Yesterday morning I attended a church service for the first time in probably 20 years or more—and man, oh man, putting that in writing makes it seem even longer. To be totally honest, I didn’t even want to go; the night before, I constructed and considered several plausible excuses for why I couldn’t go after all. I ultimately rejected all of them because the reason I was going was that my 8-year-old asked me a few weeks ago to take her to church, and I’d promised her we’d do it this weekend.
I attended church pretty regularly until I was 10 or so, and I went somewhat sporadically until sometime around age 14 or 15. I liked it a lot as a young child—Sunday school, Wednesday night youth groups, church camp, vacation bible school, sing-alongs, lock-ins, church was fun. I didn’t especially like what we kids called “big church” (the actual sermon), but I wanted to see my friends and fit in and be good and go to heaven, so I went anyway.
The older I got, the more inquisitive I became, and the more questions I asked, the more exasperated my Sunday school teachers grew. I wasn’t trying to be difficult or challenge the truth of the lessons, really; I was just so fascinated with it all, and I wanted to know more. Still, the reactions my questions elicited discouraged me from trying to engage in any meaningful explorations of my faith. God is good, Jesus saves, and people are sinners, and that was that. Never mind about the details.
It wasn’t long before I started feeling a little suspicious about some of what I was being told in church. I grew up in a small, poor, Southern community where racism and sexism were pretty much the norm, so it was a slow, gradual process for me to be able to see the flaws in the thinking I’d been raised with. I’m not blaming that all on the church, of course, but most of the people supporting the most seriously troublesome ideas and behavior were also vocal about their Christianity. That worried me. I couldn’t reconcile what I found so beautiful and comforting about my Christian faith with what I was increasingly recognizing as baseless hate and cruelty.
Eventually, I moved away from my small hometown (but still within the Bible Belt), and it was about six months before I tried going to any new church. The people there were standoffish and openly judgmental—not just of the people outside their religion, but even of other people in the church. The youth minister and the pastor preached a message that focused on hellfire and brimstone, all “thou shalt not, or else!” I went a few more times (because that’s where my boyfriend went) and visited a handful of other churches in the area with friends from school who were eager to evangelize and add another head to their “church family.” I felt uncomfortable at every church I visited, not only because I was frequently made keenly aware of my status as an outsider but also because I just kept seeing more of the same everywhere I went: hypocrisy, hate, pettiness, vapidity, disingenuousness, aggression.
I still thought of myself as a Christian, but I was pretty disenchanted by the representations of Christianity I was encountering on a regular basis. It just didn’t jibe with the way I felt about God or spirituality. I don’t think I ever made a conscious decision to stop going to church; I just stopped without really thinking about it too much at all. I felt alienated from church life and didn’t feel like going, so I didn’t. And I didn’t, and I didn’t, and I didn’t, right up until yesterday morning.
I’ve had what I hear called a “personal relationship” with God throughout the years, and I feel spiritually healthy. In my early adulthood, I put more effort into developing and examining my belief system; I tried to understand more about what other people believe as well as more about the world in general. I looked for the weak spots and probed them, and I wound up with something that I wouldn’t call “true,” exactly, but rather “valuable,” something that feels right and good for me. I came to the conclusion that organized religion just wasn’t really my thing but that I didn’t need it to uphold the principles of my faith.
My husband and I agreed early on that we’d not push any particular religion on our daughters but rather answer (or help them find answers for) their questions as they came up and be open about our own beliefs and ideas and try not to force anything on them one way or the other. And that’s what we’ve done.
Recently, both our girls were asking me about what I believed and why we don’t go to church, and I told them basically everything I just told you. I also explained that it had been a very long time since I’d gone to a church and that my experiences weren’t necessarily typical; I told them that if they ever wanted to go to church, all they had to do was say so and I’d make it happen. But when my youngest daughter actually told me she wanted to start going to church, I felt a little queasy at the prospect.
Nevertheless, I put out a call for recommendations from my Facebook friends, asking for a church that focused on a message of peace, love, and tolerance because I’m all too aware that many of the churches in my area promote hate and hide it behind the claim of scriptural adherence. I want my daughters to have intellectual and spiritual freedom, but I’m still wary of exposing them to obviously harmful ideologies before they’ve developed the cognitive fortitude to withstand the psychological and emotional assaults of charismatic bigots.
Two of my friends recommended the same church in the next town over and described it very favorably, so I put it at the top of my list to visit. I’ll admit, though, my hopes weren’t high. I kept imagining having to get up and walk out mid-service if the preacher started wagging his finger or spewing vitriol. So I was pleasantly surprised to have my expectations defied.
I’ve had lots of people describe their home churches to me as warm, inviting, and loving, but that’s never really lined up with reality. It did yesterday. In the course of roughly an hour and a half, my daughter and I were introduced to and personally welcomed by several members of the small congregation; while we waited for the service to begin, a man in the row ahead of us chatted with me about how important it is to open oneself to alternative viewpoints and beliefs and think about how different perspectives can deepen and broaden understanding; the pastor expressed his concern over the tendency some people have to use regular church attendance as a sort of free pass to turn off their compassion for their fellow man. He preached about purpose and individual service and responsibility and reminded us that it should be people taking care of people, not people waiting for the government to take care of people. It was so contrary to my previous experiences that I didn’t know exactly how to feel at first, but I’ve settled on cautiously optimistic about the potential value of church in my life as a place for fellowship and spiritual searching.
My little one has asked that we go back again next week, and I think we will. After I told her how it went, even my eldest daughter has asked to come along. One visit isn’t enough to put to rest my long-held distrust of organized religion, but I think I can at least try again with a more open mind and heart, and I’m happy I didn’t give in to my immediate impulse to avoid going at all.
If you’ve made it this far through my ramblings, thank you! I know my experience with church is hardly unique, and I’d love to hear from any of you who’ve maybe had similar partings and reunions or changes in spiritual perspective. I’d also be happy to hear about what you think makes a good or bad church.