At the end of each Sunday service I reference lyrics from 2 songs.

The first is “If a picture’s worth 1,000 words, a touch is worth them all,” and that’s from a song called “Dance, Dance Christa Paffgen,” by Anberlin. Christa Paffgen is the real name of the model/singer Nico. I never really cared for The Velvet Underground (they were probably too cool for me), but Nico was always a fascinating pop culture figure. She died tragically, too young. It’s dangerous to think we know what any artist actually meant with their work, but to me, this song (and especially this line) is about trying (and failing) to fill deep loneliness with any number of other, fleeting, pseudo-solutions.

The other lyric is “Let’s take this one day at a time, I’ll hold your hand if you hold mine,” from “Rumors Of My Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated,” by Rise Against. The title is taken from a quote generally attributed to Mark Twain, and the song is about how hard it is to live – the AI wizard in my phone says it explores themes of “mortality, existential anxiety, and the overwhelming pressure of modern life.” An interesting fact is that it’s such an emotionally intense song, Rise Against has reportedly only played it live once.

Now, why do I reference these 2 songs in a church service? And why am I writing about them here, today, in a post I was initially going to title: Why I Need The Church?

So, if “Dance, Dance” is about how we try to deal with our loneliness in ways that don’t ever fulfill, and if “Rumors” is about the enormous weight of living, both of them offer solutions: A touch, and reaching out for another’s hand, which is actually the same solution: presence. The Church is the perfect space to invite us all into a new world of presence and meaning, the antidote to Nico’s empty glamour and Rise Against’s oppressive pressure.

I have felt that crushing loneliness, and I have buckled under the current anxiety epidemic. I have searched for meaning in all the wrong places, struggled with the dishonesty of hypocrisy, asked, screamed “who am I???” again and again and again. The Church gave me the safety to find those answers, which were really just one answer, of course, a Name, The Name.

I thought yesterday of the love The Church has shown my family and I, giving me gifts I could never, ever repay. How It/they have held my hand, each day at a time, and how It/they have spoken all the words of a kind touch.

For someone who has never felt particularly accepted, always on the outside, the open doors of The Church (and The One Who created it) gave me a home, just as I was. That I, a complete misfit, could be welcomed and loved, never forced to pretend to be anything other than the me God has made…well, it reminds me of a punk rock song in a temple. There is room, there has always been room, for all sorts of sounds and textures.

I find The Church (as it was designed) to be the truest example of freedom (of thought, discussion, expression, everything) and non-judgmental acceptance and unconditional love. And what could show that more effectively than the redeeming creative power of song lyrics and the intimate beauty of touch?

[The picture I have attached is one I took at the Bridge – it is my oldest son’s hand, when he was about 10 years old, and the hand of a man who visited from a nearby work release facility. The picture, like The Church, doesn’t know innocence or guilt, it simply knows the soft flesh of God’s beloved children.]