The Curious Case Of Lachlan Coffey: I Missed A Sunday

I feel so guilty right now. I know…I shouldn’t look in the mirror because I won’t like what I see. And I see your little beady eyes looking at me disgusted. But it’s true. I missed service last Sunday.

It’s hilarious because I could have been working alongside of nuns making homemade vegetable soup for orphans and still felt completely guilt ridden over missing. Note: I was actually at Cracker Barrel eatin’ me some dumplins…I’ll explain in a bit. I guess it just becomes part of the weekly routine that we go to church. But I don’t think it’s analogous to changing our underwear daily or brushing our teeth. I suppose it goes much deeper for me than just part of the routine.

If I boiled it down, the thing I miss the most when I’m not at Sojourn on Sunday is communion. Something just feels wrong not taking a designated time weekly to remember how God has reconciled our sins. When I was a wee man about 12 years old, I remember being on a road trip with my pops and sisters and pulling over on a Sunday morning at a rest stop. All of a sudden, my dad pulled out a loaf of bread and some Welch’s and he served our family communion. I learned then and there that this is an extremely vital part of our faith.

So why did I miss? My wife’s father was in town, which is somewhat rare, and he offered to take Terri’s whole family out for breakfast at Cracker Barrel. So we broke pancakes together, feasted, and left our 20% tip totaling $1.13.

In conclusion, missing a Sunday at church should always be like getting hit in the head with a live duck. It shouldn’t ever really happen, but when it does, it should hurt.