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One of the things that I have dreaded about coming home over the last four years is that I would have to decide where to go to church on Sunday. I won't go into all the details but due to moving about twenty minutes further west since high school and the fact that my home church from high school split since I had last attended regularly, I have lacked a church to call home.

So what did I do this past Sunday? I checked out the smallest church I could find because churches here in Yuppie-town Suburbia are gigantic (two to three services minimum, which often include traditional, contemporary or a funky blend of both services) and big churches, though not necessarily all bad, are not exactly my cup of tea.

The church I attended quite possibly had the ugliest building I had ever worshiped in. The entire building was brick, which wasn't necessarily a problem until I went into the sanctuary. The entire interior of this room was brick with small slivers of windows along the sides, and the floors consisted of this dark red tile with concrete fillings. There was not a single Christian symbol to be found. I am not an interior design guru, but as I stared ahead at the bare brick wall behind the pastor, I kept thinking to myself, "So drab..." The service itself was rather slow and grave. I'll leave it at that.

To be fair, the church is undergoing a change in leadership. It switched pastors last fall, and, having been a part of church that has done the same, I know that the process is often difficult and not without its consequences. Still, I have to admit, sitting through the service made me feel old. And, as much as I look forward to being older and wiser, this is not quite what I had in mind.

On a more positive note, the people were pretty friendly. One of the elders personally made it his goal to accompany me and introduce me to everyone he could think of. He had the demeanor of the gregarious and gentle grandfatherly figure and he certainly made me feel welcome. The church was having their monthly fellowship meal and so I joined them. Lunch was quite enjoyable; there's something about sharing a meal that imparts a deeper significance to typical conversation.

Before I took off, I remember this elder telling me that he was glad that I came and that I should come back to visit. As he put it, "You're among friends here." It was this last comment of his that resonated with me. I may have intended to come just for Sunday, but he had reminded me that, in the body of believers, I am always welcome.