Bailing out of church? Or just bailing out tonight?

[This was originally posted here on July 29, 2012]

            So - - - today I didn’t go to church in the usual place.  Our congregation is tied to a “daughter” congregation about 40 miles away, I have some duties there next week, so I went this week also to get the feel of the place, meet people, etc.

            But our church also had an evening event tonight, which meant I could still keep in contact with our people.  I didn’t go.  Watching a movie I have only seen twice before seemed more interesting.

            Who cares?  What difference does it all really make, anyway?  If the place can’t hold together without me, then what good is it?  On the other hand, if it doesn’t need me, then why bother?  Interesting dilemma.  Not that many of them know the difference between a problem generically and a dilemma specifically, anyway.  And if that gives you, gentle Reader, some hint that your writer is (specifically) irritable and tired, as well as (generally) pedantic and arrogant, then your wits are working.  Such as they are.

            If I had a real job that paid an actual living, then I would be heavily tempted to invest myself there and find some kind of escape with illusions of productivity and accomplishment. If not that, then diversion, at least.

            But no.  I had to go and dabble in something that has real meaning.  Not that I can assemble even the illusion, much less the reality, of productivity and accomplishment there.  So church in the morning is followed by a nap in the afternoon, and then the evening brings a choice between putting on a happy face and being nice to people at an event that accomplishes little or nothing and gets us negligibly closer, if at all, to some semblance of real community—or watching a movie by myself.  None of this seems to be working, and I don’t want to try any more.

            But then tomorrow and next week will overtake us all, a different balance of endorphins, serotonin, and other neurotransmitters will kick in, and my faulty perceptions may more closely relay to my befuddled mind the reality that I am, in fact, connected to those people I avoided tonight.  I may even remember that they love me (God help them), and on a good day I may have some dim inkling of how to love them back.  Jesus does intervene sometimes.

            But tonight the inklings are not working, and a light supper with some Tinto Garnacha on the side is less troubling.