Tag Archives: church attendance

People Who Go To Church Are Happier

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Every year, about this time, I write something about summer’s departure. The folks here at Our Savior, the people who know me best, have come to expect it, if only because I know I can tell them such things. I keep very little hidden from them. They’re family. And it’s right around this time of year that I start to feel something they’re already expecting me to re-explain.

In one sense, I suppose people do certain things because the calendar says it’s time to do them. For example, when summer ends, you cover the patio furniture, maybe bringing a few deck items into the garage. While you’re in there, you may do a little cleaning. You notice the sun going down earlier. Maybe you start prepping your gardens. Or you finally decide to give the snowblower the lawn mower’s parking space.

If you’re me, you begin writing what amounts to a eulogy for June, July, and August.

I was talking with Jennifer about it on Wednesday. We were sitting on the front porch together watching the sunset. I confessed I’m starting to feel it. And by “it,” I mean the dread.

I tried to explain why the transition from summer to autumn is so difficult for me, even though I know the person I’m confessing to absolutely adores autumn. Yes, she’s one of the sensible people. The sensible people can look at the changing season and say Autumn is beautiful. Because it is. The trees are magnificent. The air is crisp. It means warm fireplaces, favorite blankets, cider and doughnuts, sweaters, and evening bonfires.

Yes. I know. But none of that helps.

Trying to explain the sensation to Jennifer, the closest comparison I could think of was being told by someone you love that she doesn’t love you anymore. I told her it feels like summer has sat across the table from me and said she’s leaving. But there was no fight. There was no scandal. I didn’t mistreat her. If anything, I showered her with devoted affection every single day. And yet, there she is, looking at me with that terrible calmness people sometimes have when they’ve already made up their mind before any substantive conversation could begin. She’s packed her things. She already has another place to go. And although I keep pointing out all the reasons she should stay, she’s not even listening anymore. In fact, even as I’m still pleading, she’s already gotten up from the table and is gathering the last of her things.

And here’s the worst part. I’m a sucker for her abuse. She’s going to come back to me. She does every year. And when she does, she’ll embrace me, and I’ll fall in love with her all over again. But then August will come, and once again, she’ll push me away.

For the record, I’m a relatively even-keeled guy. But this is my personal crazy. And just know, I do what I can to fight it. Indeed, I’m committed to resisting the seasonal sadness. I’ve tried sun lamps. Although to no avail. I have a fake palm tree in my office that somewhat helps. I’m looking at it right now. But notice I said it somewhat helps. Because there it is— pretending. Its green plastic leaves and its tropical ambition—all a manufactured defiance against Michigan’s very real autumn.

Jennifer bought it for me for Christmas a few years ago. It’s supposed to make the room feel more like summer. And, to a point, it works. Until I remember it’s fake.

Now, I’ve probably said enough on the topic already. But you need to know that what’s coming this Tuesday will make matters worse. Tuesday is when our church’s school begins its academic year. Most schools have already started, but ours hasn’t, which means I’m still living in a kind of disputed territory. Summer has filed for separation, but the decree isn’t final yet.

Tuesday is when the arbiter arrives. He’ll bring a bunch of papers issuing formal decrees that divide the property and mandate schedules and locations and times and so many other things. He’ll set the documents before me, and I’ll read them. The morning’s easier pace goes with summer. High-speed mornings and crowded, inflexible schedules, those come to me. The longer, unaccounted-for evenings, those go with summer. So do bare feet on the deck, open windows, and laugh-filled strolls up and down the hill in my side yard with my grandson in the wagon. Summer also gets custody of the fireflies and the croaking bullfrogs in the pond. She also gets to keep the strange freedom of stepping outside, even after a long day of visitations and meetings and whatever, and discovering by the sun’s position that there’s still an entire day waiting for you. The arbiter grants me darkness when I wake up and darkness before I leave the office.

The next thing you know, there I am, standing in the driveway while summer drives away with more than half of everything.

