I sat on the outside aisle taking it all in. The lights, the music, the lyrics. I was surrounded alone. Surrounded by people of like mind, of like faith, yet something in me couldn’t process it. I wasn’t struggling in my faith. I wasn’t having an emotional crisis. I was, I still am, fed up.
Institution bothers me. And somehow the Sunday morning from 10-12 has become just that, and I am suffocating. My edges have never fit in the smooth curves of normal. But the frustration comes from a different place. I don’t need to feel normal. I just need to feel like I, with all of my angles, am loved, valued and important.
Church isn’t the place for that.
Before you get mad and defensive or try to save me from the devil or myself, know that I’m doing just fine. My faith is in tact. I still love God and believe it all, even when I don’t understand it. And maybe this is one of those things I don’t understand. Or maybe we’ve got it wrong.
Church as it is works great when you don’t know God. When you’re spirit is crying to be saved and you’re at rock bottom. Church can go into the trenches for the desperate ones and soothe them helping them climb out of the darkness.
Church is perfect for the pretty people with pasted on smiles that were yelling at their spouse and kids to hurry up and stop fighting just thirty minutes earlier. But only if they’re willing to enter Stepford as they cross the threshold.
Church is amazing at taking you and laying you down, if you’re willing of course. It will be happy to trod all over you in the name of service leaving you covered in mud with the heart pressed out of you.
The thing that church is not so good at. Normal. The normal, everyday people that aren’t in crisis, yet don’t want to fake it. The ones who have shattered the mask and don’t want to put it back together. The ones trying to live a life of faith and love in the midst of piles of laundry, bills that are late, and the kids that keep fighting.
Where is the room for real life in church? Because I haven’t found it.
If you’re not in the pit, Stepford or a doormat how do you fit in church? Is there even a place for people that are that are working and walking the best they can in the everyday? What about the feeling that church is just one more thing on the perpetual list?
I don’t know what to do with this. I’m not angry or bitter, but disillusioned and tired.
I’ve lost pieces of me trying to fit where I was never meant to belong.
I wonder if I’m the only one tired of the institution and desperately missing the body. The body that believes and loves and walks through it all together. Maybe I just have too many angles.
Somehow I don’t think the cross had curved edges.