I was going to start out by saying that I'm not supposed to say that sometimes church hurts, but let's face it: my whole life is one big "not supposed to" right now. So, I'm just going to say it like it is.
Sometimes going to church hurts. Actually, specifically, for the last 7 months or so, it has more than hurt. It has eviscerated. It has devitalized. It has been discouraging. Disappointing. Damaging. It has been all of those awful things and more. And I'm not supposed to say that.
I think I'm supposed to say that all things work together for good. Or that God knows what He's doing. Or that He didn't bring me this far just to leave me. Or that He doesn't give us more than we can handle. Or any of a number of platitudes that just don't actually suffice when one's soul grieves with a primal, visceral ache.
What I'm not supposed to say is that I don't feel it. I'm not supposed to say that right now going to church is an absolute exercise in blind and begrudging obedience. I'm not supposed to say that I sit in church and I can't sing and I can barely make it through the message and forget about any kind of response. I'm not supposed to say that I'm hurting...and that church doesn't seem to notice. I'm not supposed to say that the words "faith promise" and "missions Sunday" are like battery acid in open eyes. I'm not supposed to say that this is hard. And that some days I question my sanity. And that every time I walk through those doors I'm bracing myself for reactions, looks, comments, unexpected encounters.
If I were just a regular person with some crazy, ah-ma-zing back story, I don't think it would feel nearly as awful. But my back story is the "good girl" story - Bible college, married, ministry, missions. My back story is doing all the seemingly right things...and ending up flat on my face anyway. My back story is not actually okay with church...church likes to redeem the lost, but not so much to help the found who are hurting. My current story is sadly typical, of the "you cannot make this stuff up" variety...end of marriage, end of career, end of missions, start of new strange life that never occurred to me before now.
I had no Plan B...and church doesn't encourage Plan Bs. I know that church doesn't encourage Plan Bs because I've preached that sermon. I've delivered that message in one-on-one's, women's groups, potlucks, Sunday services, missions board meetings. And I've had those pitying conversations about so-and-so and where they ended up.
I sound bitter. Rereading this, I realize that it sounds like I'm bitter. I'm not. And I don't need to be told to let go and let God. I'm hurting. I'm a human being who's been sucker punched and then smacked in the face by my humanity. And I sit in the pew by myself on Saturday night, most times with tears streaming down my face. And no one talks to me. One little old(er) lady asked if it was my first time, and when I said no, I got the stereotypical "look down the nose", as if, since it wasn't my first time, I should really sing and shake hands and be part of church.
Church and I have not been friends, for decades really. And it's taken this one final humiliation in a long string of off-putting doses of reality for me to realize something basic. Church can't and won't fix me, and it has nothing to do with me following the formula.
I think I still have, buried somewhere deep, the audacity to believe that maybe Jesus can fix me. I'm frustrated with Him right now, and I have questions that feel unanswerable, but He knows that. I've let Him know. And He's okay with that. He can take it. He got frustrated too when His human side kept Him from being cool with God and His questions hung in the air, and He let God know about it. I think Jesus gets me, actually, and I'm not just saying that because I'm supposed to. Even when church hurts...disembowels...lays low...Jesus gets me. And that's enough for right now.
