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On the way home from church tonight David was in the back seat singing a song he made up:
Oh, you better love Jesus
You better love Jesus
Oh, you better love Je-suuuuuuus
Or you’ll go to hell!
There is some good theology in there, but not sure he really has a future as a worship song writer.
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Seriously, what is it about going to church on Sunday morning that causes us to act so ungodly?
I mean how many marriages have nearly ended because, “We should have left 10 minutes ago! It’s your fault if we don’t have time to stop by the coffee bar in the foyer now!”
“Just a minute I have to change my t-shirt! (Yep. T-shirt. Perfectly acceptable Sunday morning attire these days. There was a time that would have sent you directly to you know where, do not pass the offering plate on your way down.) I got toothpaste on it. And as I recall it was your fault last week that we were late because you couldn’t remember where you left your Bible. Maybe if you read it more often you’d know where it was!”
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I would read it more often if you didn’t take up all my free time with your list of chores.”
“Someone needs to go to the Dealing with Anger class today.”
“Someone needs to read Ephesians Chapter 5.”
Hang that blasted church coffee bar. Many a time we’ve missed the Call to Worship because we were standing in line waiting for our cafe mochas. I mean, come on, it’s for a good cause. The funds go to the youth mission team for building houses in Guatemala. (Have you seen those kids? They’re nice enough, but I don’t know if I trust them with nail guns and concrete forms.)
And surely the Lord understands the need for caffeine to keep our eyes open during the 25 minutes of announcements that follow the Call to Worship.
Ah, worship time. We like worship time as long as we don’t have to sing more than three songs and the choir number doesn’t go too long. Hopefully the special music will be entertaining, something from this century. Oh, no! Not a hymn.
The sermon, well that’s just sort of a necessary evil. Maybe the pastor will crack a few jokes. He’s usually good for a chuckle. It’s Communion Sunday? Man, that always drags it out!
By the time the pastor finally gets to the the closing prayer — don’t call him Reverend. Too Stuffy– we’re packing up our Styrofoam cups and study Bibles so we can make a B-line for the children’s wing to gather our young, carefully avoiding the door where people who apparently had time to eat breakfast before church and aren’t famished are fellowshipping.
There’s no time for chit-chat.
After all, we have to get in line at Applebees before the Methodists across the street get there.
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