the back pew.

I call the last row of pews in the church, the “sinner’s pew”. In a church, sitting in the last row allows you to hide. You can’t be seen. You can full of people duck out the front doors once you’re overwhelmed with guilt. It ain’t about being seen, ain’t about feeling the reverberation of the music. You ain’t distinguished, qualified or a person of high standing in the community so your seat ain’t reserved. You just are there because, in truth, you have nothing left to lose.

The last row of pews is for those who feel like they have no other place to go. This place is your last resort. Everything — and everywhere else — and every other person — has failed. You heard that this place called a sanctuary is where miracles happen, where prayers are lifted up and answered. A place where God takes attendance to make sure Her best and brightest are ready to learn from Her.

You’ve been a truant. You’re only here so you don’t get expelled from God’s love and care.

God calls on you. You briefly raise your hand. Just to be counted. Some dude waxing off on the corner warned you that if you didn’t know God, you would get left. Left where? Pain, anguish, fire, decay and destruction. Little does he know that you’ve been there and done that. You wouldn’t be sitting on this wooden slab if everything was peaceful, if things weren’t falling apart. They tell you to run to God when it does. So that’s why you’re here.

It can be lonely back here. No one wants to acknowledge each other. There’s shame that comes with dragging your lifeless body to God’s feet. Shame in knowing that others will know that you were on your knees. It’s confirmation that you’ve really fucked up. You don’t dare have a witness to your weakness. You didn’t want to be in the club for delinquents.

But you are and you’re here.