My insomnia was sin. I spent hours a week awake in bed envisioning our church as another church. I even had a new name and logo, Emmaus Road Presbyterian, in the trendy all lower case letters with an ancient, but modern, open Bible and broken piece of bread. At 2 a.m. I agonized over our worship, wishing it was passionate, "authentic" (whatever that means).
Committee nights were either couch nights, so my wife could sleep, or medication nights, so I could sleep.
I remember a particular couch night several months ago—worship committee. The agenda consisted of discussion about the controversial change in schedule from our 10:30 service to 10:00, the excitement of the traditional singing of "For All the Saints" on All Saints Day, and when to decorate the church for Christmas, since Advent started in November last year.
Insomnia and church transformation are not a good combination. My insomnia was sin because these were the people who called me to be their pastor. These were the people who called me to love them, and serve them, and grow with them, and I believe these were the people whom God called me to pastor.
But, dare I say it, I spent most nights each week wishing they were other people, with other gifts, younger tastes, and sharper minds.
I had college friends visit last summer, and in the weeks leading up to their visit, I burrowed a nice dent in our pillow-top mattress. I wasted hours fretting about how embarrassing it was going to be when they came to the service on Sunday. I often wonder if people my age actually know that there are still churches like ours in the world. We don't have screens, let alone a satellite campus. We don't have podcasts. We don't have much youth. We don't have a latte machine and guest kiosk. ...