A Year Away From Church

I think it was November of 2016 that I stopped going. I didn’t know how long it would be before I went back, or if I would even go to that church again. I just knew that I needed a break. I was tired of walking into church and knowing I was out of place. I hated feeling like everyone was looking in on a club that I was not a part of. I couldn’t stand being present but feeling distant.

I had recently come out to some, though not all, of the church community. Even to the ones I was not officially “out” to could hardly ignore the fact that I was different. The church had rapidly expanded over the past few months, and I couldn’t help but notice the new faces that stared a little too long at the girl with very short hair who habitually wore button-downs.

Among the people who did know my story, the responses were varied. All spoke of love, but I know many worried that I was headed down the wrong path. It’s hard embarking on a new journey when the people around you openly question your decisions.

I remember driving out of the church parking lot one Sunday and thinking, This is it. I’m not coming back next week. I may not come back ever. And when I got home, I glanced at the stack of Bibles on my bedside table, and I decided not to read them for a while. I couldn’t stand the thought of reading out of a sense of duty anymore. I walked away from the church that I loved and set aside those books that I had read cover to cover. I took a break from the religion of Christianity.

Separating from church gave me room to breathe. I was able to hear my thoughts and feel the pain and anger that had accumulated from years of being told that my orientation was something that I needed to be healed of. I ran a lot, shedding my frustration along miles of wooded trails and exhaling the toxins that had poisoned me for so long. I asked questions. I listened to music, loud over the radio, with my head out my window and the wind whipping my hair. I drank lots of coffee and I talked to strangers. I blogged.

And through it all, I met God in a different context than I’d known him before. Away from sermons, religious verbiage, and familiar verses, he was nonetheless always there. I saw him in the glowing sunset, and in the persistent rain that Northwesters learn to love. I saw him in my friends–Athiests, Muslims, and Mormons alike. I heard him in song, and I felt his warmth in my heart every night before I fell asleep.

As the months went by, I saw the words I’d read so many times proven before my eyes. I felt the truth in the teachings of Jesus.

I’ve been told that Christians who stop going to church risk being trapped by lies and being separated from God. But that always bothered me a little. If my faith can’t survive without a weekly dose of church, then is it really worth having in the first place?

It’s been over a year, and so much has changed. I’m stronger than I was. Some things that I knew in my head before, I now feel in the core of my being.

There was bitterness threatening to set into my soul in the wake of the spiritual abuse I endured for so long. I know forgiveness now. I was able to brush away the caustic ideologies that had damaged my heart, and allow time for healing.

I don’t intend to stay away from church forever. There is so much to learn from others’ knowledge of God, and there is much to accomplish together. I don’t think I’ll ever feel at home in the evangelical circles I came from, but I am certain there is a community that will welcome me.

 

 

 

Survival

It’s ridiculously easy to get sucked into the downward spiral of hopelessness. It’s a toxic mentality that perpetuates itself ad infinitum, when we let it. You work so hard so that you can afford to eat and have somewhere to sleep. So that in the morning you can get up, shower, put on your work clothes . . . and go back to work. And the cycle repeats. And eventually you look at your life and wonder why the hell you work so fucking hard just to survive and go back to work. It’s exhausting even to think about. The futility of it all is as laughable as it is sad.

This is not the way it’s supposed to be. The God I know and adore did not design a system that simply leads to burnout. He did not create games that are impossible to win.

When I’m depressed I tend to see isolated failures. Something bad happens. I do something stupid. I lose. And the individual defeats add up so that each consecutive loss weakens me further. Pretty soon what should be a minor setback appears catastrophic.

Because my perspective is wrong.

First off, I’m wrong to look at events as failures. Perhaps, taken alone, they appear so. But in reality, they are the stressors that will make me strong. How can I grow without encountering resistance?

I need to change my expectations for myself. My goal must no longer be perfection. As long as I strive for this, I will prefer to remain stationary rather than risk a blemish on my record. But that is the surest recipe for failure. To do nothing is to guarantee stagnation. Movement–any movement–is an opportunity to learn.

