You don't know if you don't go

Originally Published in the South Jetty Newspaper

Sometimes when I wonder about the surf conditions right here in Port Aransas, I sit on my couch and pull up an app on my phone that offers me predictions. It may or may not motivate me to load up my board and paddle out. It may or may not be accurate. Sometimes I have planned a day around the prediction only to be disappointed, or hear the classic, "shoulda been here yesterday," from a friend who ignored the app. Other days I drop off my son at school and drive home by the beach looking for the best place to paddle out. I may judge the waves unworthy of my efforts, or too mushy to delay the start of my day. On the other hand, some of my best days that left me with a smile, have been the times I just threw my board in my truck, and drove down to paddle out. I may not even see anything catchable from the beach, yet, usually there are at least a couple of ankle biters out there. Some days when I paddle in from mediocre surf I've just had fun riding, someone is there on the beach looking out unable to see what joy I just experienced out there. 

This summer, a colleague and I put together a spiritual reflection booklet, and encouraged a summer camp staff to find a place in nature to go, sit still, read the reflections, and spend time with God. On the cover of the booklet was the phrase, "you don't know if you don't go." I showed up to meet with the staff part way through the summer, and I was so excited to hear the profound insights they had gleaned from their time in nature with God and the reflection booklets. I received blank stares, as none of them had read the booklet, nor gone out alone into God's good creation which surrounded the camp. I admit it was disappointing on an ego level. "What?" I asked myself, "...these young adults didn't want to read the writings of a couple of middle aged priests, and the texts that inspired them?" More than that, I was sorry they didn't, at least to that point, dare to go be with God away from work, technology, or other people. 

I feel the same way about church (not just my church, I mean any church or community of faith.)  Healthy churches gather people of different backgrounds and a variety of political perspectives to get over themselves for long enough to praise God together. Churches gather to hear wisdom of writers who wrestled with God, whose lives were transformed by the experience they had with God, and who sought to share the story so that others might know we too are loved, and can be on a journey of transformation with God. 

There are so many reasons not to go to church. There are apps that can keep us bound to the couch. We may even drive by a church and judge it unworthy of our effort to participate. If you don't want to do something for such selfish reasons as "needing to go to church," go for me, go for the community. Go for the other people in the pews who need to see you, hear your perspective, and who may need your support someday. Life deals heavy hurts, and having a community ready to work together toward healing makes God's presence so much more tangible. Participation in the life of a religious community can be like training for the loss that will eventually arrive. 

I always feel better after I paddle out. Even on those days the app says, "don't go." Or days my calendar says, "you're too busy." Or my ego says, "just stay home and relax." When I paddle out I always feel better, usually leave the water with a smile on my face. Church works on a deeper level. It is sometimes pure joy I leave with, but sometimes it is insight or meaning. Sometimes I leave uncomfortable, aware I am heading for change. Whatever it is, I leaving remembering, "You don't know, if you don't go."