Perhaps God is up to something after all…

I’ve been in a church a good percentage of my Sundays on earth.

At first, it was the Catholic Church and then it was a little Nazarene church plant, a Calvary Chapel church plant on Wednesdays, then a Baptist church that didn’t want to call itself that so they picked a relevant Christian title, then a non-denominational church, a Christian & Missionary Alliance church, a Presbyterian church (probably by far the least fitting to my egalitarian [yes, I believe women can be pastors] theology!), an Anglican church (welcome back, liturgy!), and now back to C&MA church (yes, we went full circle on that one).

(Confession! There were quite a few “Beside Baptists” in there as well.)

I’ve had some high highs in church (like the time when Pastor Rich baptized me in a fellow church-goer’s backyard pool) and some low lows (like the time I heard a pastor say that the pinnacle of our church’s success hinged upon our new building campaign).

I have seldom been one to understand the church as family except for a couple experiences. I envy those who can say that. I envy those who are genuinely excited to hop out of bed each Sunday and gather as the community of Christ. Yes, I’ve had moments, but the totality of my experience finds me more likely to want to hang out at home with my family eating pancakes and playing board games.

I can give two dozen reasons for why this is the case. And maybe so can you when you consider your own Sunday morning longings. Perhaps you’ve been deeply wounded, or ignored. Or you’ve never felt like you belong or you are certain the teachings are a bit wonky. Perhaps you are burned out or you are wrestling with hard questions and you aren’t finding the answers on Sunday morning. Maybe you’ve seen and felt hypocrisy or bullying, or worse yet, abuse.

And social media today has fed much of it. The past few years have put on display the sins of many which otherwise may not have publicly come to light. We’ve seen #metoo and #churchtoo. We’ve seen pastors fail morally and ethically in too many ways. We’ve seen how absolute power corrupts. We’ve seen how putting leaders on pedestals is an awful idea. And lately we are reminded of what a lack of grace can do when we don’t check our theology and our love for Jesus and our commitment to be like Him in all things.

We are tired and angry of it all. Our hearts are broken over the collective “us” and the sins of many. We long for the church to be and do better. We long for a safe place to call home, where we can be honest and real and, like my friend shared with me, say things like Lady Gaga says in her song ‘A Million Reasons’:

You’re giving me a million reasons to let you go….I just need one good reason to stay.

Take a minute and ask yourself this: Where is your safe place? Where, in your life, can you just be you–without air or pretense or pomp? The unfortunate reality is that too many of us have to think long and hard about this question. We may first think of our parents or our spouse or our friends. Who, among us, considers church as the place where we feel the safest and most free to be ourselves?

I remember as a child going to confession twice a year and the thought of entering the confessional would intensely stress me out. As we’d drive out to church I’d rehearse in my mind sins for which I’d seek penance–I had lied, I had cheated, I had not thought of God first. In fact, I had a running list of things to confess. Problem was, I couldn’t give any examples of these. I just had to have sins to bring in there! So there I was, lying in a confessional.

This was not good.

The confessional didn’t feel like a safe space to me, but it wasn’t until years later that I was able to understand why this was the case.

The thing about our faith journeys is that they are complex. It takes time and clarity for us to see things for what they are. Second Corinthians 2:5 says, “Examine yourselves to see whether you are in the faith; test yourselves.” No faith is worth having unless we understand what and why we believe. We are called not to an unquestioning belief but one that wrestles with the hard questions and deep longings of our hearts. But to whom should we wrestle?

We ought to wrestle with the only One who can really answer–the Maker of Heaven and Earth. Author Jon Acuff describes it this way: “Wrestling with God is a sign of intimacy. You can’t wrestle with someone you’re far away from.” Yes, think Jacob.

I remember as a new Christian starting to go through the Book of Esther (yes, awesome start, I know.). I sat with my pastor and confronted him. Finishing the book and putting it aside, I asked, “Why in the world do I want to follow this God?” (No spoiler alert here; you gotta read Esther yourself–there is some good and hard stuff in there.) From the get-go on my new journey of faith I was forced to take seriously this commitment I had made.

It is only as we honestly consider what we believe and why can we come to a rock solid conclusion for our resounding “Yes!” or our deliberate “No.” But don’t miss this, friends, even if you are saying no to God now, that’s not the end of the story, for Jesus “always lives to make intercession” for us and God “desires all to come to a knowledge of Himself.”

And just because you need to say no to the church now doesn’t mean that’s the end of the story.

In the coming days and weeks and months I’m going to write a lot on why we are wrestling with the church today. I’m going to offer serious concerns for where we are at, but also serious promptings to wrestle long and hard with what the church is and why, despite us, God continues to love His church.

But let me begin with J.R.R. Tolkien: Not all those who wander are lost.

If you find yourself questioning your love and commitment to the church and saying things like “I love Jesus, but I don’t love His church,” first, know you are not alone. You are neither the first nor the last person who will make that profoundly sad statement. I have. Lots of times. In fact, for more than two years, I lived there (making Bedside Baptist a regular stop on my Sunday mornings).

It’s okay to say it. After all, God already knows your heart.

Second, enjoy the journey as you wander. In the narrative of scripture and in the story of our lives, most of us can point to the hard times and the deep valleys as the most transformative moments in our lives (not while we were in them, but in hindsight we see).

Our tears are kept in His bottle as we venture out with our questions. Our anger is consumed by His love when we draw near to Him. Our pain is dissolved the closer we get to the crucified Christ.

There is no shame in wandering. In fact, your travels and your questions are what will ultimately lead you closer to Jesus and to a knowledge of who God is, what He has called us to, and how He sees His church. Embrace the journey and walk closely with Jesus.

Finally, listen deeply to the voice of God. Sometimes God whispers and sometimes He shrieks: “O wanderer, come home.”

I remember years ago I had lost my cell phone in a forest. It was Autumn. It was raining. I drove to my parent’s house afterwards and told my parents, at which time my dad decided we needed to go back and look for the phone. Two phones in hand, we ventured out to a forest covered with leaves. When we arrived and before we set out, I stopped my dad and said, “By the way, my ringer is turned off.” My phone was only on vibrate.

We began calling my phone, listening for the distant hum of recognition. Ten minutes later, I was frantically running through the forest as I called while my dad ever.so.slowly took a few steps at a time. Why in the world isn’t he moving more? I wondered in frustration. Five minutes later, as the rain poured down, my dad called me over and said, “Let’s go, it’s raining.”

As we walked, my dad stopped me. As I looked at him, he pulled my phone out of his pocket! With a shake of his finger, my dad simply said, “Laurie, if you never slow down, you will miss all that is going on around you. Sometimes, you need to slow down.”

Sometimes, friend, we all need to slow down long enough to hear God’s whisper, or His shriek. And we simply cannot do that when we are covered in anger and fear and sadness and longing. Sometimes, the only way to really hear Him is to begin a journey that may be fearful and uncertain. My image, however, is that as we walk with Him in our pain, piece by piece each and every hurt and ache and longing falls off like Autumn leaves from a tree.

Wander around with God, friend. Seek deeply His heart for you, for His church, for His world, and then follow Him where He leads…back home to a place of safety unlike anything you’ve experienced before.

Over the next few days, reflect on this: How has your view of God changed as a result of your own disappointment, disengagement, anger, or fear (or a combination!) with the church?

Next time, we’ll talk more about who God is in our longings for what ought to be, but what isn’t.