Today was Ash Wednesday, which is really one of my favorite church services of the year. But I didn't go. Instead, I came home from school, crawled into bed, and napped for two and a half hours, having apparently hit the wall from my middle-of-the-night insomnia last night.
And I'm kind of sad about not going to church ... except that what I'm sad about is that I'm not really sad (if you see what I mean). I didn't actually have any real plans to go to church anyway. Whenever I'd see someone with ash today, I'd think, "Huh, maybe I should think about going to church tonight," but I never really did think about it. And so now Lent has come, and I haven't marked it in any way except for a vague sense of regret about not being part of a church community right now and apparently not missing it enough to do anything about it.
I have oodles and oodles of church friends on Facebook, and yesterday and today their feeds were full of posts about Shrove Tuesday and imposition of ashes and all the rest (including folks from the church that I loved so much back in Grad School City), and I felt left out, but I didn't feel motivated enough to do anything to get back in. This morning I was feeling spiritually empty and reminded myself that probably the faithful thing to do is to keep being part of a worshiping community, which of course has its own rewards anyway and perhaps brings one back to faith eventually. But then I shrugged my shoulders and thought, "eh, whatever" ... but clearly not in a "I don't miss it at all" way.
Maybe there are seasons for me and church and seasons when we're apart?