Learning to worship again
Once I moved away from Chicago, I had a really difficult time eating pizza again. Every time I ordered it in another part of the country, it felt like a cheese and tomato pie masquerading as pizza. It was never as thick and fabulous as when I was in the windy city. The same thing happened with Tex-Mex when I lived in Austin. Then, I couldn’t eat Cajun food after leaving South Louisiana. Restaurants seemed to think that “Cajun” meant burnt food. They didn’t understand blackened.
It’s interesting how a deep appreciation of a food can give me a critical feeling when I bevy up to the plate now. I think about the memory of that perfect pizza, the quintessential queso, or the consummate Cajun food, and everything else tastes a bit paltry in comparison. It’s “not quite…”
Oddly, I worry that the same thing has happened with worship. It’s been almost a month since I left my last call. It was an interim position and the church found a wonderful, permanent person. Now, I have the chance to duck into other churches and enjoy worship a bit.
