Library Walks and the Local Church

 Probably once a month, I walk to the library. But in case you can already see right through my pretentious grandiosity, fine, you win. I don't actually walk all the way to the library. Too far. I find a place to park less than a mile away, lace up my shoes, and walk from that conveniently-placed parking lot to the library. Sue me! While it would be easy to fire up the iPad and download an eBook, I desperately crave the preservation of days of old - the good ol' days - when technology was more of an idea than an idol and the thought of screen time was limited to a family movie around a box TV. A digital book absolutely cannot guarantee the following pleasures I have recently taken a liking to:

  • The vintage smell of leather covers and wood pulp adhesives that bind books together
  • The shuffle of strangers in search of a story
  • The "have you read this?" conversations under dim fluorescent lighting
  • The librarian, Jeanette, who seems to know me better than I know myself
  • Of course, the actual walk to the library.

Which brings me back to my main point. Bragging. I kid, of course. But I was walking to the library, and I felt a unique giddiness about me. I couldn't wait to pick up the book that had long been on hold. And as soon as said book was acquired, the giddiness resumed. I began to ponder these sentiments, and I realized that the library is one of the few places where you can (assuming you are not repulsed by reading) enter and leave feeling equally excited. You go in knowing you're about to get a book, and you leave knowing you're about to go home and experience that book.

Ice cream shops lack such a reputation. I'm often eager to go, sad to leave. The beach, same story. Grocery stores fare the opposite: I spend hours dreading the chore, but feel eager to come home and snack on the plunder. Few things in my life do I share equal excitement about the walking in and the walking out.

So naturally, obsessive compulsive list-maker that I am, I decided to brainstorm any place like the library. Could this be the pinnacle of existence? My anti-reading husband would say no. But despite my long walk home (parking lot*) full of pondering, I could only think of one other place:

The local church. 

Seriously. This is the place where I am giddy to go in - to experience the warmth of the body of believers, the worship of a risen Savior, the infallible truth of an inspired Scripture - and to leave feeling every bit as ecstatic, if not categorically more.

Leaving church on a Sunday morning is like unplugging the phone from a full night of charging. It's revamped. Revived. Ready to be out in the world. It's encouraging, uplifting. An oasis, refuge. The sweetest family reunion. Time to regroup in the barracks before going back out to battle. And more than anything, it's a picture of the glorious eternity we inherit through Christ's blood.

Now here's where the library falls short. These books that I get to come home to are brief. Temporary. Might last me a week, maybe less. Some won't even hold my attention long enough to make it through the day. And within a few months' time, I've long since forgotten the title, the author, the plot. The local church, on the other hand, is a gathering of kingdom citizens bonded together by the mediator of the New Covenant who overcome actual literal death (JESUS!). It is a forever-type of family that we experience in part, but will one day come together in glory as every knee will bow and every tongue will confess that He (this Jesus) is Lord, to the glory of God f o r e v e r. Not a please-return-in-two-weeks type of deal.

Second, the local church is a weekly assembly where we get to rub shoulders with a bodily expression of God's ordained universal capital-C Church. And it's standing on the shoulders of giants. It is a family, a bride waiting for her groom, a body that needs tons of different parts (people!) to thrive. I usually read library books alone. In rare circumstances I'll recommend one, but it seldom seems people actually read it. I'm convinced that book clubs that actually discuss books are not real. Made-up attempts to eat cucumber sandwiches and gossip. Reading, though delightful, is a solo endeavor. The church couldn't be more different. Church is a place where 6-year-olds can stand by 60-year-olds and proclaim the same truth that has set them free. It is where you can spend hours congregationally singing about the same God, and you still haven't even cracked the surface of His majesty. It is where someone you have nothing in common with is a dear brother or sister, bought with the precious blood of Christ.

So yeah, the library's good. It's fun to feel giddy on the way in and out. But to enter a church community, to bask in the goodness of God alongside other believers, and to walk out feeling ecstatic for eternity, man. That's God. 

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