It’s Sunday morning and your alarm clock is set, so you’ll get to church on time — but you ignore it and fall back asleep.
Later, you devise what seem like good reasons for skipping services.
You’re working hard during the week and you crave sleep, plus the lawn desperately needs mowing. Besides, you can stay home and read your Bible, and needn’t bother with church.
These familiar excuses are applauded by the church demon, who loves emptying the pews.
The demon whispers that you’re a nice person, who doesn’t need sermons about Christian love.
After all, you remember people’s birthdays, feed the birds and use reusable bags at the grocery store.
He doesn’t mention the sacrificial aspect of Christ’s love, which goes beyond being nice.
This love means denying ourselves luxuries to help faraway neighbors who are frightened and in danger — such as persecuted Christians in the Middle East.
The newspapers rarely report on their predicaments, but a good preacher will update the congregation on their suffering.
After his conversion, C.S. Lewis decided to be a solitary Christian, turning his back on church attendance, until he recognized the humbling value of worshiping in community — where we encounter folks of every size, shape and color, plus some who get on our nerves.
In “The Screwtape Letters,” a series of fictional missives between two devils vying for a man’s soul, Lewis describes such annoying people as singing out of tune, wearing shoes that squeak and dressing bizarrely.
Worse yet, there are the hypocrites, who hurry to church on Sunday, but exhibit a whole spectrum of sins during the week.
These folks can sour us on Christianity, unless we admit that we, too, have maddening habits — and are sinners.
Worshiping in community keeps us current on who’s bouncing a new baby on her knee — and who’s facing an operation, and needs meals and prayers.
Ah, but the demon will counter such thinking by saying you’re spiritual, not religious, so you don’t need a church.
This, however, is a false dichotomy, since religious people are also spiritual — because religion deals with God, angels, heaven and hell, which are — what else? — spiritual.
Jesus himself was religious, which is why he established a church and promised, “The gates of hell will not prevail against it.”
Even if we overcome the demon’s temptations and head to church, he has more tricks in his bag to discourage us.
“The devil is most active at the foot of the altar” is an old saying, which means he’ll whisper that the sermons are dreary, the toddlers are distracting and the after-service coffee is watery.
You may find yourself shopping for the perfect parish, which caters to your taste in preaching — and where folks sip lattes in the church hall.
But let’s face it: The chance of one congregation meeting our criteria is incredibly small, so many people stay home, rather than settling for second best.
The church demon got to me during Holy Week this year, when I didn’t attend services on Holy Thursday and Good Friday, because I longed for flawless liturgy, and figured it wouldn’t happen.
As Lewis writes, “Surely you know that if a man can’t be cured of churchgoing, the next best thing is to send him all over the neighborhood looking for the church that ‘suits’ him.”
It can be difficult waking early on Sunday and heading to a service that sometimes doesn’t uplift or edify us.
But following Christ means denying ourselves, loving folks despite their flaws and glimpsing God in them. It also means telling the demons to return to hell.
About the Author
