Sunday Mornings

In one of Glenna Marshall's recent Instagram captions, I found myself inwardly saying, "yesss!" as she discussed the battle that wars within us as it pertains to making it to church on Sunday mornings. I've noticed that for many, it is so very easy to come up with an appropriate reason as to why they can't - or didn't - make it to church: not enough sleep Saturday night, relational tension, tired from the week, someone's scab was itchy. On and on.

"Attending church on Sunday is a Saturday decision," she said. My mind went back to childhood, and memories of Sunday preparation the day before. As an adult looking back, I have so much respect for my parents as I remember how they ironed our outfits, draped them over the upstairs balcony railing, and set four pairs of shoes and socks underneath them. I remember the practice of asking for forgiveness each Saturday night, with the purpose of going to the Lord's table unstained by broken relationships. I am struck now by both the practical and symbolic meaning of these seemingly small acts of preparation for worship. 

It has carried over into adulthood. Yes, I still think through my church outfit on Saturday. But the practice of Sabbath preparation has become increasingly meaningful.

A few years ago, I went through a season in which Sundays were heavy, discouraging days. It was almost as if the moment my eyes opened in the morning, a fog of despair would descend on me, hovering and clouding my vision until evening. This made going to church anything but joyful, anything but worshipful, anything but something to look forward to. I was overcome with dark feelings and emotions, often fighting back tears throughout the service, sometimes giving in and crying. To make things worse, it was also a season of profound loneliness; the kind that is only made more horrible by being in a room full of people that are, in biblical terms, "family." 

After a prolonged season of this, it dawned on me that there was some spiritual warfare going on. Of course Satan doesn't want me to want to go to church. Of course he wants me to be sad, lonely, defeated, depressed. Of course he will make my problems magnified and any and all good things in life all but disappear. How could I not have recognized this sooner? He will use anything to get our eyes off of the Lord. If he can't keep us from going to church, at least he will try to make us miserable and self-absorbed while we're there. 

I realized that just as he has his tactics, I needed to have mine. And they didn't start on Sunday morning. 

Sunday preparation took on a new meaning. Saturday became a day of prayer; prayer for not just physical readiness but emotional, mental, and spiritual. I started praying for strength to withstand discouragement, hope to overcome defeat, and comfort for the things that made me sad. I prayed for eyes that looked outward and for the ability and opportunity to encourage just one person at church. I prayed for self-forgetfulness. I prayed for emotional strength, for the ability to forget everything and worship God with my whole heart, mind, and strength. I prayed for Satan to leave me alone. I found strength as I recognized what he had been doing, and in knowing that God's power in my life would prevail. 

I won't lie to you and say that Sundays are always transcendental hours of sunshine and rainbows now. Sometimes, I find that I'm still lonely. Sometimes, I still come to church with the sorrow of the week clinging to me heavily. But God did hear my prayers, and He worked. He gave me eyes to see the importance of faithfulness to the body, of the kind of character that still shows up despite every excuse that could keep me home. He's given me eyes to see that it's not even about me, and that God is worthy of my worship no matter what is going on Monday through Saturday. 

The liturgy of Sabbath preparation is one that has greatly aided in having a mindset that staying home from church is not an option (barring sickness). I'm eternally (I think that word is appropriate here!) grateful for parents who put in the effort to get their family to church, week after week, year after year. It was not easy, and they easily could have stayed home. By being faithful to the body, they not only prioritized worship, but they taught me that the excuses I have for staying home are just that. 

As Marshall said, the blessings of weekly worship may not be realized after just one or two weeks. But God blesses faithfulness, and He sees the heart that seeks to obey and worship Him in spite of the difficulties of life or even the lukewarm spirit that doesn't really want to be there. If we believe in His power, then we must also believe that His power is present in worship, and that this means of grace is working for our good and His glory. We are invited every single week to meet with the King of the universe (!) and our eternal family, to do the one thing that matters for eternity - worship Him. I pray that myself and my universal Christian family gain an ever increasing awe for such a privilege, and that faithfulness to the local church becomes an essential cornerstone in each of our lives.