Sometimes you just want to be with people who know and love you; people you don’t have to explain yourself to, who accept you for who you are. That’s how I was feeling Sunday morning. That’s why I was so glad to be in church.

It had been a rough week for many of us. One brother had been out on the corner with some day laborers working through power struggles there. One sister patiently works all week with autistic children. Our pastors’ family and I had been visiting with a family whose son passed away tragically. A few of the women jumped in and put on a bridal shower for a young neighbor woman whose mom is out of the picture. Some of us had rallied to support the families of six men deported. I was coming into church feeling a bit beat up and bruised by the attempts we’d made all week to act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with God. It turns out that there is quite a bit of opposition to justice and mercy in our world and we were feeling it this week.

As the service began, the call to worship and songs of praise turned my eyes to Jesus and His glory. In light of the week it was easy to express my dependency on Him. It was empowering to declare His goodness together and recognize God’s sovereignty with one voice. My wounds seemed inconsequential in light of Jesus’ sacrifice. My hurts were being healed in the presence of Christ’s Body.

As we opened the Word together and studied the miracle of Jesus multiplying the fish and the loaves we were reminded again of whom we serve and why we take on seemingly impossible tasks. We were again called to a life of humble offerings and abundant faith.

All week long our little church community had been calling to encourage each other, walking with one another in ministry and going together into desperate situations. As we gathered Sunday morning I realized that it was like a huddle- we circled up a bit battered from the fight, refocused on the One calling the shots, were reminded of the strategy, patted each other on the back and were sent back out. When I saw church like that, it made sense to me.

By the time lunch was over I felt like I could take on the battles of the week ahead. I felt emboldened by the scriptures. The testimonies of obstacles and victories reminded me that I was not alone. The truth of the hymns buoyed my heart and my soul was refreshed in the care of our community.

It’s not like this every week at my beloved church, but some weeks we get it right and I see the beauty in a group of disciples supporting each other along the way as we follow Jesus and love our neighbors. When are the times you have seen the Church at its best?