I’m standing in an elevator at Phoenix Seminary. It lurches to a stop one floor before I need to get out. A preteen, in a murk of irritation and groaning, finds her way inside. Her mother steps in after her and says, “We are going and that’s the end of it.” The doors close, echoing the finality of her response.
In a slightly raised and whiny voice the preteen fires back, “I don’t like that church. I don’t get what I need there!”
I realize I’m holding my breath in anticipation of mom’s next move. The elevator doors open. I saunter forward, not ready to leave. Just before the doors close behind me, I hear mom say,
“We don’t go to church to have our needs met; we go to have our needs changed.”
Damn. That’s good.