The Belief Fostered on Sundays

The Belief Fostered on Sundays

I love to write. It isn’t something I do as often as I would like, but when I get the opportunity, I typically lose myself in trying to find the perfect metaphor, a compelling turn of phrase, or a humorous anecdote.

While I enjoy writing, I never write poetry. The only poem I remember “crafting” was titled, “I only believe in God on Sundays.” This was written in college, so it was undoubtedly filled with over wrought poetic devices and no discernible rhythm. It was shoddy to say the least.

Over the last few months, the title of this objectively bad poem resurfaced in my mind. Not because the title of the poem is literally true for my present experiences. I mean, I wholeheartedly believe in each and every word of the creed we recite together on Sundays.

But, in the chaos of being an administrator at a school in its first year, in the time spent worrying about Community Group childcare and launching the Youth Ministry, in the constant pleas trying to convince Emily Kerr to ignore my shoulder injury and play me at shortstop on our church softball team, I sometimes walk (or more accurately, run around frantically as if a bee’s stinger is continually flirting with the back of my neck) through each day blind to the workings of God in, through, and around my life.

Honestly, this isn’t intentional; it is more a function of me learning a new normal, a new rhythm of life in my present season which looks unlike any other season.

The refrain — I only believe in God on Sundays — reverberating in my head is, yes, a call to pursue Christ explicitly the other 6 days of the week, but I actually think that is tertiary to its primary purpose.

Each Sunday when I am with you, the body of Christ made manifest at Restoration, my belief in God and our risen Lord swells. Each prayer we pray together, each peace sign flashed from across the room from me to you and you to me, each child who giggles at the most inopportune time, each act of confession stated and each absolution received, each unconscious step I take to the table — alongside you — cuts through the minutiae of my week to the heart of existence itself:

That in my belief in God fostered on Sundays with you, my Restoration family, I know — at a very guttural, visceral level — that I am His and He is mine. In spite of my sin and unconscious blindness to His grace, I am God’s beloved. A humbling truth I marvel at each and every week.

While I only believe in God on Sundays right now…

I am grateful that it is enough.