Dec. 1: Something I'm grateful for that most people take for granted

 My church.

Martin Luther King once said that Sunday is the most segregated hour, meaning that we tend to go to church with people who look like us. The integration, by contrast, takes place the other six days of the week.

This does not apply to my church.

I go to a Dutch Christian Reform Church in Cornwall. That denomination, by the way, supported the South African apartheid movement and because of this, was expelled from the World Alliance of Reformed Churches in 1982. Four years later, it changed its stance - thanks, Holy Spirit - and, following repentance, was allowed back into the alliance four years later. It is a dark blot on my denomination's history. We look to the future while learning from the past.

-

My church is not segregated. There's a whole lot of people from Myanmar there. One of them is a gifted musician who plays a mean guitar and has an amazing voice. There are three Myanmar girls who, from time to time, do interpretive dances to Christian hymns. 

My church has a whole lot of people from Africa. One of them wears an Africa-shaped pendant around his neck. This last Sunday, a group of six African women opened the service by singing an African Christmas carol. Their voices were powerful, resonating with emotion, and brought several of us to our feet.

Afterwards, I tried to tell them how much I enjoyed the music, but I was brushed off. I don't blame them. I might have committed a cultural faux-pas. Still, I am happy that so many of us, from so many cultures, can worship together for two hours every Sunday.

-

I started attending that church when my son was a toddler. 

I knew I had to start going back to church. Church has always been good for me. I believe in God and I believe every statement in the Apostles' Creed and the Nicene Creed. Church makes me the best version of myself that I can possibly be. I wanted my son to benefit from that and to grow up in a community of believers as well.

My son, in fact, helped me pick that church. It has a nursery, which has been his safe spot for more than a decade now. Whenever we walk into the church, he makes a beeline for the nursery. There are toys in there that he adores. His favourite is the tower of rings, the Fisher-standard of a plastic yellow spike with five coloured rings of different sizes that can be stacked around it. For a while, he liked to take those plastic rings out into the church hall and throw them around while the service continued in the church up front.

He's older now. Sometimes, he will spend the entirety of the service in the nursery. Sometimes, he'll sit through the service with me. He's never a bother in the nursery even though he's 12 and the nursery is supposed to be for those three and younger. My boy's autism gives him a free pass.

-

I don't do enough to support my church. On Sunday, I was reminded that in two weeks, it is my turn to play the role of "host family." This means that I am to show up about an hour early, help prime the church for the visitors, and greet people as they come in, tell them how pleased I am that they are there. I will do that, I hope, and I will do it with sincerity.

 -

My church does not have a pastor. Instead, we have a group of rotating pastors who preach on a more-or-less regular basis. After every service, there are two collections. One is for the church budget and the other is for another cause the church deems worthy, like hospice or the food bank.

-

Sometimes, I feel bad about my cavalier attitude about church. I show up late a lot. That would be anaethema to me if it was my job or - horror of horrors - a magic show, for which I am always habitually early. Yeah, better be there super early so I can prepare myself to pull bunnies from a hat, but I'll saunter in lazily to worship the Lord of Kings and King of Lords. Shows you where my priorities really lie.

-

I decided a while ago that I won't ever ask for money for anything I do for my church. So far, I haven't done a lot for my church, except for some free magic shows. I did one for a seniors' night. I did another for a youth group. I celebrated one of my birthdays there. I did a magic show and we took a collection and we donated it to something; I can't remember what. Maybe it had something to do with autism. It probably did.

-

Once, at the swimming pool, my son stepped on my eyeglasses, breaking them. This was around the time I lost my job at the newspaper. I didn't have a lot of money and my benefits had run out. I fixed my glasses with scotch tape. A couple at the church saw me and bought me a new pair of glasses.

-

In our community, we bless each other. I pray I can bless someone there someday too.