An invitation back to the pew

I went to church on Pentecost morning with a heavy heart, and I just couldn’t make sense of why. But at a certain point during service, I was reminded of a conflict I’d had with another Christian a couple years ago. I didn’t realize until this moment the extent of wounding their actions and the circumstances that surrounded them had on me.

I realize now how unhealed those wounds were because of how ready I was to recount those circumstances to literally anyone, and in a way that was neither cathartic nor edifying. And since those opportunities to share never presented themselves, the problem that really needed a solution wasn’t the dispensing of my hurt but the disposition of my heart.

And in church, on Pentecost Sunday morning, I saw that person who’d initiated this internal conflict. The Holy Spirit highlighted that grudge I’d been carrying, and he asked me to release it.

Before I tell you how that went, let me tell you why it matters that this happened on Pentecost:

50 days after the resurrection of Jesus, the Holy Spirit descended upon Christians who had gathered from all over the world in a room in Jerusalem. He descended not to unite them but because they were already united by God’s love, the gospel. The Holy Spirit made his home in that unity. Just as he makes his home in the heart and mind of every Christian who is united to God through their profession of faith in him.

But there is inevitable disunity from God that comes from being human. Our falls, big and small, are inevitable. And they create a tension in our oneness with God and with one another. And the Holy Spirit works to mend the tension.

So that Pentecost morning, in the middle of a congregational prayer that didn’t really have anything to do with wounding and forgiveness (or Pentecost, to be honest), I released the hold that my bitterness about this conflict had over my spirit. I’d held the loving image of this person hostage in exchange for their contrition. An act completely antithetical to the gospel. It needed to go. And by the power of the Holy Spirit, so it went. And my spirit felt… lifted.

If I had decided not to physically go to church on Sunday, I don’t know that I would have experienced this remedying moment. God would find a way to heal the wound. But how unhelpful would it be if I kept avoiding a significant remedy to the damage that grudge was causing to my spirit?

Interestingly enough, leading up to this moment, for weeks, I pondered how I could encourage people to physically go back to church, especially for Pentecost Sunday, and as I write this, on the heels of a massacre that killed 50 faithful churchgoers in Nigeria. “What on earth can I say that’s universal but not insensitive?” To which God replied: “How about a testimony? Yours.”

I don’t think a single follower of Christ could have known what was going to happen when they gathered that first Pentecost morning. Just count the number of times the word “wonder” and its synonyms were used to describe the moment. The Holy Spirit moved in an unforgettable way that further edified the faith of everyone there.

We think we know exactly what we stand to gain or lose by attending a church service. And maybe 9 times out of 10, we prove ourselves right. So 9 times out of 10, we’re selling ourselves short. Because that one other time could be our moment of wonder. Our personal Pentecost. God can use our presence (or someone else’s) to change our lives (or theirs) in ways beyond our orchestration or understanding.

I could opine countless legitimate reasons why physically attending church just won’t work for everyone. But they do not negate that when we are able to gather in faith, God moves in wonder. Our presence is a surrender to God’s will in a way that does not work when we’re actively dismembered from the body of believers by way of our living room couch.

Maybe in the future I’ll dissect those reasons behind the great resignation of churchgoers, but for the purposes of this post, if you’ve been waiting for a sign to return to the pew, this is your invitation.

In love and veritas,

Chioma