I confess: I am 20 years old and my favorite part of the weekend is going to church on Sunday mornings. I’m sure I lost about 50 percent of readers with the title of this column and another 25 percent with my first sentence, but whether or not you believe in God, I think there is something magnificent to be learned from the church community.
On Sunday morning during Thanksgiving break, I was exhausted and I just wanted to get back to school so I could start studying. I reluctantly drove to church and pulled into the parking lot, waiting in my car for a few minutes to kill time. Finally, I dragged myself out and started walking toward the door, catching up to the woman walking in front of me. Normally, I would just slide by and not say a word, but before I knew it, I found myself speaking.
“Hi! How are you?”
She turned and looked at me, surprised I was talking to her. “I’m fine. Thank you so much for asking.”
“There are so many people here this Sunday! I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many cars.”
“Really? This is actually my first time coming.”
“Oh my goodness, it’s so wonderful. I go to U.Va., but whenever I’m home, I make sure to come. You will love it.”
We continued to talk about the pastor, where we are from and our previous church experiences as we made our way through the parking lot. Once we were inside, I directed her to the bathroom and then headed on my way, greeted by both old and new faces, hugs and hellos. After the service, I left the church full of life and joy, overwhelmed by the love and community contained within those four walls.
Beliefs and convictions aside, I have yet to find such an abundance of genuine grace and compassion elsewhere. It’s easy to feel great when I leave church on Sundays. I can’t help but hold the door for a stranger or smile as I walk through the aisles of the grocery store. But as the week continues, my gratitude and graciousness inevitably fade. I fall back into old patterns, like walking to class with my head down and holding the door open but not looking the person behind me in the eyes.
I’m not entirely sure why this happens, but I do know the church community seems to heighten my awareness of others — driving me to love and care more deeply than in other areas of my life. I know I wouldn’t have spoken with that woman had I been in the parking lot of Target or Kroger.
Back at school, I am reminded of how often I run from place to place, entirely unaware of the beautiful people surrounding me, each of them with a unique story to tell.
The truth is, the church community is not confined to four walls and is it not limited to those with a particular set of beliefs. It is always around us, always present in our lives as a faithful refuge of hope, love and compassion, always waiting for us whenever we are ready to engage.
Peyton’s column runs biweekly Wednesdays. She can be reached at p.williams@cavalierdaily.com.
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