It’s been just shy of two years since I went to church to worship on a Sunday. It’s been seven years since I read the Bible. Both of those are astonishing to me. My Stone Edition Tanach and New Testament sit unread near my desk. Their silence and apparent lack of concern for whether or not I ever read them again intrigues me.
But back to church. I have not gone in two years, and I have no plans to attend regularly again. However, Sunday is Easter and I have a desire to attend a worship service. So I’m going to an Orthodox Church in my town for their Easter vigil, running from 11pm Saturday until about 3am Sunday. I will sit with the people and meditate and listen as they observe one of the most complex and traditional rituals in all of Christendom. C’mon, it’s the Orthodox Church. Nobody takes this stuff more seriously than they do. Also it’s about as far away from the evangelical world of my past as you can get, and that comforts me for reasons I don’t fully understand.
I don’t know why I’m going. I feel a strong leading in that direction. I have no expectation of what might happen. Nothing might happen. Or something. I don’t know. I feel I should go. I’m going. That’s all.
Back into the belly of the beast.
