On Being Churchless
Isolation sets in fast. The former Sunday morning habit now feels like gearing up for a job interview. There is nothing to wear. Do I have to put on makeup? It's exhausting.
But the call of corporate worship beckons like a distant angels' song. I long to grasp my fellow Christian's hand as we join with billions around the world in prayer, to sing alongside brothers and sisters in joyful worship, to laugh together at the teacher's jokes while he opens up the Word of God and fills us with our daily bread, to sit together in happy fellowship with our Lord, our Friend, Jesus, there with us, in our very midst.
What has brought me to this place of longing is a forsaking. In truth, I was not loved, I was not cared for, I was not shepherded in my former church, as I had thought I was. My pastor and his elders turned from the truth and together, with help from others sneaking down the shadowy path of alternative theology, chose to form a new gospel.
I wasn't the only one to leave, but the ones who walked away were few, and now my heart beats with longing for my former friends, who stayed, who are there now, doing church together.
As you can tell from my name, I've never been stellar at doing church. I have mostly underachieved in the all-in call that is true participation: the tithing, serving, regular gathering, helping, leading life that is a functioning segment of the Body of Christ. Now, I huddle under blankets and watch sermons on my tablet. I read my Bible in stolen moments in the car. I pray continually, but in spurts. It's like a facetime call, but I leave God hanging a lot while I take care of other things.
I love having conversations with other believers, but these mostly happen on facebook.
I am weary of the arguing.
I pray now for a church that is at a crossroads, leaving Christians like me alone on the roadside while it speeds down its path to "progress." The schism is great, and growing greater, and the sheep are hurrying to form more groups. Everyone feels better in a group.
I learn that it is appropriate, even necessary, to wait a moment or two before rushing to become part of a flock again. I get up out of the dirt now, with my Bible in hand. I brush the dust off my clothing, and watch it settle again on the roadway. It is quiet here, I'll give you that, but quiet allows us to think.
I think, I may have been left here, but I am not alone.
Jesus whispers, "Don't be afraid! Speak out! Don't be silent! For I am with you, and no one will harm you because many people here in this city belong to Me."
I begin again.
But the call of corporate worship beckons like a distant angels' song. I long to grasp my fellow Christian's hand as we join with billions around the world in prayer, to sing alongside brothers and sisters in joyful worship, to laugh together at the teacher's jokes while he opens up the Word of God and fills us with our daily bread, to sit together in happy fellowship with our Lord, our Friend, Jesus, there with us, in our very midst.
What has brought me to this place of longing is a forsaking. In truth, I was not loved, I was not cared for, I was not shepherded in my former church, as I had thought I was. My pastor and his elders turned from the truth and together, with help from others sneaking down the shadowy path of alternative theology, chose to form a new gospel.
I wasn't the only one to leave, but the ones who walked away were few, and now my heart beats with longing for my former friends, who stayed, who are there now, doing church together.
As you can tell from my name, I've never been stellar at doing church. I have mostly underachieved in the all-in call that is true participation: the tithing, serving, regular gathering, helping, leading life that is a functioning segment of the Body of Christ. Now, I huddle under blankets and watch sermons on my tablet. I read my Bible in stolen moments in the car. I pray continually, but in spurts. It's like a facetime call, but I leave God hanging a lot while I take care of other things.
I love having conversations with other believers, but these mostly happen on facebook.
I am weary of the arguing.
I pray now for a church that is at a crossroads, leaving Christians like me alone on the roadside while it speeds down its path to "progress." The schism is great, and growing greater, and the sheep are hurrying to form more groups. Everyone feels better in a group.
I learn that it is appropriate, even necessary, to wait a moment or two before rushing to become part of a flock again. I get up out of the dirt now, with my Bible in hand. I brush the dust off my clothing, and watch it settle again on the roadway. It is quiet here, I'll give you that, but quiet allows us to think.
I think, I may have been left here, but I am not alone.
Jesus whispers, "Don't be afraid! Speak out! Don't be silent! For I am with you, and no one will harm you because many people here in this city belong to Me."
I begin again.
Comments
Post a Comment