peace be with you

We went to the early service this morning.  The boys buttoned dress shirts and boarded the family van, eyes shiny and trusting. As we drove, Tolliver asked, not at all opposed to the notion but sincerely curious: Why do we go to church, Mom?  I bounced the question back at him.
I think we go to feel peaceful, he said.

When we arrived the dining hall was humming, everyone hair-netted and plastic gloved. The room was full of people whose ages span decades, all packing meals - pouring grains, bagging cheese, filling boxes. The boys became part of an assembly line - dropping bags, spilling rice, smiling.
The workspace was crowded, there was loud background music and a gong that signaled progress points. It was not exactly peaceful. Nor was it anywhere near a traditional church service, instead way more verb than noun.
But it sure did feel like church.