It's Hard to Go to Church

Growing up, it was always easy to make it to church on Sunday morning. Dad was a Sunday School teacher and Mom was the church pianist, so skipping was never really an option for our family. Sleeping in on a Sunday morning was akin to skipping school on Monday—somewhere in the recesses of my mind I knew I could try it, but for a host of reasons it wasn’t really a viable option. What’s more, most Sundays I didn’t want to stay home—having grown up in the same church for most of my life, I loved my church family and they loved me. These were my people, my spiritual aunts and uncles and grandparents and best friends, and seeing them every week was a joy. If I had to dress up for the occasion, that was a small price to pay.

When I went to college, it was still easy to go to church, for entirely different reasons. Now every Sunday was an adventure—instead of being surrounded by people who’d known me since I was a 1^st grader, now I had the chance to blend in and start from scratch. And since Lindsey I were already dating when we went to Baylor, I didn’t have to walk through the doors of an unfamiliar church alone or endure any of the awkward introductions and reintroductions by myself, nor was I solo for lunch afterwards.

And when I was eventually called to be youth minister at Shiloh (and a year later, pastor), it was still easy to come to church. Sundays were my time to shine, to impart all the vast wisdom of my 21 years to a small group of bleary-eyed teenagers (and later to a larger group of patient adults), and to learn week by week how to be a professional minister.

So for nearly 30 years of my life, I failed to understand why so many Christians skipped church on Sundays. Why would they want to miss out on this? It’s a time commitment, sure, but it’s just one morning! It means you can’t sleep in on Sunday, but isn’t that true for 5 other days of the week? With more than a trace of self-righteousness in my questioning, I failed to comprehend why other people weren’t as faithful of attendees as I was.

But now, as I walk through a new stage of life—no longer a newlywed, no longer new to my church or my position, now a father to a toddler—I’m finding that, on a typical Sunday morning, it is hard to go to church.

That’s no reflection on my church family, to be clear. They’re as welcoming as they’ve always been; they adore my wife and my son and they graciously tolerate me. It’s no reflection on my calling either—I love my church dearly and love being their pastor. But logistically, it’s hard to go to church these days.

Going to church for us means scrambling from the time Andrew wakes up to the time we walk—or run—out the door. It means making sure all my ducks are in a row before he’s out of his crib, since he’ll need near-constant attention after that. It means making sure his breakfast starts no later than 45 minutes before we need to leave so that we’ll have time to clean him up and get him dressed. It means finding three dressy outfits that fit, one for each of us, and coordinating them if possible. It means packing a bag full of toys and books so that he’ll stay quiet and occupied during worship. It means getting a crockpot meal ready to go so that when we get home we won’t have to listen to him scream for food while we cook.

For me, it means teaching a Sunday School lesson, remembering all the announcements I need to communicate to the church (some of which are handed to me that morning), corralling several energetic toddlers while attempting to give a children’s sermon, preaching for half an hour, and then smiling by the back door, trying not to look too exhausted as I say goodbye to the congregation one by one. All those responsibilities on my plate mean that Lindsey is basically a single mom for the 2 hours we’re at church every Sunday—her primary focus for that time is keeping Andrew occupied and quiet during Sunday School, then occupied and quiet and still during the worship service. And amidst all of this, we’re supposed to find the time and the energy and the focus to worship meaningfully. Preferably with a smile.

I say all this not because I want pity or even help. I say it because I am learning, week by week, that for a lot of people—maybe even most people—it is not easy to go to church on Sunday.

For some people, it’s hard for the same reasons it’s hard for us—it takes so much preparation and so much effort to get a big family somewhere on time, much less somewhere where you’re expected to dress up and be “on.” For others, it’s hard because, after Little League games and family commitments and yard work and school projects, Sunday is the only true day of rest you have.

For still others, the church carries with it a dark cloud of bad memories and old pains, of hurt feelings and frayed relationships. For more still, the sanctuary is not a place that you leave feeling the warm embrace of grace, but the sharp sting of guilt, assured that you should be doing more and doing better.

For these reasons and more, going to church is hard for a lot of folks. And if the church is going to be a community devoted to the gospel of Jesus Christ, to proclaiming good news and binding up the brokenhearted, we need to remember and honor those folks every time we gather. When we see our brothers and sisters in faith, we need to truly and meaningfully appreciate their presence, to make them feel welcome instead of taken for granted. When we notice someone’s absence, we need to give them grace instead of a teasing comment the next time we see them.

Most of all, we need to ensure that worship is a time when God is glorified in a powerful, meaningful way and when His people are spiritually fed. Simply going through the motions does a disservice to those who have overcome hassles, obstacles, and insecurities to walk through the door, to say nothing of doing a disservice to God Himself. Our people and our Lord deserve better; they deserve all the body of Christ has to give.

Going to church is hard, but I truly believe God’s people can make it easier. It doesn’t take a new program or a large financial commitment or a new staff hire. All takes is a group of people committed to showing uncommon, intentional, Christlike grace. Which, when you stop and think about it, sounds an awful lot like a church.