A Rare First Time: Alibis and justifications

There are so few times in my life when I have gone to a church as a first-time guest. I was turning seventeen the very first time I went to a church worship service. I still remember that feeling of entering a world utterly alien to me.

I sat next to Dawn Brown, who recognised me for having been to the same high school. A warm, friendly welcome from her put me at ease. People were casually dressed, a band was on the stage, and someone was speaking who was interesting. And then another first for me took place. As I let my guard down, my heart engaged. I heard about Jesus, and my life changed forever.

I have been living in my new house for four days, surrounded by many boxes to unpack and many things to do. My subconscious whispered to me. Take this Sunday off. You have so much to do, and no one will miss you today or for a few weeks. You are tired, you won't know anyone, and meeting new people will be hard work. Wait until you are settled and have the energy for church.

After decades of worshipping every Sunday, there it was - the lure of doing something else with easy-to-justify alibis.

This is a new year and it is the first time I have moved house in almost 26 years. It took a moment to become conscious and rise above my subconscious dispositions. I want my memories of this time not to be of being sequestered, unpacking, and finding comfort in private leisure. I want to make memories of being engaged with God and his people.

So we decided to visit the Emmaus congregation nearest us, in Aldershot. I observed myself closely, interested in how I would navigate this first-time moment.

The homesickness from leaving a church, friends, family and role has me on edge. My inner critic is looking at signage, and the order of the service, comparing it to my preferences. Clear parking directions - good. Then into the hall, with a friendly welcome. That's nice. Tea and real coffee. Someone I knew from work—a hug to settle the feeling of being in a room of strangers. Events to sign up for - the men's curry night looks enticing. The familiar made strange in a new place and new people.

I go through the motions, stand, sit, sing, and listen. The known rhythms of worship lull me amid the disjunction of newness. Then something happens. I am no longer singing a song; I am worshipping. A chorus unfamiliar to me suddenly comes alive, "I'm not here for blessings, Jesus, you don't owe me anything. More than anything that you can do, I just want you".

I can hear the vision and mission now of this place, like blood swooshing in my ears - a thrumming under the skin of the service, of blood flow oxygenating a body. This is not a service anymore; it is Christ, his people gathered, with him incarnate.

After the service, I feel my natural introversion trying to reassert itself, wanting me to move out of the room and get home. But I stay. I know the other side of this inner barrier is something extraordinary - Kingdom.

I spoke with some of the people who had smiled a welcome at me. Closing the distance between my tired muted soul and the Jesus I sense is here.

I leave no longer a first-time guest but someone who will be recognised, and knowing a few people by name. And most of all, I have a memory of my first weekend in my new home, of meeting Jesus with some of his people. He is my home. I am home.