I skipped church and I liked it.
Ever done that? I don’t think I ever have, before, not unless I was actually ill or travelling or something like that. In all these decades. And I’ve been through much worse times. When I was younger, mind you.
Yeah, I’ll be confessing it.
Maybe I’m just tired. Certainly physically, but probably mostly mentally and emotionally. I won’t try to sound more ‘spiritual’ than I am by calling it ‘spiritually tired’, because I don’t even know what that means. ‘Spiritual’ is one of the most abused words we currently have in our English language.
But anyway, I skipped. Sure, I missed the liturgy and communion. I missed singing the liturgy. I missed people—certain ones anyway.
I didn’t miss pressure. I didn’t miss pain. I didn’t miss the constant piling-up of this that and the other that would have to be attended to in days coming up
I got fresh air and sunshine, peace and quiet, privacy and freedom.
I won’t do it again. Because it was too good. Once is the temptation. More is giving in to the slippery slope to forever.
Addendum: belatedly Googling ‘pastor’s wife skipping church’ I found this news article
from earlier this year. Yow. I didn’t quite get to the state of desperation this clergy wife reached. But sometimes I have daydreamed about packing up and just leaving town. What about you?