Why I'm Taking a Break from Church.

You probably don't need to hear this from me, but I need to say it outloud.

“She slept all weekend!”

My Granny said to my mom when asked about our weekend together. I was in college and since my Dad was a Delta pilot, I could still take advantage of buddy pass tickets to fly to see my grandparents for the weekend.

It was true. I spent the entire weekend sleeping, only waking for meal times and briefly interacting with my grandparents. 

At the time, I would have admitted that I was escaping, running away even. I was in a psychologically unhealthy and toxic relationship that I couldn’t figure out. Leaving him would mean leaving someone I loved, or thought I loved. Leaving also brought up intense fear.

I was afraid I would regret it, afraid that I was supposed to work through it rather than quit. I was afraid that I would be the one in the wrong for not trying harder. So I took a break to get away to the safest and farthest place I knew- my grandparents’ house. Then I slept. 

I needed rest down to my physical bones.  My soul, weary from thrashing back and forth between fear and shame, was suffocating from the lack of truth and clarity. My boyfriend at the time had initially swept me off my feet with dreams of marriage (making me feel wanted) only to now twist every conversation into how I was wrong and he was right. Now, I couldn’t hear or trust my own voice, much less God’s. Worse, when I brought scripture to our conversation (to root us in something other than ourselves) I was told he knew more about God than I did, had studied scripture more than I had, and said, “If God is telling you one thing and me something else, then what you are hearing, must not be God.” 

I had gone to friends and even a godly professor and mentor. All said it was my choice.

I was literally losing my mind. So I left for a weekend and slept. 

26 years later I know I was running away, but more importantly, I was looking for safety. I slept because my grandparents’ house was safe, kind, warm, loving. I didn’t question their love for me, didn’t need to prove anything to them, and knew if they were disappointed in me sleeping all weekend they loved me more than what I could offer them.

Because they were safe, their home was safe, and I could find the space to heal and maybe hear the truth again.

For 16 years (longer actually, but we’ll start there) we have not been able to be in place long enough to benefit from the church body as I was taught. I have always been taught (and have taught others) that church was a place to “get involved,” “be in community,” and was worth it. So much so, that I have been told over the years to press in and get involved to reap the benefits of community by joining a small group and navigating the complexity of the relationships within. “It is there that God shapes us and teaches us patience, forgiveness, and sacrifice.”

But that takes time. Something not everyone has the luxury of.

In 16 years, we have been to 14 churches and 4 Young Life/Club Beyond for our boys. Many were due to moves, others we changed trying to find something healthy for our boys, and sometimes it was out of our own desperation.

I have long shamed myself thinking it was my fault. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. Maybe I should be more patient with imperfect Christians. Maybe I am too judgmental and expecting too much, despite lowering my standards year after year after year.

We have tried multiple denominations, inner city, small town, traditional, contemporary, on-post chapel, we even tried a Hillsong Church (right before Hillsong blew up). Looking at it now, one would think Matt and I were confused about what we believe, but in reality we didn’t know what to do with the red flags we saw now that we were the “visitors” and not the ones “on staff”.

My kids, now young adults who miraculously love God and still love people, said to me, “Mom, you and Dad did a really good job trying to take us to church. I know you wanted to find whatever it was you once knew but we didn’t experience it with you. We have no context of what you are looking for. Our experience of church has been mediocre, at best.”

Mediocre, at best.

It was the most true statement yet and finally gave voice to my inside experience. I didn’t want to agree with it but I couldn’t ignore the congruence it brought to my soul.

My soul is weary. Weary with an eerily familiar thrashing of shame and fear. Fear that if I left that it would be my fault. Fear that I would regret it here on earth or worse in heaven. My soul has been slowly suffocating without the love of God through others who claim to know him and without the word of God appropriately preached in a way that reminds me that it is Jesus that I long for, Jesus that I need to become like, and Jesus alone that can renew my spirit. 

I am so tired.

I realized yesterday (Sunday morning as I left the service) that I have been looking this whole time for a place, a house of worship, that felt safe. Not perfect, but safe. Instead, I have found 

• Meanness and hate

• Patriarchial attitudes and demeaning treatment of me and other women

• A place where adult and youth bullies are tolerated

• Exclusive treatment for members only and tolerating visitors until they join

• Being completely ignored

• My children completely ignored

• Our military service and needs (for at least our children) were treated as “too complicated” as we were “waited out” and seen as “temporary visitors”

• When finally seen (or they googled me) we were valued only for what I could do for the church

• Sermons that were based on self-help tips and pop culture

• Sermons designed to use scripture to shame me into doing more, serving more, giving more generously so that your business succeeds

• Just enough Jesus to make me not fully question what we’re really doing here

• Condoning and fueling hate in society while arming yourselves for violence

• Screaming at each other online, at targeted populations, and spreading fear-based information and gossip

The “come as you are” sentiment and the “everyone welcome” tagline is only for those with the luxury of time to fully immerse themselves in the institution. In that case, it is more a country club than a church. It is for the wealthy in spirit who need to “check the box” and gather with others in alignment with common behavior rather than the poor in spirit who look for a safe place to be broken and rest. I admit I am now wrestling with what real benefit it is to commit to a group like this.

