I grew up in the Pentecostal religion, and have spent a lifetime contemplating faith. When I read this blog, I felt like I wanted to share it, because of how he honestly reflects on his spiritual experience.
Of all of the questions that I faced as a sheltered Christian entering the unknown Oz that was my secular university, I surprisingly did not anticipate what proved to be one of the most profound: What should I do with my Sunday mornings?
For the first 18 years of my life, this was never a question because there was only one possible answer. I went to church. Sunday School. Evening service. The total Sabbath experience. My father was a Baptist missionary to New York City, meaning we would go early to a rented space on Jamaica Avenue and stay late until all of the folding chairs, Dunkin’ Donuts, and second-hand hymnals were put away. Simply said, Sunday was the Lord’s day.
Like a good and faithful servant, I never missed a service. I never questioned why I would always miss watching the 1st quarters of New York Football Giants games. I…
View original post 980 more words