I remember the days where I began questioning things at church. Is this really the kingdom? We were young and in community with other leaders in the church and got to see a real inside scoop of each other’s lives. These were the “top” leaders of the church in a decade or so. Or less. But marriages were racked with emotional connecting voids, using sex as manipulation, and looking for attention outside of each other. We didn’t know how to peace make in a biblical way, we gossiped behind each other’s back, assuming the best wasn’t even on our radar. We didn’t know and accept each other. I knew that I needed hope and I wondered if hope would be found in the older generation. I looked for a mentoring relationship and found so many that weren’t willing because they felt they weren’t ready. Or just didn’t have the time. My outlook was bleak into what we would lead the next generation to.
And so my slow fade of disillusionment began with the church and those who led it. Since we were in leadership ourselves I felt like the biggest hypocrite and began asking God to release us to a healthier body of believers, where I could grow into the bigger shoes my heart was longing for. If there was one. To be honest I had my doubts.
It got to the point I couldn’t handle moving through the lobby greeting people with big happy “church smiles” plastered on their faces. How can we all be content with asking the question “how are you doing?” and answering it the same every week? What would happen if we really answered the truth?
Quite depressed actually. Instead of So thankful to be alive.
Just hanging by a thread, my ex is fighting for full custody of our daughter. instead of Blessed, so blessed.
Feeling very alone and not known even in this sea of people. Instead of Loving this community.
My revulsion at this lack of transparency, and lack of safety grew. Until I started a small experiment. When I got that cheery good morning question I would answer honestly the things that came from my depths.
I am struggling to be here.
At the very least I would get that deer in the head lights look, like I caught them in the middle of putting on a disguise. The smile looked painful as they squeaked out an “ok, good” and kept on walking quickly into the sanctuary.
OK, good? Did they not hear what I just said?
On the best of occasions I got a “Ill pray for you” with a gentle arm touch before they hit up the coffee shop in time to get to worship in 10 minutes.
But I never got actually prayed for. Right then, right there.
My distaste grew so much that I couldn’t keep going to this masked party where everyone seemed to be drinking the punch and not caring that they were unsure of what they were celebrating. Or worse, feeling the discontent I was, but too scared to leave lest they be judged.
I asked my husband if I had his blessing to have “church” at Starbucks after I dropped our kids off at Sunday school. I no longer worked there but he was still on staff. He was wrestling with the same sense of “we thought we had the point right on the map, yup, kingdom of god”, but nothing here felt like the kingdom. But he couldn’t quite come out with this, after all he got paid to be here. But he saw my angst growing and blessed me to take my bible to the “unchurched” filled starbucks down the street. And for the first Sunday in years I felt like I was getting closer to the kingdom. People were hurting and honest and not faking it. I knew that Jesus would be in a place like this if he were in skin today. After all he was found in all the wrong places. With tax collectors, prostitutes, the ex-demon possessed.
I did this until we had a “church-endorsed” reason to not go to church. We were moving overseas and started an internship to train others. Part of the curriculum included deconstructing church by not attending it and instead pouring through Acts and highlighting what was cultural, what was biblical, etc. I began to see the things that constituted church that weren’t necessarily commanded in scripture. Many things that happened and the way they happened were cultural. This opened up the freedom to recreate what a life-giving “kingdom focused” community meant to me. It was eye opening and I was addicted. This would begin the beginning of my leaving “the church” for the next 12 years. And every time I returned to “the building” after that I squirmed like a cat evading bath time.
TO BE CONTINUED…