Skipping Church

I am not going to church today.

I have, for the most part, been faithful lately.  

But this morning, the prospect of laundry and homework is more compelling than a religious service.  And there are recipes I want to try, some TV shows to catch up on, and for sure I could use some exercise.  I am claiming the three and half church hours for myself.

Why does this feel so naughty?  Though I was raised with the concept, my experience of the sacred has never included a Discliplinarian God with Calendar in Lap and Pen in Hand keeping track of weekly church attendance.  

One result of Molly's death is that I have claimed that part of me that longs for God.  And I have come to understand, in ways that I may never have grasped before, that our lives exist within a single, unextinguishable force. 

Church, for me, is gathering with others to honor, explore and commit to our eternal connections one to another.    Church is not replaced by sitting at home thinking good and affirming thoughts; the gathering itself makes the entire point.

But today, I am in my ratty blue jeans at my computer.  My existence, with all others,  within an eternal entity, is central to who I am.   Still,  my life as a temporal individual also needs some tending to and, for me,  there is nothing naughty in that.