Summit Park

Yesterday, I attended my first church service since Easter of a year earlier.  I was raised in the church, so to speak, though I do not recall my parents ever holding membership anywhere at anytime.  Naturally, as a child, I would never have been privy to such information; though, reflecting back, it seems my family was never really locked into any one particular congregation for any length of time.  I remember no church members who were non-family.  All I recall is everyone in my family believed.

As I do, today, at this very moment.

I believe the words in the Bible are God's Word, and they are true - which begs the question: Why was yesterday the first appearance of myself, in any church service, for more than a year and a half?  The question is one I hope I can answer, over the succeeding weeks and months, as I intend posting comments that reflect upon continued attendance at the various churches I find.

For the first of these dates, yesterday, I began with a congregation known as Summit Park Church, the South Campus.  My reasoning behind this particular facility stems from its contemporary/casual nature.  It is a come-as-you-are atmosphere, which creates an ease when awakening on a Sunday morning.  While I still retain the belief one should always look one's best in a setting intent on worshipping God, the pressure to appear better than one is capable being non-existent was a tremendous draw in moving me back into a church setting.   I own no three-piece suit with fancy tie and shiny black shoes to show off to a congregation of soul's unimpressed; so why should I conceive of such a look as the only look acceptable to God Almighty?

The ease of come-as-you-are makes the return that much more promising.

The first service of the day was for nine o'clock.  I arrived shortly after eight-thirty, surprised by the lack of cars the parking lot supported.  It was an ease to find a quick spot to park, especially with the attendants directing my movements to the available spot.  I was delighted, upon exiting my car, at the number of greetings tossed my way - sincere, heartfelt greetings to the day I never once saw as contrived.  When these people wished me a good morning, they met it; and I responded in kind, meaning for them to have the same.

Once inside the door, my eyes bandied about, absorbing the spareness of the interior, scanning the foyer for any clues as to where I was to go next, what I was to do.  Everyone was dressed in the casual attire I expected.  Some carried paper cups I presumed could be found with coffee.  There were pastries available in small quantities.  When I spied the restrooms, I knew there laid my next stop, followed by a cup of coffee for myself, and wait for whatever would take place next.

My wait was not long.  When I saw people open the doors to the auditorium (this was the word over the door, though from all my prior church experience the room where worship was led was the sanctuary), I stepped inside to search out a seat.  A pleasant woman was there who greeted me, and I opted for a chair on the far right side of the building.

The first thought to strike me, after sitting there for a short while, was why was the room so dark.  The ceiling was black.  The walls were a mixture of grey and black.  The carpet was a navy blue.  The chair people were sitting in were black.  Why?  Such was my experience from practically all contemporary churches I visited.  The interior for all the church sanctuaries were dark; the lights were always dim; and I sat there, gazing about at where I was, wondering why.

When the service began, the musicians came out with three guitarists, a drummer and four singers.  The lighting shifted entirely to the stage, which was black also, and included various strobe lights which would shine on the stage and flash through audience.  With the music reverberating on a level which could only be classified as loud, I had to wonder if I was at a concert setting or at church.  Why was it so loud?  All contemporary church services are always loud.  Why?  How can one sing along to the music, when the music is so loud one cannot even hear one's own voice?  The previous day I was so blessed by an afternoon of music at home, where one song after the next, proclaimed honestly and earnestly the truth I accepted from God's Word, the Bible, in the language of the everyman.  I could sing along with the music I heard in my home environment and rejoice happily in the truth I thoroughly embraced.  The music I heard here, at this particular church, I could not sing along to, though the lyrics were broadcast across a screen.  It was too loud, and the phrasing of the lyrics was awkward.  It was  as if the same stock, cliched Christian phrases I knew from all my previous church experiences was in play.  There rested no substance behind the words being sung, though the words being sung were indeed true.

Following the music, the obligatory pastor makes his presence known, with further cliched Christianisms, as well as church announcements, before a couple church videos are played, which lead directly into the sermon.  I was surprised, a bit, at the sermon being broadcast from the other church, the North Campus main church; but after leaving that thought to the side, I sat relaxed and listened to what this pastor was preaching.  All in all, it was a rather solid sermon, though I must confess my weariness set in and I dozed briefly, which could either of been a result of the pastor's sermon or the darkened interior of the room in which I sat.  I suspect the latter.

Whatever I though would take place in my attending of this service, I really can't say.  I don't know.  It was a typical church experience.  It wasn't being ushered into the presence of God Almighty.  It wasn't being touched by the hands of Jesus.  It wasn't finding strength to fight the battles for the week ahead.  It was just church.  I have to wonder whether that's all there is anymore...