The Point of No Return...(Church Style)

Last night I posted as my Facebook status, “I may never enter a church again.”  It is a clear statement, which in a lot of ways expresses the angst that many people are feeling toward religious institutions today.  It is also a statement that many of my friends have expressed a desire for me to answer the question why?  I believe that is fair, since so many of these friends have been integral parts of my church experience.  So here it goes.  Why may I never enter a church again?  Because the institution that calls itself a church, stopped being “the” church a long long time ago.

Let me start by saying that I know the statement is a load of crap.  I will go back to churches to visit old friends when I am in certain towns.  I am sure I will go to weddings in churches, and funerals in churches and other events where a church is merely a rented hall.  What I am saying is that I am through attending the regular Sunday morning sing and listen fest that we call church now a days.  In my most humble of opinions, singing and sermons were never the intent of the church, yet we have made them out to be the cornerstone of our church lives.  I once heard the statistic that 80% of a church budget is spent on the 2 hours on Sunday when the church doors are open.  There is something seriously wrong with that picture.

So what happened this weekend specifically that made me disappointed or perhaps, thankful enough to leave the institution of the church forever?  There were two things.  One happened Saturday night, the other Sunday night.  We will start on Sunday night. 

Because of the military, Heather and I have had the rare privilege of visiting dozens of churches from Seoul, South Korea, to Manhattan, KS to Richmond, VA.  It is fair to say we have seen at least one service at more than 100 churches in our time.  While they are all in different buildings, they are all pretty much the same.  20 minutes of singing, a 30 second greet time; offering, prayer and 30-40 minutes sermon is always on the agenda.  The denomination doesn’t matter.  The sex, race, physical nature of the pastor doesn’t matter.  The congregation doesn’t matter.  This is the church, as we know it today. 

And this was the church that Heather and I had been visiting for the past few weeks in Virginia.  For this reason, I don’t believe the Sunday morning service is an accurate picture of what the church is actual about, so I asked the pastor and an elder if I could sit down with them at lunch or something to talk about their church.  They agreed and after two weeks, the elder, and his wife, set an appointment to meet with Heather and I.  I had some specific questions.  What does the church do to support the community?  Is there a drama program or the opportunity for one to exist?  How does the church leadership deal with members with differing ideals?  (Gay marriage, tithing, ect.)  I came prepared to learn about this church and to see if it would be a good fit for Heather and I. 

Earlier on Sunday I had also thought of another question prompted by the events of Saturday night.  See, Heather and I live in a neighborhood where we are close with several families.  On Saturday night we decided to have a pizza and beer night.  Our buddy lit up his fire pit and we roasted marshmallows for s’mores.  The best part of the night was that two brand new families to the Fort Lee area were also welcomed into the community that night.   Both had been in town a very short time, and one family was from Finland.  That night was the first time that any of them had even tried a s’more.   It was awesome.  The new families fit right not because we had to change our behavior or because they had to change theirs.  We were all comfortable eating pizza, drinking some beer and telling stories around the fire pit for hours.  No one felt the urge to leave, or the pressure to stay.  It was just a great time. 

As I thought back to Saturday night a thought popped into my head.  It was another question I was going to have for this church elder.  Which scenario, the party on Saturday night or the service on Sunday morning, hold a closer resemblance to the original intent of the church?  I asked Heather and she was torn.  I almost expect that most regular church attenders would be.  But to me, the choice was clear.  The community aspect of welcoming new people into the fold, being willing the serve them and help them integrate into the culture and then loving on them with no knowledge of their background or beliefs is exactly what Christ did.  (ok, he knew their background and beliefs, but that didn’t stop him.)

It was this realization that pretty much had brought me to the conclusion that no matter what this pastor said; I wasn’t going to be returning to his church.  In the four weeks we had been there, I knew exactly two names.  That of the pastor and elder we had met.  There had been no discussion of joining a life group or any other ministry.  I understand that we could put the blame on ourselves for not inviting ourselves into one of those folds, but I certainly don’t know about you, but I don’t really feel comfortable inviting myself over to strangers’ homes. 

