It’s 12:20 on Wednesday night as I write this blog post. Four days ago it rained on Sunday morning. I wasn’t alone in assuming that the wet roads and petrichor (look it up) would depress attendance in worship. When you are a little church that just started meeting five months ago, even the smell of rain on the earth (petrichor) is scary. Before you can stop to recall that God is in control, not you, the possibility of rain depressing worship attendance launches a series of ever-worsening scenarios. One of the 9 people that did come to church is likely to bring their kid, which we promptly lose because we turned our back when the roof collapsed in the middle of worship, right after worshipper #8 choked on his doughnut hole. I may have switched a few details in recalling the bizarre scenarios my paranoia compels, but the degree of suffering and embarrassment is the same.
Nevertheless, more than 9 people came to church. Besides Easter, it was the largest crowd we’ve hosted at 701 Whaley for worship. We ran out of programs, food, coffee, and with 180 in attendance, we almost ran out seats. I’m thankful and still paranoid four days later.
God’s doing something with Downtown Church that is worth pausing to acknowledge. Still, our little community is a fragile and tender thing. Each day that passes we are less able to claim youth for our mistakes but we are still young. And each day that passes we release some of our incessant worrying about what tomorrow will bring.