Unless Your presence goes with us, do not lead us up from here. - Exodus 33
I spent years distancing myself from The Church. I couldn’t get behind the version of it I saw projected into homes across the country every Sunday between the hours of 9AM and 12:45. That version was slicked back and polished. It offered insight that lacked real depth. There was very little about what as said from the pulpit that I could abide by. I didn’t think it was right for the church as an institution to stand in the way of the legal rights of the gays and lesbians that live in this country. This country that promises equality for all. This country that fought for that right. This country that once stared down the face of slavery and decided that it just wouldn’t do.
I couldn’t understand this thing, that I was raised to believe in, but in no way reflected the truth of who I thought Jesus was.
It lacked grace.
I spent four years of college sporadically trying churches out and then dismissing them for one reason or another. Mostly because what I found there didn’t differ all that much from what was espoused on the Fox News network. Churches that resided in the heart of the “black” districts of Grand Rapids opened their doors every Sunday, but apparently not so wide as to allow the members of the surrounding communities to join in with them.
My mom is a pastor. One Christmas vacation I was home visiting and I went off. “I don’t get how the church can point to abortion and gay marriage as the only things worth discussing. What about the environment we’re called to care for? What about the fact that we spend billions each year building new churches and yet in our own neighborhoods there are people who aren’t eating, who don’t have access to health care or education? We fight against abortion but refuse to figure out a plan for long term care of the women that choose to keep their babies. We make it about the “sin” of them getting pregnant and we condemn to a life of poverty if they choose to do the “right” thing. What part of that reflects the truth of who Christ is? I just… I just don’t think that’s how the church is supposed to work.”
On some level, I was asking her permission to give up. I was throwing down everything I didn’t agree with and begging her to tell me that I was just looking at it wrong. That I was naive. That things weren’t as bad as I imagined them to be.
My mom stared me straight in the eye and said “You’re right. I’ve tried to do it differently. But… you’re right.” Somehow that was enough. I just needed to know that I wasn’t wrong but that there were pastors who could acknowledge that there were things that were seriously wrong with the institution at large.
A few months later I started going to Mars Hill, a church that was willing to question whether or not it was right for us to be in this war. A church that in no way wanted to dismiss the sacrifice of the men and women there, but wondered, out loud if America had turned into an Empire and if we had, if perhaps the anger directed our way was justified. We were asked to consider if we, as a country, were demanding resources and sacrifices on the part of the global community that we weren’t actually entitled to.
Two years after I graduated from college, I moved to New York City. It took about a year to find Trinity Grace. It wasn’t a coincidence that around that same time, New York began to feel like home. One I couldn’t imagine ever leaving. My life was richer here. I was happier than I’d been in years. I found a place that I could claim as my own. A group of friends who wouldn’t wince and question the state of my soul when I called things that were fucking ridiculous, exactly that. This church was a community of people who got me. Who questioned the things I questioned. Who showed each other grace, in spite of the messy lives that we each brought to the table. Who loved each other relentlessly. Who showed up when things got hard and committed to getting through it together. Who were generous with their time and with their resources. Who made me laugh until I cried. It hasn’t been perfect. It hasn’t always made sense. But it feels real. It feels authentic. It feels like God is in this thing.
We’re starting services in Brooklyn on Sunday. I cannot wait to see what happens next.
stoblog: Meursault - All Creatures Will Make Merry
Christmas came for this author on Cinco de Mayo this year. For it was on this day that I received a brown paper wrapped package from the United Kingdom. It contained one standard post-card on which were pictures of what I could only ascertain were located in the former Soviet Union (one picture was a Monument to Lenin at Lenin Square). On the back of said postcard was a hand written note detailing the other contents and ending with the guaranteed-to-make-me-smile britishism…”Cheers!” This package also contained a copy of Meursault’s brand new and much anticipated (by me at least) album.
