There is something about going to church.

I experienced this last night, in the middle of the week.  I knew there was an advent service being held.  Advent is not new to me, in fact, it comes up every year.  The songs, readings, and homilies all have a familiar theme, around the events leading up to the birth of Jesus Christ.

So, I was tempted to skip it.  After all, why go to a class if you already know the subject matter?  What more could I possibly learn, in a cognitive sense, about this event?

And, on the not going side…the service was only advertised to be 40 minutes long.  Not worth going out in 20 degree weather, and I had plenty of things to do at home.

After all the time and energy I spent on this internal dialogue, back and forth, it’s a wonder that I pushed through it all and walked through the church doors, feeling as frigid within as the outside air temperature.

The service was all very much as I had pictured it would be.  An hymn from the dusty annals of the hymnbook, readings from the gospels, prayers, communion, and a short message from someone who – was obviously more passionate about his faith than I was.  It was not spectacular.  The lights were not even dimmed, adding that special atmosphere in the building.  It was almost too cold to take off my coat.

I wondered how ministers put on such a positive show at such services, and how they managed to stay smiling and appearing faith-filled whenever they stood and addressed the congregation.  What was really going on?

While I cannot describe anything outstanding about the 40 or so minutes I spent in the church,

I was still aware that it was good to go to church.

Because…

That mysterious intangible, transcendent spirit of God was there in that humble advent service.  In those short minutes, about which I could not point to anything external that inspired me, a presence, a warmth that flickered like the light of a candle, was there beyond everything I could describe.  It touched my heart and made me glad that I had – once again – connected with the humble, imperfect, body of Christ.

Supernatural mysteries are hard to explain.