I love coming to church. I really do. The music is great. The sanctuary is beautiful. The environment is warm and accepting. The people are gracious and embracing. And, on top of all that, there’s the food! I mean, talk about win/win.

In all seriousness, I’ve always loved going to church. I grew up in a home where both parents taught Sunday School. My Dad served in virtually every elected capacity in the life of the congregation. He was also what’s called a “Certified Lay Speaker.” In Methodism, those are the women or men who go out to small churches that have no staff and speak on Sunday mornings when their preacher has vacation or the flu. When we were not going to those places, we were always in the third pew on the left at First Methodist Church in Asheboro, NC. Sunday nights, I went to Youth. Wednesday nights we went the Mid-Week Worship. My parents had a rule when I was a kid: If I were too sick to be at church on Sunday morning, I was too sick to do anything else enjoyable the rest of the day.

Our house was on the same street as the parsonage. My Mom was a great cook, so the Minister frequently seemed to materialize about dinner time. I kid you not. We even had one preacher who would come by every Sunday night, ask my Mom for pound cake and ice cream with a splash of chocolate sauce, and then would make both my parents promise not to tell his health-conscious wife. Then he would sit with my Dad and discuss church issues, visions, and dreams. I would sit in a corner pretending to do homework but instead eavesdropping on a conversation that seemed to have one foot in Heaven. I loved church. I still do.

I especially love Marble Church. I hope the members here never become so used to this place that they fail to notice how special and blessed it is. This is the most diverse, spiritual, embracing, open, praise-filled, thoughtful, compassionate place I know. When our Gospel Choir sang in Detroit, one of the judges said of them: “You are what Heaven will look like!” I knew exactly what he meant. I can make it through almost any kind of week as long as I know I can be in this place on Sunday.

Recently a man seated next to me on the subway said: “I don’t need to go to church to be a Christian. In fact, I think I am a better Christian without it.” I was two stops away from getting off the train. There wasn’t time for a debate. I just told him where Marble is and asked him to give us a try, suggesting that maybe our church would change his mind a bit. Had we had time, I would have asked him what it feels like to be alone in a city of eight million people... what it feels like to have no group outside of work who misses you when you aren’t there, or who knows your story, or who even cares to know it... or, what it feels like to see so many needs in the world but have no real vehicle to address them, thus always sensing that you are unable to make a dent against hunger or evil.

I didn’t have time to tell him about stirring anthems that lift our souls into God’s presence... or the moments of Communion when as a family of Faith we invite Jesus to enter our lives, corporately and individually... or of the prayer times when we hear one voice enter into a sacred conversation with God on our behalf... or the sacramental moments when we hold a baby in the midst of God’s people, affirming at Baptism that this child is divinely created and we, as a congregation, promise to offer nurture and care... or the fellowship following Worship where we share hugs and tears and laughter and lunch and love.

Can I experience God outside of church? Of course. I do each and every day. But, there is still something about congregational life that touches, empowers, and inspires us as nothing else can. Something happens when we enter church that is a bit unlike anything else that takes place outside. As the song says, “there is a sweet, sweet spirit in this place,” and it fills and heals our spirits.

I didn’t have time to tell all that to the man on the subway. And even if I had, you can’t discover the power of church through what someone else says. It can only be felt through presence... our presence in a place where God is mysteriously but undeniably present for us.

That is part of one’s Stewardship commitment: the promise of presence. I invite you to make that commitment this year – to be regularly and faithful present in church. And if you do, I promise you will soon sense a Sacred Presence that draws you into holy arms and whispers life and love.