Okay. I admit it. I’m a fair weather church goer.” Note, I did not say a fair weather believer. No, I am always there in spirit, and I am a certified prayer warrior. I just don’t attend church with any regularity. Perhaps I should have dubbed myself a stormy weather church goer. Because, that is when I find myself on the kneeler. Disclaimer: I was raised to attend church, and usually went to Presbyterian Sunday School as a child. I later converted to Catholicism, and always fulfilled my Sunday obligation. When I had an intact family, we were there – every Sunday, regardless of how squirmy the kids tried to be.
It has been the past decade (or so) I began my freelance worship.
Ouch – for a person who resists the face-to-face confession, preferring to hide behind the screen, that was quite a public admission.
Digression and disclaimer over. Recently, I heard a voice ask: “So, how’s that freelance worship thing workin’ for ya?” I’m pretty sure it was Dr. Phil – not Jesus. Because, Jesus isn’t a smarta**.
And so, life led me back to the altar today – to the church I joined in 1968 when I converted. I knelt and prayed before the image of the glorified Christ. Many times over the years, I have knelt here, and prayed. That first year of joining the Church, my brother was stationed in Vietnam. So, every Sunday meant gazing at this Cross, praying for my brother’s safe homecoming. Those prayers were answered, and I thank Him to this day.
Over the years, that’s where I find myself (especially in times of need) – kneeling, gazing intently at the foot of the cross – peering up into that elevated countenance, trying to see His eyes – seeking some kind of sign- as if He will look right at me, wink, and say, “It’s okay. I’ve got this.”