I Like Church in My Pajamas
And I don’t think I’m ready to give it up
I had just found a church that I liked a few years before the pandemic began. It’s not a very formal place, and we are a rural Montana location, so many attend services in casual clothing, jeans and boots, etc.
My favorite was a gentleman that sat in front of me and often wore a t-shirt that said simply, “Yay God!”
While I never dressed to the nines, some absolutely do, and I did at least try to wear something pretty and appropriate. Most Sundays I would do my hair and maybe dig out some jewelry. To me it seemed respectful — though I can’t say for sure if I was being respectful to God, the church, the ladies I sat with, or the event.
I did enjoy an opportunity to wear something nice once a week. Many of us wear our worst to work, depending on what we do for a living.
And then there was no dress-up for anything.
I counted us fortunate to have a modern church that broadcasted services online; helpful when you’re home sick or travelling. When a dear friend was stationed abroad, she was able to enjoy services by watching on YouTube.
Cue the pandemic, and it quickly became clear that our church’s forward-thinking staff and technical abilities would be able to keep us all together during a very uncertain time. I remember those first few services we attended online, many of us gathering to comment and support our pastor with an occasional ‘Amen’ typed into the chat box. We felt like bold warriors for the Lord, still worshipping, still studying the Word, sticking together no matter what awful thing was happening in the world.
That first weekend, I made sure I was dressed and ready, attending church respectfully from my living room when streaming started.
My formality did not last.
By weekend three of lockdown, I was thoroughly relishing my Sunday morning church service in my jammies. I made sure I got my weekend treats in advance, and it soon became a ritual. By 9:00 a.m. I was in my comfy chair with a blankie, my coffee, and a warm croissant, ready to worship.
On snowy winter days when there was little else to do, I’d roll right into another teaching from another church somewhere in the world, and sometimes made it to a third. Warm and comfy, I’d snuggle in and make a whole day of hanging out with God.
We are now coming back to normal life, of course, and it seems we rejoined community activities here in Montana sooner than others around the nation and the world. My church and countless others are joyfully gathering again, hugging and laughing and singing together.
But I’m still in my jammies. Watching online.
I do miss the people. (I miss people in general.) If you attend any type of religious service, you probably have a ‘church Mom’ figure too, and her reassuring presence was something I always looked forward to.
I miss the smiling faces greeting me with a program on a brisk morning, the familiar chats over cookies in the foyer, and yes, I really miss hugs.
I also miss the worship service. I sing along at home but it’s not the same: there’s a frisson of emotion that ripples through when a large group of people are singing in worship together and the Holy Spirit is present. You don’t (necessarily) get that so often all alone in your living room.
So why don’t I go?
Am I just lazy? Maybe.
I don’t miss spending my Sunday morning doing my hair and picking out clothes, and I definitely don’t miss driving there in the winter months. Selfishly, I’d rather spend Sunday afternoon going fishing after church — and that’s sure a lot easier when I’m not dressed up and halfway across town.
And I have to tell you, Sunday service at home on a summer morning is a glorious thing. Windows open, birds singing, rays of sun welcoming God’s presence into my home and my heart. That’s a tough thing to give up.
Eventually the longing for fellowship with other people will overcome my lazy and selfish churchgoing habit. For now, I think I’ll hang onto my Sunday pajamas, sing out loud all by myself, and enjoy my pastries in the presence of God.
I do at least comb my hair.
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