When Church Made Me Cry

I admit it: I've cried in church.

This time I'm not talking about the soft cry of thankfulness or the more forceful cry of repentance.

I'm talking about the quick tear of loneliness and self-pity.

It doesn't happen often. I think the most recent was Father's Day. On Mother's Day Facebook seems to blow up with comments and articles about how unfair the day is and how the church should recognize it can be painful for childless women, and so I pretty much feel like society has got my back. Father's Day, though? No one seems to comment on the pain of men who desire to be fathers but aren't, and maybe my tears that day were some kind of stance of solidarity with that forgotten group.

Whatever the reason for the occasional teary eyes, church is one of the places that I can feel the most lonely. Take for instance the two words that can instill nervousness in me: Church Directory. When I was a kid I liked to look at all of the pictures of families in the church and found it a little sad when a person was in this family-oriented photo album by his or herself. I can confidently say that if my church came out with a photo directory next week, I would be listed in black ink under the heading "Members Not Pictured."

I'm a pretty extroverted person, so asking to join people in a pew or around a table isn't a problem. Sunday School can be a little tricky though. I go to a church with very few young singles and often find myself listening to conversations about high school activities and dealing with adolescent attitudes.

Then I put up my own barriers.

My intermittent feelings of isolation aren't related to my singleness as much as it is to the messages I've come to believe over the years. In churches we break a lot of things up by stages of life, which can be incredibly appropriate. Singles groups, married with young kids, senior adults.... it's a great opportunity for fellowship and building relationships with others in similar walks of life. But sometimes it's easy to get pigeon-holed into those labels.

I absolutely love the church I've become a part of since moving to Apex, but I haven't been immune to my self-made barriers here either. I stopped going to Sunday School because I didn't know which class I would really fit in with (I went to a single's movie night.... I was the youngest by at least 20 years), I even got a little panicky when I thought about joining the church; walking up front and wondering if people wondered what my deep issue was and then discovering I was joining the church and wondering if those people thought it was a little sad that I had no family with me (like I said: my self-made barriers.... and my imagination).

But this past Sunday, things seemed to click. I came to believe a little more what I already knew: church isn't about me. It doesn't matter if I bring a family or not, I bring myself and that's enough. Church is about believers coming together and worshiping our Creator; that's the main point. It's about having a servant's heart and caring for others, particularly the marginalized in our society. If a church has various Bible study and fellowship options for various age groups and backgrounds, that's wonderful. That's a fantastic addition to the corporate worship of the church, but it does not take the place of the larger unity of a church.

The enemy would love for me to focus negatively on my marital status, my childless state, basically completely on me and my perceived deficits. As long as I'm focused on what I don't have and what I feel I should, I am not focused on the gifts God has given me and the integral part of the body of Christ he has made me. Feelings of isolation are very much a product of my own beliefs about what I should bring with me to church. And I really don't think other people are nearly as focused on my marital status as I sometimes am myself. I'm ready to trade those self-doubting thoughts of seeming isolation for greater community with my brothers and sisters. After all, being married if you're over 30 was never a requisite for following Jesus.

Church has nothing to do with whether or not I have a spouse. It has everything to do with God.

I'm not saying I won't have occasional tears in the future or that it's wrong to feel momentary sadness over dreams waiting to be fulfilled, but I am saying I had a pretty powerful a-ha moment yesterday.

I'm excited about next Sunday.

I'll Take Some Social Justice and a Frappuchino, Please

A few weeks ago I met up with my supervisor from Mission Waco and a good friend. Dining in a restaurant in downtown Raleigh during biker week, we caught up on life and I told stories of the time I got a bunch of my fellow interns to seek out Bush's ranch in Crawford and how much my time as an intern in Waco changed my life.

Shortly after, we were joined by some friends of Kathy (my former supervisor) and Rebecca (other friend from NC) and conversation shifted to church. We talked about Church Under the Bridge in Waco, about more traditional churches, and about struggling churches.

Shortly after, I penned a Facebook status and mentioned that we talked about what it meant to be church. As much as that statement was true,  something about the way I worded it seemed somewhat cliche. Aren't people always talking about what it means to be church? Aren't thoughts and ideas about community and relationships discussed over cups of $4 lattes on a regular basis? Isn't that the millennial thing to do?

What new idea did I have to bring to the conversation?

My story. My perspective. The things God is teaching me.

I have no groundbreaking theological insight about the church, I just know what I've experienced. When I think about Mission Waco, I think about experiencing church.

I think about playing Scrabble with my brothers and sisters living in a shelter and laughing out loud as a resident attempted to persuade the group that "glover" was a word, defining it as "one who gloves."  I think about when I discovered those friends hanging out in the library one summer afternoon and the library not kicking them out "because they were loitering." I think of these people and I remember their faces, and remember our friendship when I see a picture, and feel the love Paul talks about in Philippians 1:3 when he says he thanks God every time he thinks of the church at Philippi.... because I thank God for the church in Waco.

I remember partaking in a poverty simulation, my first weekend in the Texas sun, and finally going back to the intern house and thinking, "The walls are so white." I had spent the weekend living and sleeping outside and when I finally got back to the intern house, I marveled at the color of the walls. Something so simple seemed so luxurious.

I remember the passion and clear God-given gift that summer was and I think of the nine years since then.

I think about my passion for biblical social justice, and my tendency for pride. Tendency for having misplaced pride in not desiring lofty expenses or a large house; not throwing money into each new technology that comes around and patting myself on the back because I appreciate "living simply". I think about the fact that I live in a gated apartment community and how it bothered me, and yet it doesn't bother me to hit that Starbucks drive-thru 4 times a week.

Living simply means so much more than cutting back on spending. Sometimes I wonder if I even know what it means anymore.

I want to get back to the fierce conviction for biblical social justice I had throughout my years in divinity school.... before I found out social justice is a catch phrase often thrown around, back when all it meant to me was a strong calling on my life.

I want to re-experience how biblical social justice, relationships, living simply, and the command to care for others in Matthew 25 are all a part of being church.

I'd appreciate prayers as I continue to learn what this looks like for my life.
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