I know this all sounds so overly dramatic. But seasonal melancholy has never cared much about proportionality. And I warned you what to expect. Every August, my heart folds its arms and says, “I want July.”

But now, something else you should expect from me: the Gospel.

There’s a Christian difference between sorrow and despair. Christians are allowed to grieve departures. We are allowed to miss what’s good. We’re even allowed to cry about it. Jesus Himself wept at a tomb, even as He knew He was about to reverse the reason for sadness.

What I’m saying is that the answer to all of this is by no means that I just need to convince myself that I secretly love November. I don’t. And I likely never will. I’m built for summer. I’m wired for hot, sunny days. The answer is to remember “the earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof” (Psalm 24:1). In other words, August belongs to Him. He also owns November. He owns the shortening days. The long ones belong to Him, too.

But there’s still more.

Christ, who is God in the flesh, is “the same yesterday and today and forever” (Hebrews 13:8). No matter the season, He doesn’t pack His things when the leaves start falling. He doesn’t somehow love me in June and lose interest in October. Or maybe better said (because I know plenty of folks who struggle with the kind of depression that extends well beyond any seasonal boundaries), my emotional condition at any given moment does not determine God’s feelings for me. In other words, when my corrupted and sinful heart tells me that everything is getting darker, colder, and farther away, the Holy Spirit works in me the knowledge that God’s promises remain exactly where He put them. In fact, He labors in ways to point me outside of myself to what’s actually true. He points me to Christ crucified and risen. He points me to my baptism. He points me to His Word. He points me to His wonderful supper. There, His verdict on everything has already been rendered. I am forgiven, redeemed, beloved, and most importantly, His. My sadness doesn’t make Him any less faithful. His promises remain true when the sun is shining at nine o’clock at night, and they remain true when it sets at 4:30 PM.

By the way, did you know studies have shown that people who go to church are happier? I wonder why that is. Oh wait. Could it be that the One who made us actually knows what we need?

I just looked back at some peripheral research I did for my doctorate. Believe it or not, I looked into this stuff. And the numbers are pretty remarkable. Gallup conducted a study on happiness levels among churchgoers and those who attend infrequently or not at all. They discovered that 67% of Americans who attend worship weekly describe themselves as “very satisfied” with their personal lives. If you remove the qualifier “very,” interestingly, the number jumps to 92%. In other words, nearly everyone who attends worship weekly reports being happier with life. Even better, more than two-thirds are willing to add the word “very.”

And by the way, it goes beyond simply asking people whether they’re happy. Harvard did a more generic survey a few years ago concerning long-term health data. They found there was 30% less depression in the church-going population. There’ve been a few other longitudinal studies that have found faithful church attendance equals less anxiety, hopelessness, and loneliness, while also being associated with a stronger sense of purpose and the ability to explain why that is.

Of course, statistics are not the Gospel. Not to mention, I know full well that Christians get depressed. I just spent the first half of this morning’s write-up telling you about how hard autumn is for me. Besides, I’m a pastor. I know darn well that Christians suffer terribly. I know darn well that Christians sit in pews with tears in their eyes and sometimes cannot explain why they hurt.

Now, I know correlation, as statistical science rightly reminds us, does not by itself prove causation. Still, I have to smile a little at the numbers. That’s because I know God’s heart. He loves me. And so, He gathers me to Himself in worship. A very important byproduct is that He puts me beside other sinners who need His merciful love just as much as I do. We receive His Word together. Even better, He gives us brothers and sisters who notice when we’re missing. In the liturgy, He gives us words to confess, prayers to pray, hymns to sing—all sentences we can speak when we simply cannot find the right words on our own. And in the middle of all of it, Christ is present. That’s the promise.

And so, the researchers come along with clipboards and spreadsheets and discover that, strangely enough, people immersed in all of this seem to fare better. Go figure.

