(DAILY MAIL) — RRIIIING! Eight o’clock on Sunday morning and the alarm has woken me far earlier than last night’s party deems expedient. My daughters are equally unimpressed. ‘Why do we have to go to church?’ the three-year-old complains. ‘To get you into the good C of E School that isn’t in our catchment,’ I say. ‘Now eat your Weetabix, for God’s sake.’
This isn’t strictly true. My husband is a fully baptised believer. He studied theology at university. We’ve been going to our local church since our youngest child was a baby, way before we knew about catchments.
During the 11 years that we eventually end up spending in worship at the altar of good SAT results – sorry, God – he becomes immersed in the church and its good work, supporting many of its endeavours in ways that sound too boasty to list. Self-aggrandisement is never holy. To quote Philippians 2:3-4, ‘Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves.’
