond wanting to hear a story, and these last two trips haven’t disappointed, with gripping accounts doled in generous quantity. It’s unrealistic to expect this every time, of course, but for now, I’m hooked.