A Sunday Morning Kind of Thing

It's the middle of the morning. It's cold outside, but so far there is no snow. I have a cup of the pear-and-ginger herbal tea that my brother-in-law distributes in a large mug in front of me. In the kitchen, the ingredients of today's chicken corn soup are chopped and in bowls in the refrigerator.

I should be in church right now. I'm not saying that because I feel that it is the right thing for people to do; I'm saying it because it is the right thing for me to do. I feel a real need to be part of a community of faith, a community that reaches into the past and extends into the future. In other words, I prefer a church that cherishes its traditions, focuses on the present, and embraces what is to come.

I've tried going to church over the past two years. My wife and I started going to a little Anglican church in the country that was founded back in 1847. I figured it would be nice to be involved with a church that had a sense of community and a sense of the past. Unfortunately, it was just my luck to pick an Anglican parish whose incumbent has nothing but contempt for tradition.

I realize that absenting myself from church is a poor approach to dealing with my spiritual life, but I must admit that I never feel so close to the Devil as I do when I am attending services at this particular church. My wife still attends, though, so I spend my Sunday mornings sipping herbal tea and listening to Mahalia Jackson, Faure's Requiem, and Gregorian chants.