Part Five: When Going to Church Feels Hard — and Why I Went Anyway

Not the dramatic kind. Just the quiet, familiar voice that says, “You could stay home today.”
The couch sounded comfortable. The TV sounded easy. And honestly, the motivation to get dressed and go to church just wasn’t there.

What changed my mind wasn’t guilt — it was perspective.

I saw a post on Facebook about someone who stayed up until 4 a.m. at a Christmas party playing cards… then got up four hours later to get ready for church. And I remember thinking, If he can make that sacrifice on four hours of sleep, why can’t I go on eight?

That thought didn’t shame me.
It challenged me — gently.

So I got up.

Not Knowing Where You’re Going

As I walked out the door, I realized something else: I didn’t actually know where I was going.

That made me nervous.

I drove a couple of miles to one church and realized I was early — their service didn’t start until 11. I drove a little farther to another church that started at 10. When I arrived, people were walking out around 10:30, so I stopped and asked if church was over.

“No,” they said kindly. “He just started preaching. Go on in.”

That kindness mattered more than they probably realized.

When I walked in, preaching had already started, and I was immediately stopped at the door — by security.

“Can I help you?” the guard asked.

I replied instinctively, “Is church over?”

Before he could answer, a little girl standing nearby said something I’ll never forget:

“Church is never over.”

The security guard smiled and said, “Come right in. Let me show you the way.”

Beauty Without Perfection

The sanctuary was older, but it was beautiful.

Not sterile. Not plain.
There were flowers. Greenery. Banners. Color. Texture.

It didn’t feel flashy or modern — it felt inviting.

I wouldn’t call it inspiration exactly. It was more surreal — like walking into a space that had been loved for a long time. The preaching style was different than what I’m used to. The speakers were loud — not aggressive, just powerful — and I may not be accustomed to that intensity anymore.

I came in late, so I didn’t fully catch the theme, though he did read scripture.

It wasn’t bad.
It just wasn’t familiar.

I sat in the back. When service ended, I slipped out quietly. I wasn’t looking for attention or handshakes. As I walked out, a lady simply said, “Have a great day.”

That was enough.

Same Denomination, Different Worship

Something became very clear to me this morning:

Even churches with the same name on the sign don’t worship the same way.

You can put two Baptist churches side by side and their worship styles, preaching tones, service flow, and atmosphere can be completely different. And there is nothing wrong with that.

Different doesn’t mean incorrect.
Different doesn’t mean less faithful.

It just means… different.

And when you’re trying to find a church home, that matters.

Next Door, A Very Different Kind of Church

I left the first church around 10:50 and walked next door to a Missionary Baptist church whose service started at 11.

From the beginning, this service felt formal and intentional.

They didn’t ease into worship — they called the church to order. There was structure and reverence in how things began. Soft music played beforehand, and visuals were displayed on the screen — a thoughtful touch that set the tone.

Before the service fully got underway, a few people came by to welcome me. They shook my hand, introduced themselves, and thanked me for being there. It didn’t erase the nerves of being new, but it did help — and it mattered.

When the music began in earnest, it filled the room.

The music was good — very good — but it was loud.
Not chaotic. Not careless.
Just strong, full, and immersive.

This was a church that worshipped with its whole body.



When Being New Gets Uncomfortable

After announcements, the pastor asked visitors to stand and introduce themselves.

If you’ve ever been new in a small church, you understand that moment. Everyone knows who you are before you ever speak. Heads turn. Eyes focus. Silence stretches just long enough to feel it.

I stood.
I introduced myself.

It wasn’t hostile.
It wasn’t unkind.

But it was uncomfortable.

And that’s okay to admit.

A Preacher Who Sang the Sermon

Then came the preaching.

The preacher was good — undeniably good.

At one point, I looked away for just a moment. When I looked back up, he was lying across a pew, singing. Moments later, he was back on his feet — dancing, then shouting — not in anger, but in passion.

He didn’t just preach the sermon.

He sang it.
He shouted it.
He lived it.

And through all of that movement and intensity, he preached the Word.

Not something unfamiliar.
Not something distorted.

Scriptures I recognized.
Verses I had heard before.
Truths I understood.

He commented on passages I already knew — and that grounded me. It reminded me that even when the delivery is different, the foundation can still be solid.

This wasn’t my personal style of worship.

But it was sincere.

Leaving With Kindness

Toward the end of the service, the pastor made a lighthearted moment about the youth Christmas party.

He asked if he was invited.
They told him no.

He asked if the old folks were invited.
They said yes.

I laughed.

As the service ended, I quietly made my way toward the door. Before I could leave, a lady usher stopped me and handed me a gift bag.

She thanked me for coming.
She asked me to come back again soon.

Then I noticed something small — but meaningful.

She turned and walked over to the pastor.

Not to put me on the spot.
Not to call attention to me.

Just to make sure he knew I had been there.

What I’m Learning

This morning wasn’t about finding the church.

It was about showing up.

It was about learning that discomfort doesn’t mean disobedience. That unfamiliar doesn’t mean unfaithful. That worship can be quiet — or loud — or sung from a pew — and still be rooted in truth.

I didn’t leave either church with certainty.

But I left with gratitude.

And sometimes, that’s enough for today.

I’ll open the gift bag later — probably on video — because that small gesture deserves to be remembered.

Church, I’m learning, isn’t just a place you arrive at.

It’s a journey you keep walking — even on the mornings you don’t want to get out of bed.

A Piece of Context That Matters

There’s one more piece of context that belongs here.

Both churches I visited this morning were African American congregations, and I was the only white person in the room. I don’t say that to point out a difference or make a comparison — I say it because it helped me understand why the worship felt different from what I’m used to.

What I witnessed wasn’t something to analyze or label. It was something to respect.

The passion, the movement, the music — it came from a deep place of lived faith and history. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t forced. It was expressive in a way I don’t often experience.

It was different from my normal comfort zone — and that, in itself, was meaningful.

A Scripture That Stayed With Me

As I reflected on this morning, one verse kept coming to mind:

“Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another — and all the more as you see the Day approaching."