On Saturday night, I had invited one family and our friends had invited the other.  Throughout the course of the past few weeks we had made an effort to make sure they were, at least partially ready to navigate their way around their new surroundings.  The goal was not to push them into anything or to preach at them about how they should act or to get them to feel a certain way, but rather just to make them feel at home.  We knew from experience what being the new family was like and helping them through that transition was and is job 1.  Plus, to be a little selfish, it is always great to have new friends, and new friends we have. 

So, on Sunday night, off to Starbucks Heather and I went, armed with questions we were curious to have answers too.  We sat, ordered our usual iced Caramel Macchiato and Iced White Chocolate Mocha and waited.  We chatted about our day since Heather had attended a photography workshop and I had rehearsal for a play I am in.  We discussed the events of Saturday night and thanked God for our neighborhood and our friends both old and new.  We searched the Internet, updated our iPad apps, and watched people engaged in several different activities.   

The one thing we didn’t have the opportunity to do was ask our questions to the church elder.  He never showed up, and in a way I was relieved.  Not relieved because I was nervous about asking him questions, but rather because I had my answer and confirmation.  What happened on Saturday night with the welcoming of new friends and the fellowship surrounding pizza, beer and a fire pit was way more important to my growth as a human being than once again being a part of a church ever would be.  I want to make a difference in the lives of others, not in the future of an institution that has proven time and time again to be so far from what the church should be.  It was NOT this one person’s failure to show up on this one particular night that made me say, “I may never enter a church again.”  It is the constant failure of the church to show up that has made the decision clear.  Last night was just a great metaphor to top off what I had been thinking. 

Now, to stop the onslaught of, “my church is different” comments that I know are coming, let me say that I know there are exceptions and that so many churches are doing great work in this world.  But, they have become the exceptions to the rules and we are a society that lives by the rules.  If I had simply visited one church and given up, then I would say you have a right to argue my position.  But, I haven’t.  I have prayed that Heather and I would find the “right” church where God wanted to use us in a positive way for his purpose.  I understand the fact that there are no perfect churches, and that I would just screw it up if I attended one that was.  I even get that I should be there for the church, rather than the church being there for me.  That doesn’t change the fact that over the past 12 years I have witnessed inexplicable acts that make me realized that most church institutions have lost sight of what it means to love as Christ loves.  You want some examples?  Ok!

A church institution that I once attended and loved fired a young lady with a husband and 3 small children because they didn’t see a regular tithe coming from her.  They knew how much she made, because they paid her, and they dismissed her for not paying them back the 10%.  That’s not the love of Christ. 

A church institution I attended once had a member ask for help with a pornography problem.  When he didn’t get that help he left the church and his marriage nearly crumbled.  No one from the church ever called or visited to help despite the fact that his wife continued to attend the church alone and had to deal with the weekly, “Where is your husband?” questions.

A church institution was presented with the idea of holding a community fair so that members could see and explore different ways that they could volunteer or help led their talents and time to organizations helping their local area.  The leadership told this person that this church only works with one organization and people could work with them or go elsewhere. 

And the list goes on and on.  These institutions continue to preach love and speak hate.  “We hate the sin but love the sinner.”  That is all well and good, but the key word to the person is hate.  If you hate something about that person, then they are going to see you as hating them.  Then you aren’t going to get the opportunity to love them.  You will only get the opportunity to watch them walk away. 

And I am done with all of that.  I am done with the hypocritical thinking, and the superficial preaching and the artificial singing.  I desire thoughtful, stimulating conversation, not one person’s interpretation.  I long for community inspiration, not congregational affiliation.  It means more to me to be one of 10, than one of “how big is our church again?” 

Saturday night, I knew everyone’s name (it took me a while to remember the new folks names.)  I was able to talk to everyone.  I played with the kids, and conversed with the adults.  We ate pizza, drank beer and introduced two Finnish teenagers to marshmallow and chocolate.  It was a blast.  And even with no talk of God, it was closer to a spiritual exercise in real community and growth than anything I have seen in a church in years.  It was real life at it’s best, and no pastor had to give us a three point sermon on how to behave.  We were just able to love on one another and be together.

There has to be something in that.  If what John says is true, “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another,” then I ask, what is closer to that sentiment, a Saturday night gathering of friends, or a Sunday morning service?  In my experience it’s the first one, and the reason why I have no interest in returning to the institution known as church any time soon.