Meanwhile, people in the community who may not outwardly profess to be Christians are succeeding at what the Church was called to do. They are feeding the homeless, saving children, taking care of the widows, and are more kind than anyone I meet in the church on Sundays.

But it is too painful to let you go. So, we committed this time, even went to the membership class to see if it was all in our head, and started a military couple’s small group.

Yesterday, I (again) resigned with many others as we put in our earplugs that are offered in the lobby next to the coffee and mints. Despite complaints by our family and many others, it is clear that there is something more the church values in keeping worship at a 105-decibel volume (rock concert level and considered dangerous if exposure is over 30 minutes) than those that you shepherd who have shared it is physically painful and makes worship impossible.

I was prepared to let it go, once again lowering my standards, questioning my intentions, and “giving it over to Jesus.” But then not one familiar song was sung, forcing most of the congregation to awkwardly stand and watch you sing your perfectly performed concert to us. No one sang, except for a few nice people who I could tell were the type that wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I will say, though, you seemed to have a great time showing us how great of a performer you are. 

Sitting down, I, again, tried to let it go, ignored the discomfort in my body, and opened my heart for the sermon. It was on salvation! Oh yay!.... If there is anything my heart needs right now, it is the reminder of what all of this is about in the first place. 

But you rushed through with a basic explanation of the miraculous, historical, and life-changing act of God making a way for us to commune with Him forever, to get to how serving you is God’s will for my life and how it will help me become godly- just sprinkle in a little bit of Jesus at the end to not be heretical.

I can’t do it anymore.

I thought the church could be a safe place, but it has not been. I have to be congruent with what my mind, heart, and body have been telling me for a long time. What my son said is true, it has been mediocre, at best.

Coming from a long background of ministers and having gone to seminary myself, I am beyond sad, and deeply grieving, because I no longer believe that it is me. It is you. I have been living in fear and shame, believing messages like “I have to be a part of a congregation/body/church/community” or I will not grow, be in God’s will, that I will be missing something because I am not attending, and that I cannot possibly be healthy without you, etc. And I realized yesterday how familiar those messages are.

 I don’t like how I feel when I’m around you, in a building with you, or watching you interact with the world. I’ve been in a relationship like this before and it was beyond unhealthy. And don’t tell me it’s something in me that God means to work out of me- this feeling is not the same as conviction (when God disciplines, reminds, or rebukes). He is loving, gentle, kind, and is still loving even when He’s firm. This feeling in my body is different. I leave church feeling not enough, sad, lonely, guilted, and shamed. And if I feel that way, who by the world’s standards is supposed to be qualified biblically, educationally, and professionally to provide ministry as well, how are others feeling? Those who are looking for something, but not sure what it is yet?

I can tell you where they are finding it and why church membership is declining in the US today. They are finding it outside of the church in non-profit organizations, yoga studios, running clubs, with other Christians who made this decision long before me in small quiet gatherings. I see it as my good friend Sarah, whose husband Kenny was shot during a training accident, has had almost $30,000 raised from strangers all over the globe, many of them coming to their home to fix things that they depended on Kenny’s strength and overtime salary for. I still see God moving in the intimate conversations of our small group, outside of the spectacle, lights, rigidity, or modern, lazy approach to community.

This morning, I was pruning my olive tree and watching YouTube videos to learn where to make the cuts. The experts specified that the branches to prune are those growing in the wrong direction, those aggressively crossing other branches risking injury, and those growing wildly. All of these take up more energy than the tree has to give. I was terrified at first to make the first cut but once I did, I felt as liberated as the tree did. Soon, I found it was easier to see what else needed to be trimmed back for the overall health and future of the tree. 

I’m saddened to say, some of you are growing wildly out of control and in the wrong direction. I am, with less fear of what anyone thinks of me, making a cut. I will continue to meet with small circles of believers (the remnant branches) who have agreed to stay close to the living vine and are also feeling that something is off.

It is not me deconstructing, it is me unbundling.

Taking a break is devastating, but I’ve lived through this before. I need my sanity back. Trusting my discernment is how I found God’s voice again the last time. Laying in the grass on the college quad late into the night, I found Him again. I had just obeyed what was left of God’s small, distant whisper that told me to leave him. There, in the simplicity of a moment between me and my Creator, I felt safety again in His presence and His overwhelming love for me.
I long for that simplicity again, for the childlike faith that was ready to follow Him anywhere He asked, even if it went against what the world said was popular. I’m willing to take the risk of being wrong to find it again. It just isn’t with you.