What Church Should Be

This morning in church I thought about each of you. As we collectively stood and sang in unison the lyrics of God Is Here, I worshipped God, and I prayed for each of you. As I sang, I felt a lump well up in my throat:

There is a sweet anointing in the sanctuary
There is a stillness in the atmosphere
O come and lay down the burdens you have carried
For in the sanctuary God is here

This is what church should be, I mused. A place, and a people, so filled with the spirit of God that we feel as though we can be who God made us to be. 

How, then, did we as the church get so far that some of you, my dear friends, are unable to even darken a church door? 

Nearly two years ago I had a conversation on the phone which I will never forget. This dear woman called me after reading an article I had written on #metoo. Long past tears, she factually laid out to me how her church had failed to respond to her abusive marriage, instead encouraging her and her husband to “get counseling.” As I wept at her story, I was met with silence. 

“This is the first time anyone has cried over my story,” she remarked.

Yes, she said that. And no, I had no idea how to respond except with more tears, and more words of encouragement.

Perhaps it was then when I began to see that the disappointment I had been experiencing with the church in America wasn’t mine alone. I had seen a political season reveal a deep divide in evangelicals, and a real misunderstanding of the gospel. 

I had watched as one Christian leader after another was revealed to have failed morally. One story after another emerged. And with each passing story, I became more and more convinced that the problem in our churches was so vast as to take us under—but for the grace of God. 

I continued to see females maligned, and later decided to write a bit of my story of being female in the church. This I have never published, but you can read it here. I saw the void left by the passing of Rachel Held Evans, who by God’s grace created space for those on the margins to find themselves important and valuable, who gave permission to be on the fringe of evangelical thinking without living in condemnation of others. 

And this morning all of these thoughts ran through my mind. As I emerge from my dark season of disappointment in the church in America, I am seeing something I hadn’t thought I’d see soon—goodness. 

I wish all of you could worship in my church, because here’s what I see: 

• I see a church stripped of false pretenses.

• I see a church where people can laugh and cry and sing and be silent. 

• I see a church where God’s word is taken seriously. 

• I see a church where people say “Hello” and look you in the eye. 

• I see a church that speaks of mission as though it matters. 

• I see a church that prays as though their lives depend upon it.

No, I don’t know the inner workings of my church. And frankly, I’m not sure I want to yet. I’ve seen ugliness over the past years, and sometimes, in God’s grace, God allows us to have just enough distance to observe the beauty before we get in the dirt again. 

So here I worship, and here I enter this Thanksgiving season. In some strange way I don’t yet fully understand, I am thankful for the season of disappointment from which I am emerging. I am seeing a little more clearly what the church is to be:

• singularly focused on the astonishing love and sacrifice of Jesus
• dedicated wholly to seeing all those far from God see his goodness and glory
• sold out in worship to God alone
• living in community and fellowship daily, weekly, always
• praying as though it were our highest pursuit
• being a people who change our world for the better each and every day.

This is church. This is what I long for, what we long for. Let me end this with a quote from Pope Francis which has captured my imagination, and perhaps it will capture yours:

I prefer a church which is bruised, hurting an dirty because it has been out on the streets rather than a church which is unhealthy from being confined and from clinging to its own security…More than by going astray, my hope is that we will be moved by the fear of remaining shut up within structures which give us a false sense of security, within rules which make us harsh judges, within habits which make us feel safe, while at our door people are starving and Jesus does not tire of saying to us, “Give them something to eat.” 

Hours later, after I have left that sanctuary where I did feel a “sweet anointing,” I think of you all. And I want you inside that sanctuary. I long for you to be in a place where the church is the church.

This Thanksgiving, I am grateful you are journeying toward that, and I am thankful for your courage to call the wrongs wrong and to push towards how to make them right. 

Much love, Laurie