Confessions of a Former Church All-Star

When Keith and I first started dating, he used to joke that I was a “church all-star” because I was involved in so many different churchy things.

Through the years I have worked with youth, taught Sunday school, sung in choirs and on worship teams, facilitated Bible studies, hosted small groups, helped with vacation Bible school, chaperoned for youth camps and mission trips, led drama teams, served on a plethora of committees/teams/boards/councils, helped launch new ministries, been the logistics coordinator for a church building project, and the list goes on and on.

My church resume is long.

I grew up with parents in the ministry, with church feeling like my second home, and I have continued in some form of church ministry all of my life . . . until now.

Now, I am one of “those” people.

One of those people who makes every conceivable excuse to miss church.

One of those people who goes to a kid’s ballgame instead of a church service.

One of those people who just can’t commit to showing up or getting involved.

A backslider.

I’m writing this on Sunday morning, trying to recall the last time I went to a service.  We tried to go last Sunday because it was the Sunday before Christmas, but they must have changed up the service times because when we got there, the sermon was halfway over, so we just went back home and watched Brene Brown’s Netflix special, “The Call to Courage,” and had a great family discussion.  (Note:  when we miss church, we always listen to worship music, have a devotion, or watch a sermon and have a discussion and prayer – it’s not the same, but it helps alleviate my guilt.)

That’s not the worst of the confession.  We also skipped the Christmas Eve service.  I’ve now sunk lower than the “C and E” church go’ers (the people who only show up on Christmas and Easter) because I didn’t even manage the “C!”  (And I barely made it to the “E” earlier this year, but this was because I had just finished a book by Shelby Spong who always challenges me, but also puts me in a serious “faith funk.”)

The thing is, despite excuses and sometimes legitimate conflicts, I hate missing church.  If you know me or have read any of my blogs, you know I’m a believer in the church.

You’re probably thinking, “Well, just go back to church!” Duh.

But it’s not that easy.  I never thought I’d be in this position.  But now that I’m here, I see things differently.

And it makes me wonder how many others are out there that are like me:  longing for community; curious and eager to find other seekers; weary because of the effort it takes to really connect; skeptical of religious institutions; frustrated with the church options or lack thereof;  fearful that my kids are not getting the foundation they need; and all the while, not knowing what to do.

I’m having trouble getting to church, and I love the church.  I miss it.

How big is that leap for someone who doesn’t know about the love of Jesus or the value of church community?

Now that I’m one of “those” people, I will think twice before ever making assumptions about people who do not go to church.

This, of course, is a problem of my own making.  My church apathy is part frustration, part life circumstances.

The frustration is perfectly framed by Brian McLaren: “People like you and me feel we are offered endless pairs of unacceptable alternatives:  ignorance on fire or intelligence on ice; excessive certainty or insufficient confidence; updated styles and structures with an outdated message or an updated message with outdated styles and structures; a regressive movement or a progressive bureaucracy.  Again and again we are offered two ways of being irrelevant.  Neither option works long term, neither compels, and neither offers a good way to live.”  (The Great Spiritual Migration)

There are no perfect churches and already too much church bashing that goes on, so I won’t go on a rant here.  As the old saying goes, “different strokes for different folks.”  Churches have different personalities and there’s no “right” way to worship.  In fact, when we moved, we visited lots of different kinds of churches because we wanted the kids to see that there are lots of ways to worship.

But there are always trade-offs and sometimes it’s hard to weigh them properly.  For example, Keith and I decided that we wanted to be part of a church where women were seen as equals in ministry and where we would feel comfortable inviting anyone, including gay friends.  That narrowed our church choices quite a bit.  One trade-off is that churches with a more generous theology tend to fall into the “intelligence on ice” category and are not as appealing to the kids.  Is it better for our kids to see us taking a stand for something we believe in, or better for them to be involved in a dynamic worship service or vibrant youth program?  We are still wrestling with these questions.

The life circumstances part is also not worth unpacking in detail here, but suffice it to say that when we moved, just over a year ago, our church attendance began to falter.  We gave ourselves a pass for awhile, saying we were “in transition.”  But there have been things that have kept us unsettled, and that has made getting involved very difficult.

At the end of the day, a church service is just a church service, but what makes it special is being there together, in COMMUNITY.

It’s the community that makes church meaningful; it’s the connections that draw us in and keep us coming back.  But creating community takes time and effort, emotional energy and commitment.  I have not had the bandwidth to do what it takes to build community.

And oddly, I think this lackadaisical church mode that I’m in is also a strange byproduct of things that God is teaching me.  The more that I see Him outside the church walls, the more confining those walls feel at times.  It’s counterintuitive and I don’t fully understand why it’s happening.

Church is supposed to be a place where we refuel, get inspired and focused and challenged, where we are taught and equipped to love and serve – I know all of this, but head knowledge and heart knowledge are not always in sync.

When I’m wrestling with things of faith, I sometimes go through little seasons of necessary rebellion before I can reengage with renewed enthusiasm.  “The undoing is part of the remaking.” (Richard Rohr, podcast)

But these “I-never-thought-I’d-become-this-person” moments are humbling.  They create a lot of room for reflection and empathy.  They are a sobering reminder to avoid assumptions and sweeping generalizations.

I can relate with Sunday morning church skippers in ways that I couldn’t when I was a faithful attender.  The experience from the inside is much different than the experience from the perimeter, and both are important perspectives.  It seems I will always have much to learn.

So, I know I will get back to church, and get back in the game, eventually.  I’ve tried to give it up before, in those “faith funk” times of frustration.  Church is not God (church is God’s people, with or without a building or doctrine or by-laws or any of the ways we have ritualized faith), and you can certainly experience God outside the church walls, but I’ve experienced too much good there to walk away.

I’m grateful to have experienced magical times when collective faith and vision gave way to incredible transformation.  God can transform in isolation, if He chooses, but love can only be practiced in fellowship, so I’m convinced that true transformation happens when we are connected.

I’m praying that 2020 will be a time of reconnection; of finding other wanderers and misfits and seekers; of spiritual vulnerability and courage; of miracles in the mundane; and of transformation that only happens in real community.   All these things both excite and scare me, but that seems to be the space where God breaks through.

I’ll take a page of inspiration from a “book” Lela wrote several years ago (her version of the Todd Parr book, It’s Okay To Be Different) and I’ll try to remember, “It is okay if you go to church.”