The next day (or soon after), I went to church. It was a Sunday morning service and I found myself weaving in and out of the people in attendance. It was bright and sunny (this is Southern California). There were couples and families and children and babies and people I knew and people I didn't.
And I did something I don't think I've ever done before.
I took a backseat in my brain and just observed what was going on in there (do NOT try this at home, kids).
It wasn't pretty.
It was dark. Judgmental. Shallow. Vile. Ugly. The worst kind of petty envy and jealousy.
And in that moment I realized: I am Zacchaeus. I am the short, ugly (?), hated tax collector and I feel so much self-loathing that I put other people down internally in order to elevate myself.
But rather than feeling only shame I felt something else--I guess you could call it pity or even compassion:
I feel more uncomfortable and unsafe and not-at-home at church than I do almost anywhere else.
That's such a strange sentence to write. And I could, if I cared to, explore the history behind that sentence--the different experiences that have led me to both love and hate church.
But right now I'm more interested in this dynamic of feeling comfortable in the discomfort, at-home in the not-at-home, safety in exclusion.
That being loved--actually loved without condition--is excruciating for me.
That being at home--not a stranger, or a guest, or a foreigner--is unthinkably painful and more than I can bear.
My church recently did one of those research surveys, conducted by an external organization that does these kinds of things, to explore our strengths and weaknesses.
The survey found that there was a significant statistical "disappointment gap" between the sense of belonging desired by the people attending and the sense of belonging experienced. I did not fill out this survey. But I can relate.
I feel more uncomfortable and unsafe and not-at-home at church than I do almost anywhere else.
That's such a strange sentence to write. And I could, if I cared to, explore the history behind that sentence--the different experiences that have led me to both love and hate church.
But right now I'm more interested in this dynamic of feeling comfortable in the discomfort, at-home in the not-at-home, safety in exclusion.
That being loved--actually loved without condition--is excruciating for me.
That being at home--not a stranger, or a guest, or a foreigner--is unthinkably painful and more than I can bear.
My church recently did one of those research surveys, conducted by an external organization that does these kinds of things, to explore our strengths and weaknesses.
The survey found that there was a significant statistical "disappointment gap" between the sense of belonging desired by the people attending and the sense of belonging experienced. I did not fill out this survey. But I can relate.
I long for acceptance and belonging--the unconditional kind of belonging that I think most people long for. However, I attend a church where this longing goes unmet and denied.
Just to be clear, I am not blaming the church that I attend for unconsciously or consciously (doubtful) failing to accept me or meet my needs. I'm saying I feel more comfortable living in a space of ambivalence, and so I choose to attend a church where this ambivalence grows and thrives.
If I'm really, truly honest, I would say I feel more comfortable living in a place of rejection than of love.
That is so painful for me to write.
Next post: "Breaking up with church"
I just read the three posts about the church being so cliquey. Even the title jumped out to me because I come home hurt or angry almost every Sunday at least in part because of that. This is driving me crazy--both the cliquey people and myself for feeling so bitter towards a large group of people who are supposed to be like family. I have no idea what to do about it all, but I wanted to tell you that I appreciate your posts and your honestly about this stuff.
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