So, to wrap this up, yes, summer is leaving me again. And yes, I’ll likely write another article next year that sounds an awful lot like this one. I’ll complain that the sun is setting too early. I’ll bristle at the thought of Michigan’s forthcoming cold. I’ll probably say something reminiscent of the arbiter who arrives every year to divide the possessions, and I’ll remember I’m getting the shorter end of the custody stick.

But am I really? Because I am keeping Christ. Or more accurately, Christ is keeping me. And unlike summer, He has promised never to leave me nor forsake me (Hebrews 13:5).

So, yeah, summer may leave. But she does so beneath a promise far superior to the season, which is that Christ doesn’t leave. With that, Ecclesiastes 3:11 makes a little more sense to me: “He has made everything beautiful in its time.” That includes Michigan’s autumn. And why? Because Christ is the beauty in every season.

It’s Not That Complicated

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There are appointments you do not miss. You do not “get around to” a court appointment. If you’ve been summoned, you do not elect to stay home because you stayed up too late the night before or because something else suddenly came up that you decided would be more enjoyable.

You go. You show up.

The same is true for so many other things in life. I don’t have cancer. But if I did, I couldn’t imagine just not showing up to my scheduled treatments. I mean, are there any cancer patients out there reading this who’d honestly skip a cancer treatment because it was maybe scheduled too early in the morning, or because it was further away than you’d prefer to drive, or because you felt like doing something else instead, like maybe fishing or gardening or whatever? Of all the people in the world, I’m sure cancer patients epitomize exhaustion, especially during treatment. And yet, none would shrug and say, “Something else came up,” or “I’m just too tired,” as though what they were facing, and the appointments in place to deal with it, were no big deal.

We show up when something is important to us—when we believe we need to be there.

You know where I’m going with this, don’t you?

Before I do, let me first say to those who’d say outright they don’t need to be in church because they can be “spiritual” without it, feel free to sit this one out. I’m not really talking to you. You’ve already made clear you will not allow the Bible to serve as an external authority to govern you. You already live by a standard of picking and choosing based on preference. And so, you’ll do “spiritual” things when you prefer, maybe when it fits your inner sense of meaning, and you won’t when it doesn’t. By the way, I don’t mean to commend you, but I suppose I’m willing to applaud your consistency at least. You are reliable in that sense.

I should make another quick clarification. For example, we just offered an Epiphany service here at Our Savior on Tuesday, January 6. Forty people attended. That’s only about 15% of what’s typical of our regularly scheduled Sunday morning service attendance. I’m not writing to the faithful Christians in our midst who could not attend our Epiphany service. I say this because even Luther acknowledged in his explanation of the Third Commandment in the Large Catechism that “there should be worship daily; however, since this is more than the common people can do, at least one day in the week must be set apart for it.” In other words, I’m not speaking to those who simply cannot attend the special services for life’s various reasons.

But what I am writing here is addressed to those who deliberately stake a public claim in Christianity and yet see no reason to attend worship with any regularity.

In short, if you confess that Christ is Lord, then I’m assuming you believe His Word. I’m also assuming you realize that the Bible explicitly commands faithfulness in worship (Hebrews 10:24-25, Acts 2:42, and 1 Corinthians 14:26). What’s more, it is thoroughly assumed throughout the rest of the scriptures. There’s no question it was an Old Testament pattern. God expected His people to assemble (Leviticus 23:3, Deuteronomy 16:16, Psalm 122:1, Psalm 84:10, Nehemiah 8:1–3, 16, and others). And for the record, Jesus maintained the pattern (Luke 4:16, Matthew 18:20; I suppose it can be assumed also in Matthew 5:23-24 and John 4:23-24). It was also maintained by the newly emerging Church (Acts 20:7, Acts 13:44, and others).

