All discipline for the moment seems not to be joyful, but sorrowful; yet to those who have been trained by it, afterwards it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness. —Hebrews 12:11 (nas)
I truly get what David Murrow talks about in his book Why Men Hate Going to Church. I don’t exactly hate church, but it’s more of a discipline than a delight.
For one thing, I am terribly restless. In church, I feel like a racehorse confined to a broom closet. I need to move! Sitting on a hard chair for an hour of Sunday school and an hour of worship stretches me to the edge of sanity. And when I am forced to be very quiet, I become overly aware of my minor maladies. My acid reflux begins to burn like a blowtorch. The floaters in my eyes turn into thunderclouds. The allergy tickle in my throat becomes a raging itch, and I cough uncontrollably until my wife pokes me. “Sh, people are staring at us.”
Last, I am an introvert. Crowds of people make me as nervous as a duck in a gun shop, and I get claustrophobic with people sitting on all sides of me. I’ve never found a way to make church easier. It’s a discipline, like going to the doctor.
What brings me back each Sunday is the payoff. I feel less lonely for having seen all my fellow strugglers in the same place, looking for help. I make better decisions at work because my conscience has been sharpened by good preaching. And when I walk out the front door of the church, I feel fifty pounds lighter because I have left my sins in the hands of a merciful God.
It’s worth the discomfort, I think.
Lord, You are the Great Physician. I don’t like going to doctors and I chafe at going to church, but I thank You for the healing I experience every Sunday.
Written by Daniel Schantz
Digging Deeper: Mt 9:9–13
