Yesterday I was sitting in one of my classes, and my fellow classmate asked our professor the following: this may be getting too personal, but why haven't you left the Church?
In essence: what makes you stay?
It's a question that I've asked myself multiple times, especially in light of all that I've experienced.
Some of my biggest hurts have come from the mouth of that white, privileged male speaking at the pulpit up there. Some of my deepest pains have come from the actions of church-goers, from the gossipy ones and the modesty ones and the folks who wring their hands when the real, authentic, messiness of the world, of myself and many others makes them uncomfortable.
The irony of it all is that the Church should be the safest place, where heaven meets earth and restoration runs rampant. The congregation should be the first arms open wide, the last words to cut down another person, but so often this isn't the case and we all know it's true.
My professor's answer was good, it was really good, in fact:
"It's different for each person, but for me-the resurrection. I can't deny the resurrection".
What a concept: powerful and inspiring, because somehow you've got to find a way to keep living after tragedy strikes. When you're lamenting and hurting and crying out to God, resurrection is the concept that brings you hope. It's beautiful and overwhelming and, metaphorically speaking, my favorite aspect of life.
We are made for it. We are resurrection people.
As a historical event, the details become more vague, but the evidence stacks up, or it convinces me at least, and unless someone disproves it, I will always cling to such a hope: that Jesus Christ diminished death when the stone was rolled away.
The resurrection is a good answer, and I'm thankful for professors willing to get real and personal about their own faith walks.
Let's turn the question on you now-what makes you stay? Why do you keep coming back to this messy place full of broken people?
For me, it's that exactly: we are broken, but beautifully so. Our brokenness makes us sacred, and as scary and risky as the brokenness of humanity can be, there's something attractive about it, because when we're all together, when we are all gathered in a room because of our brokenness together, I know the ground is holy.
Yes, churches are full of mess-ups and screw-ups and slip-ups and every other sort of up imaginable, but this is what makes us human-this shows us our need for Christ.
In fact, I'm more weary of the churches full of pretty people, the ones who never admit their fallenness or sins or faults because we're sitting in pews and holding our fancy coats tight and don't look at me too closely-I'm fine, fine, fine. My life is fine, my family is fine, my walk is fine, my everything is just. fine.
I want to be a part of a church that speaks openly about their realness. I want a church that is unafraid to engage hard topics, that asks actual questions, that listens to human stories. I want a church that marvels at how God restores our souls, and I want a church that cares about how fleshy, skin-and-bone-people are hurting and harmed. I want to be a part of a church that is aware of the world around them, and that cares enough to engage with it.
In a world that is moaning and groaning, we need churches that respond with love.
Open arms.
Hands extended.
Chairs pulled out, because would you sit next to me? I want to know your story.
This is why I haven't left the Church, because I believe in this vision. I believe in the sacredness of churchy people doing real, life things, and for as many times as I've been hurt by churchgoers, I've been healed just as many times by God working through people who were striving to be like Jesus.
I've experienced more than just churchy-ness; I've experienced actual community.
I've experienced more than just churchgoers; I've found actual friendships.
I've experienced more than just patriarchal, systematic oppression; I've experienced freedom and feminism and all sorts of liberation from shit like power struggles-these are not of Christ. These are hellbent and full of darkness.
It's people like Mackenzie, a friend and fellow feminist who gets a fire in her bones if you ask her about white privilege. It's Rachel, that fierce thing, who you can cry with and laugh with, she'll sit in sadness and joy, whatever you need, love. It's Taylor, my best friend, and it's Lauren and Carley and Erin, Gina, Megs. These are smart women and these are brave women and these are women who love God and who love people so well. It's Kevin and Zach, it's Luke, Nathan, Elijah: men giving their lives to include, love, and cherish, because they see how the world works and they're trying to do things differently (male feminists are great, be sure to hold onto them real tight).
It's professors who encourage me and who open up their hearts and minds. It's older, wiser, folks, the parenty-types who mentor me and disciple me and feed me. They remember what it was like to be a young, twenty-something.
It's those people back in Portland, oh gosh how I miss them. Cathy with her sweet hugs and Dustin with his welcoming smile. Kara always makes people laugh and Brett, Heather, Cade-so fun and so real and so wiling to open up their home.
It's Dillon, that sweet guy, showing me how not all men place women underneath them. No, in fact, he speaks up and out against these sorts of things, against gender roles and misogynistic thinking and he actually gets it. He really, truly does, and we'll giggle and cuddle and get on each other's nerves some days, but we're doing life together because we're a team.
Full stop.
It's the writers I look up to, Sarah Bessey and Rachel Held Evans and Emily Maynard, so intelligent and so bold and so caring about people and they're progressive thinkers too. They encourage me to not shy away from intellect, because church and smarts can overlap, no matter what other people may say. It's the men who really strive to empower the women in their lives, it's the people who care about racism and sexism and intersectionality. It's the ones who can ask hard questions and be real about their doubts, and it's the ones who don't demonize struggles because we're all struggling here.
The struggles are parts of our stories.
It's things like mutuality, equality, respect, love, and peace. It's when we embrace what the Spirit is doing because the Spirit is powerful stuff, moving and breathing among men, women, and children, anyone with a story and anyone who is willing to do the hard, messy work of God.
It's people that believe in this vision. It's humans that care about other humans, because we are made to care for each other. We'll speak it out and sing it loud: in the name of Jesus we will break every chain. We'll clink our drinks together, throw our arms 'round one another and engage life, head on.
These are my people.
This is why I'm staying.
This is good church.
This is my last post on this site-woohoo! I'm starting a new, grownup blog, which will launch in a few days. Thanks for reading, and I hope you will travel with me to the new space.