Beyond even these things, if a reader is being honest, Saint Paul more than betrays the standard of regularly scheduled worship in 1 Corinthians 11:18 when he writes “when you come together as a church” (συνερχομένων ὑμῶν ἐν ἐκκλησίᾳ). First of all, not if but when. Next, the first word in that phrase—συνερχομένων —has in its root the sense of traveling to a place to be together. Where is this traveling bunch going? The destination is ἐκκλησίᾳ—church. But couldn’t this just mean that when they are traveling together to Cedar Point in Ohio, even then, they are the Church, that is, the body of Christ in the formal sense? Of course. All believers in Christ, at all times and in all places, comprise the Church. But that’s not the point here. Paul is already talking about things that happen in worship, namely, the administration of the Lord’s Supper. In this context, Paul is casually indicating that normal Christians (so long as they are not physically incapable because they are sick, elderly, in prison, or something of that sort) travel to a place to occupy it—to be in it. The preposition ἐν does not mean “as.” It means “in.” In other words, “as” the Church, they travel to be together “in” a church.

Add to this the other reasons why Paul would encourage the Church to gather. Mutual edification is one that seems rather important to him (Ephesians 4:15-16, Colossians 3:16, Romans 12:4-5, and others). But even beyond this, God’s Word does not hide the warning of what can happen when we drift from faithful attendance in worship. Our hearts are more easily hardened (Hebrews 3:12-13), spiritual decline occurs (Judges 21:25), and we become more vulnerable to sin and Satan’s snares (Ecclesiastes 4:9-12).

For the Lutherans reading my words, consider your creedal and confessional heritage. Again, Luther reminds us in his explanation of the Third Commandment in the Large Catechism that “God insists upon a strict observance of [regular Sabbath worship] and will punish all who despise his Word and refuse to hear and learn it, especially at the times appointed.”

For those less familiar with Luther and more inclined toward others in mainstream evangelicalism, consider Billy Graham, who said so very plainly that “if you are a Christian, you should go to church.” And why? He continued that a Christian “has no right to neglect the church. It is God’s plan for the nurture and strengthening of His people.” And in another place, Graham wrote, “The church is the place where believers are fed, encouraged, and strengthened to face the world.”

Now, if Billy Graham isn’t enough for you, consider others from across the Christian spectrum—folks like John MacArthur, who said, “If a [church member] shows prolonged negligence in gathering with God’s people… how can he say he loves God?” Or maybe even someone like Dwight Moody, who insisted that “Church attendance is as vital to a disciple as a transfusion of rich, healthy blood to a sick man.” Or Paul Washer, who preached, “A believer who refuses the local church is a contradiction.” Or John Piper, who maintained, “The corporate gathering of believers is the single most important event in the life of the Church.”

Apart from Luther, I’m not in strict theological unity with any of the above preachers I just mentioned. And yet, it sure seems that faithfulness in worship is one thing that has not slipped through any of our theological divides. That’s because it’s a pretty straightforward standard that can only be set aside deliberately.

In the end, it’s really not that complicated. If Christ is real, and He is truly preeminent in your life, then none of the above proofs could ever be suggestions. Instead, they are divine appointments. Sure, we may not feel like keeping the appointments. Still, we know they’re important—and they’re good for us—and so, we show up. And so, our deliberate disregard or neglect of these things could never be interpreted as neutral behavior. Instead, it reveals something else altogether, and it does so rather crisply. Compared to the other practical examples I shared, it shows that, functionally, Christ is less significant to you. It reveals that forgiveness of sins, life, and salvation are nice, but not as nice as, perhaps, one’s bed after a long Saturday night of this and that with friends.

As a pastor, the saddest part here is that deliberate disregard for worship is a public demonstration of unbelief. Maybe not necessarily unbelief in the sense of open denial, but, at a minimum, it is unbelief expressed in practice. Both are public. The first is at least honest. The second is simply hypocritical. It is an observable contradiction, sort of like Washer pointed out. By staking a claim in Christianity, one assumes devotion to God and His body, the Church. And yet, there is no desire to show up as part of that body. So, what gives?

