This past Sunday, I attended Alfred Street Baptist Church in Old Town Alexandria, VA. While I am not a member of Alfred Street, I have several friends who attend and, over the years, they've invited me to come and worship with them. As I walked up the front steps of the church, a smiling young woman opened the door for me, and the wondrous cold smack of air conditioning hit me square in the face as I entered the church lobby. The sanctuary was just beyond it - a wood paneled A-frame - packed with worshipers and dotted along the middle and side aisles that ran the length of the church an army of ushers, all women and clad in all-white, their gloved hands directing traffic into the pews with precision and grace.
As I took my seat, I noted the music filling every inch of air around me. Up front, behind the altar, stood the choir, in robes of midnight blue with gold piping, singing the songs of my youth - old, steady gospel hymns. Anchored above were two large screens which scrolled the words of the songs, which was great if your memory needed a gentle reminder, and even better if you wanted to clap your hands and sing, and when they got to "It's a Highway to Heaven", I was up on my feet, tears in my eyes, remembering how my father had loved this song and missing him so very much. I had come home, to a spiritual place that I had been longing to see.
It's amazing how easily your spiritual life can go stagnant. I mean, I'm an active church member and a seminary graduate, so I should be in top spiritual shape! But, seminary was 20 years ago, and keeping spiritually fit isn't easy when work and family, and all of the highs and lows of church life intervene. This blog will focus on how we struggle with faith and religion, and our individual quests to find our spiritual home. So let's begin.
