There’s a space at church that I think of as mine. It isn’t marked and I don’t know if others look at it that way, but I always arrive early enough to park there before anyone else has a chance. In church, assigned or not, the regulars all have a particular pew they think of as theirs, and everyone else respects that.
What creatures of habit we are. We park in the same place, sit in the same pew, go to the same table at coffee hour. Knowing you have a place that’s yours in this world: what a comfort, and yet at the same time, what a temptation. We weren’t made to sit and stay put.
Years ago I belonged to a church that held two services in all seasons except summer, when we cut back to one. That meant the folks who claimed a particular seat at the 8:30 came face to face with their counterparts from the 10. Now that was interesting.