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By Paul Shelby Lewis
 
Have you ever had one of those moments when, for whatever reason, a particular realization hit you like a fridge being dropped on your head from a third story loft?  I had one during a recent Sunday morning worship service. 
Now, let me preface this by saying that I have the privilege of leading the worship band and the singing for a service that ranges in attendance from about 150 to 190 people.  Depending on your church, that may seem large or incredibly small, but that is hardly the point.  Inevitably, immediately following our "spring forward," there tends to be a rather noticeable drop in Sunday morning attendance.  This year, the problem was compounded by the fact that we sprung forward before Spring had sprung, and the sun isn't rising until <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />7:30.  Also, it's right around that time of year where a lot of families go on a spring get away.
Now, I say all of that to state the following:  Whether you realize it or not, your Sunday morning attendance makes a difference.  Maybe you don't feel the effect of missing corporate worship, perhaps you feel like sleeping in won't hurt, or maybe you have a legitimate reason for  being out of town.  Almost inevitably, though, at some point in time a thought passes through your mind to the effect of, "No one will miss me."  I assure you that you could not be more wrong. 
Enter my epiphany.  This past Sunday morning, our service seemed much more sparse than it usually is at the start (we, like most churches, start the service with about half the attendees while the rest show up during the first ten minutes).  But there was something else that caught my eye .  .  . seven very specific empty chairs.  As a worship leader, there are numerous individuals and families that I look forward to seeing each Sunday morning in worship, because it greatly strengthens my own heart when I look out and see people truly praising their Savior.  But the father and son tandem that sit in the front row every week (a feat all its own) and clap and participate in the singing were out of town.  So also were a couple of whom I have become quite fond.  And, until about 9:50 (our service starts at 9:39), ditto for a particular family of three.  All remind me of the joy of my salvation.  All participate in the work of the church.  All love to sing and clap and praise the Lord.  All were gone, and I felt noticeably disheartened.  .  .  . 
Then 9:50 hit, and in the middle of our second song the family of three walked in the back door.  At that point, I lit up like I haven't in quite some time, my voice half-cracked, and I stumbled through the rest of the stanza.  All this because I was (quite literally) overjoyed to see a family that I have grown to love come to worship.  What was wrong with me?  How had I let myself become so dependent upon others in the congregation?  How can it be that when some people are gone, I'm a little less excited about worship (and this particular morning, there were far more than seven of those that I look forward to seeing gone)? 
I think back to something my dad told me a few years back.  Having broken his left wrist two weeks prior, and then cutting his right hand and having to get thirty stitches put in on a Saturday, you might think that the pastor of the church had good reason for taking a Sunday morning off.  He looked like a boxer, taped and ready to strap on the gloves.  But it was Sunday worship (that particular Sunday we were taking communion).  And I'll never forget what he said:  "If I am able, I never want to miss coming together with the family of God.  It is a sacred and treasured occasion." 
            As a result, every time I think to myself, "Wouldn't it be nice just for a few weeks not to be working at a church so I could sleep in, or skip out of town, or get some extra work done around the house," I am convicted by those words .  .  . "I never want to miss coming together with the family of God."  What a reflection of God's Word which exhorts us to "hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful; and let us consider how to stimulate one another to love and good deeds, not forsaking our own assembling together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another; and all the more as you see the day drawing near" (Heb. 10:23-25).
            You may not feel like your presence matters.  You may feel like you show up, say hi to a few people, and then go home.  You may feel like no one notices you.  You might even feel like you have nothing to offer.  But I and millions of others can testify truly that your presence makes a great deal of difference, and you are missed more than you know when you are gone. 
So be encouraged that you are an encouragement to others.  Decide right now that you will be in church 40, 45, or even 50 Sundays this year, so that you might stimulate your brothers and sisters in Christ to love and good deeds.  The Bible tells us that one day we will all stand around the throne and sing, "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain."  Don't miss out on the chance to experience a preview of heaven right here on earth.  Join your earthly brothers and sisters as often as you can, until that great and glorious day when we will stand before our Redeemer and praise Him with a joyful noise never heard by human ears.