I must not be afraid. I must learn to embrace uncertainty. Then my days will no longer be mindless repetition that devours my energy and saps my strength. Every moment will be a lesson; every person, my teacher.

And instead of standing still, I will move forward. Rather than going through the motions, I will have purpose for every action. I will build on yesterday, laying the foundations for tomorrow.

I’m done with survival. I insist on living.

Political Correctness

I wrote this journal entry about a year ago. My opinions on it have changed slightly since then, so this is an edited version. In the past year I have only become more sensitive to the pain of others. As I grew and matured, I came to be kinder, more understanding. I have known many Christians who believe that political correctness is actually evil. They are threatened by an infringement on their freedom of speech. Here is my take on the matter.

Dear Church,

I understand why you hate political correctness. You hate it because it is so unnecessary. For a clean and unblemished people, tiptoeing around certain terms and insisting on euphemisms is petty and irrelevant. In heaven, there will be no need for PC. Everyone will be able to say what they want, and nobody will take offense.

But we forget that everyone is on a unique journey. We don’t understand the pain of an injury we have never experienced. We grow callous about other’s hurts because they differ from our own.

And I think a lot of times, we should on others in the most appalling way. You should be over that by now. You should let that go. You should toughen up a bit.

That’s so easy to do for someone else’s pain. Not so easy for my own. If I’m willing to guard my pain, I must become willing to guard everyone else’s in the same way. Even if I don’t understand it.

This is the reason for PC. It’s an agreement to steer clear of one another’s unseen bruises. Is that really so silly? Truly, it’s a common courtesy. It’s the least we can do.

But then there is the matter of rights. I have the right to say what I think. They can’t stop me from calling sin “sin,” and they can’t stop me from saying “Merry Christmas.” I get that, and it is absolutely true. Freedom of speech grants you the right to speak your mind.

But the heart of Christianity is laying down your rights. It’s putting aside what is easy and considering others as better than yourself. We are not obligated to be PC–it is our privilege. It’s my joy to select my words carefully, avoiding what I have a right to say and choosing what will benefit others.

It is easy to push the responsibility to the other party. You don’t have to get so offended. Don’t take it so seriously. Gee, can’t you take a joke? We say it, but we forget–we have free access to grace. We have an unlimited supply, and this is our chance to use it. If we truly have the maturity conferred to us by Christ, ten it’s up to us to be the first to extend mercy, as He would have done.

Dear Church,

I write a lot of letters to the church. I love the church. I long to be a part of Christ’s Body. But I’m the rainbow-colored sheep that never quite fit in. There’s so much misunderstanding right now. I frequently find myself being labeled as rebellious, rejecting God’s Word. But all I want is to be the person He made me to be. Unfortunately, that person is not acceptable to many Christians. This letter is to the American evangelical church at large, not to anyone in particular.

September 18, 2016

Oh Church. You are fighting the wrong battles again. You have this black-and-white idea of what’s right and wrong. You’re so sure you know how God feels about people like me. And you’ve turned opinion into doctrine. So to you, anyone with a different opinion is rebelling against God. But you forget that it’s you who said it first, not God.

Stop making it a fight against people. Stop making it Us vs. Them. I am not your enemy! I am not God’s enemy! I am His child, and I know who I am. Don’t be so sure of yourself. Give up everything you think you know. Give up everything except the very words from Christ’s mouth. Let your doctrine go, and if it is truth you will find it again.

But whatever is human, religion, tradition–don’t be shocked if it is washed away. Trust that what is real will weather the test. And whatever cannot stand is not worth building on. It’s not worth fighting for. It’s not worth losing friends over.

Maybe it will make you uncomfortable. Maybe it will stretch your mind. But God is more creative than we give Him credit for. If our doctrine cannot contain Him, should that be so astounding? It’s time to re-examine our beliefs to accommodate God. We cannot keep Him confined. If our world must be shaken in order for us to see that, then let it shake.