Why Do You Go To Church Here?

The pews at Trinity, Apalachicola have been in the nave since about 1838. Originally with gates, they were designed for keeping worshipers awake, not for making them comfortable. And some of the seats have three boards, some have four, thus the discomfort varies. No matter though, because anyone wanting a more expansive pew for a more expansive posterior could always move to another pew -- the only risk being settling into a pew with wider cracks between the seat boards, cracks that stretch open as the worshiper settles in, then as the worshiper adjusts position, may close on the aforementioned posterior. It would be a lie to insist that it has never happened.

During my time as the Vicar, 1984-1998, one parishioner came to my office one weekday morning with a request. His pew was one with only three boards in the seat: could a fourth board be added to his pew seat to make sitting more comfortable? I said, “Frank (maybe his real name, maybe not), Frank, there are plenty of empty pews on Sunday morning, just find one with four boards in the seat and move.” To which “Frank” said, “I can’t do that. This was my mother’s pew.”

We each of us have reasons for what we do, whether we realize it or not. “Frank” knew why he went to Trinity Church. For one thing, his family name was on the historical marker out front. He even knew why he sat in a particular pew. Most folks probably are not so “established” in our ways or cognizant of our reasons. 

Twenty-first century ecclesiological consultants tell us that folks don’t go to church because the worship is so wonderful or the sermons so inspiring, but because of other people. Friends go there. There are appealing small groups. There are helpful and interesting programs. It’s big, noisy and friendly. It’s small and private. But also that many folks never pause to consider why a church appeals to them.

As a parish priest who has had to give thought to these things over the past three decades, my reasons are clear to me. The eight o’clock liturgy is old-time-beloved, the lifelong core of my spiritual being. At the ten-thirty service there are scores of children. They parade in and out. They come down front for a chat. They all want to carry the cross out. They beam with smiles when they get a treat, candy, cookies, ice cream (yep), a noise maker, an American flag, a gooey cupcake. One Sunday before school starts each year, they all bring their backpacks to church to be blessed. On the Third Sunday of Advent, just before Christmas, they all wear their pajamas to church and each child brings a brand new pair of PJs to be piled in front of the Altar, pajamas for children who don’t have any.

Sometimes they are invited to come stand round the Altar and celebrate the Eucharist with the Rector. It is loving and moving beyond words. 

“Frank” knew exactly why he went to his church and why he sat in the fourth pew back on the Epistle Side. There's no question in my mind why Holy Nativity is my church.

TW+