Well, belief orders life. What we choose and what we neglect reveal what we do and do not truly believe or consider valuable. To absent oneself so carelessly can be nothing less than to declare that God means very little to you by comparison to all the other appointments in life you’d never in a million years consider blowing off.

Again, no one would say, “I believe my cancer treatments are crucial, but I’ll only go when it feels convenient.” No one would ever say, “Your honor, I respect you and all, but I have some friends coming over this morning that I haven’t seen in a long time, so I’ll have to catch up on this court case a different time.” No one would ever call a beloved daughter right before her wedding and say, “I know it’s important for me to be there, but I haven’t been to my cabin up north in a while, so I’m not going to be able to make it.”

Do these things, and see what happens. Actually, I can just tell you what will happen. There will be trouble.

Parental Repentance

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We conservatives love to grumble about the indoctrination of children. I know I do. And why wouldn’t I? Every other week, there’s another headline about this dreadful thing and that horrible thing happening in a classroom somewhere, followed by another outraged post or podcast about how schools these days are poisoning our children.

Trust me, I get it. I’m frustrated, too. It’s why I do everything in my power to serve and maintain our tuition-free Christian school here at Our Savior in Hartland. I figure that apart from caring for my own family, the best way that I can help is to provide an alternative for the community—and not just a substitute, but something truly exceptional that puts Christ and His Word front and center as the chief interpreter to all that we are and will ever be.

That said, there remains an uncomfortable truth that everyone else out there is afraid to say out loud. Public schools are shaping our children because parents stopped doing it first.

We wring our hands over what the public schools are teaching about sexuality, identity, history, morality, or whatever. But the average Christian home spends more time watching Netflix in one evening than it does talking or teaching about Christ in a year. We shout at the school board about why our children are disrespectful, but the school didn’t raise them. We did, along with that glowing rectangle that’s been in their hands since they were two years old.

There’s a vacuum. The world is only doing what the world does to fill it. That’s not hard to see. Still, we take some strange comfort in blaming a system that’s true to its nature rather than taking a long, hard look at the parent in the mirror. We let the world form our children. And why? I think it’s because we’ve forgotten how. Or perhaps worse, we’ve decided we shouldn’t have to. Moral formation has become a subcontracted task—outsourced first to the church (if we have time to attend one). But for the most part, we leave it to whoever stands in front of the classroom—or the most popular TikTok influencer. And when the results disappoint us, we demand reform.

How about parental repentance first?

I just read a study saying that American parents, on average, will spend ten hours a week driving their kids to sports, at least four hours scrolling social media, and maybe—just maybe—a minute or two discussing what they learned at church—again, if they even go, because only around 22% of Americans attend church weekly. Only 33% attend at least monthly.

I think the truth in all of this is really pretty simple. You cannot demand values you yourself have never been willing to establish and maintain. You cannot expect anyone or anything to build character on a foundation you never laid.

I began this rant talking about public education. If you haven’t figured it out, that was just the lead-in to my frustration. Although, don’t get me wrong. I’m not excusing the failures of public education. It’s a hellscape of dreadfulness in many paces, filled with ideologies that are sending our children into moral and conceptual death spirals that many simply cannot escape. But that’s mostly because they cannot navigate it. Ultimately, that translates into any parental outrage without serious self-examination being nothing more than self-deception.

So, how about this… Before you get an itch in your craw to do all you can to tear down a Marxist curriculum, how about you also work on rebuilding the family dinner table? Before you demand traditional moral character formation in the classroom, how about you monitor the morality of your own mouth and behavior in the living room? Using the F-word in front of the kids, if ever at all, is not good parenting. Sorry to have to break this to you.

And so, before you go off to fight for your kids’ souls in a public forum, how about shepherding those souls at home? If we want a different outcome, we need different parents. Period. It’s not just that the schools stopped teaching our values. It’s that we stopped teaching them first.