The Broken Body of Christ

I'm back at church for the first time in over a month. The worship team is playing one of those songs that put a lump in my throat and little Kathleen, who is usually running wild, is resting in my arms with her head on my shoulder. The air in the room is heavy with grief. We are saying goodbye to sweet Elinore. I am crying too, but not for Elinore. I am crying for us. We are a motley crew of lost and broken-hearted. We sit alone together: an adulteress, an alcoholic, a rape victim, a man so lonely his pain is palpable. The body of Christ is still bleeding.

Not one of us gets through life unscathed. For some the pain comes early, for others it will be much later, but misery will find us all -if only because we have decided to take up the cross of our brother who can no longer carry it himself. If we are living safe, comfortable lives and belong to a church filled with good, happy people then we are either delusional, in denial, or lazy. The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. 

Across this broken body of Christ a new vision is formed and hope springs from bended knees. Our wounds mark our brotherhood and surrender becomes our salvation.

We are one. We are one. We are all one.

Church: Stepping Stone or Stumbling Block?

Peter Rollins wrote a book of parables called The Orthodox Heretic and Other Impossible Tales. I think it's exceptional. My favorite parable is called Finding Faith; a story in which a preacher has the unusual gift of causing people to lose all their religious convictions when he prays for them. The preacher doesn't see much use for this gift until he meets a man who, despite declaring his love for Christ and being very involved in his church, engaged in ruthless business practices. He explained to the preacher that the business world was a cold one and he simply did what he had to do, but he went to church every Sunday to remember who he really was. The preacher finally understood the value of his unusual gift. He prayed for the businessman, causing him to lose all his faith in God. Without his prayer groups and Bible studies to put a glossy finish on the lens through which he perceived himself, the businessman had to face the reality of how he was actually living. He started to despise his business practices, had a breakdown and left his job. Eventually he put his skills to work challenging the corrupt system he once participated in.

In the commentary that follows Pete asks if perhaps our religious convictions and church activities have become safety valves, allowing us to blow off a little steam, inoculating us against a deeper change that would permeate every aspect of our lives. I remember watching a video a few months ago in which Pete was lecturing at a university and he explained how it's actually in an employers best interest to have their employees sit around the staff room complaining about management, because if they weren't allowed that release the pressure would build to a breaking point and people would be forced to take steps toward actually changing the situation.

Does going to church inoculate (that links to a great talk our church pastor shared on a related subject) us against more meaningful spiritual practices? I think it's a big risk for some and completely true for many. I mean, if I couldn't talk about Jesus with my church family who would I be having conversations with? If I wasn't giving my time and resources to the church who would I be giving it to? If I couldn't worship on Sundays or be inspired by a good sermon where would I go to worship and be inspired? Without church to help us let off a little religious steam we'd really have to live by our beliefs because there would be nobody else to do it for us.

Don't get me wrong. I don't think the answer is to join the ranks of the de-churched but I am becoming aware of the huge potential for complacency and compartmentalization inherent in church life. When we are a part of a large institution, like a church, it's easy to lose our sense of personal responsibility. For example, I may not go out and feed the poor but if there is a group within our church who does this I probably feel that I am in some way contributing; especially if I throw a few cans of soup their way. We probably use the collective term "we" in church way too much; usually it's only a handful of people actually contributing. The next time our pastor says "We did this!" I'm going to reflect on who was actually involved and scratch my name off the list!

So that's what I've been reflecting on tonight. Any thoughts?

Does Church Turn You Off God?

About two years ago I started attending a local church on a regular basis. That isn't to say I wasn't seeking a relationship with Him long before that time. As a child I paid attention to God because He was a mysterious, magical being that, like Santa Claus, was creepily watching everything I did. As a teen I suffered paralyzing existential anxiety and turned to (a seemingly deaf-mute) God with big questions about the meaning of life and my place in it. As a young adult I became intrigued with New Age spirituality, yoga and the mind-body-spirit connection. I also attended the occasional Catholic mass or Protestant service. Meanwhile, I had formed a few close friendships with Christians and I was in love with their love for God. Their faith made me thirsty for my own intimate relationship with the Divine, but their churches turned me off.

Surely the God of the universe was infinitely more complex and unknowable than the Sunday school version we were being spoonfed. Those who claimed to know God and His nature often struck me as naive or ignorant in the sweetest possible ways. Not only that, I sensed a cloud of unreality hovering over the Christian subcultures I encountered. Where were all the broken, desperate and needy? Everyone looked pacified, generic and sanitized. If they spoke at all about serious struggles (addiction, domestic violence, depression, etc.) it was in the context of a testimony about their transformation. On several occasions I heard preachers share about God's healing powers but no one around me looked like they needed to be healed. They kept their wounds well hidden. When did the church become a spiritual country club for middle class do-gooders and socialites? Going to church was like watching an ABC Afterschool Special; it felt lame. It didn't inspire me into a deeper relationship with God. If anything, it underwhelmed and disappointed. Or, it felt forced. Much like a person who invades your personal space, the Have you accepted Jesus as your personal Lord and Saviour? spiel was desperately awkward. It certainly didn't fan the spark of intimacy that was developing between me and God. It was all too much, too soon.

I was highly suspicious of the prosperity gospel, although I wasn't familiar with that term at the time. I just knew that many churches promoted Jesus as if all your troubles (health, finances, etc.) would melt away if you trusted Him. If only it were that simple. That message is a much loved lie. Truly following Jesus involves carrying your own cross and being a willing participant in your own crucifixion.

Another thing that bothered me as I straddled the line between heathen and Christian was that the relationships between the 'saved' (them) and the 'lost' (me) often felt tainted by agendas or expectations. I can remember feeling like everyone was wearing a Jesus mask and trying to sell me something. I often felt more like a project than a friend. I doubted these people had any interest in remaining my friend if I didn't eventually cross the line -that gulf of belief that separated us. I wondered how long their interest would last. They appeared to care more about leading me to Jesus than me as a person. (I have to add, the longer I stayed in the church the more blurred that line between the lost and the saved became.)

But you know what I've realized? Not everyone in the church is faking it. There are many genuine people who, once you get to know them, will surprise you with their experiences and candor. And yes, there are those who do have simple, straight paths and rather boring stories but does that mean they are any less deserving of our time and attention? Does that mean they have less to offer? It seems to me that prejudice can come from both directions. Those who share struggles aloud and claim to be "keeping it real" are sometimes more critical of people who appear to have it all together than vice versa. Yes, there are those who are severely wounded but work hard to hide their dysfunction and there are people who preach fear and hate disguised as God's plan. But aren't they the saddest cases of all? Their egos are like iron maidens preventing God's love from getting through.They need the kind of love and patience that is rarest of all.

I guess what I'm trying to say is the church community is much more complex than it appears on the surface and it is to our benefit to keep an open mind when we encounter people who don't think about or worship God in the same ways we do. For a long time my knee jerk reactions kept me isolated from the living body of Christ. It took a few years before I realized that I was being just as arrogant and judgmental as those I claimed to be separating myself from. Don't get me wrong, I realize not everyone will feel comfortable in every church and that's okay. But I think it's important to keep looking until you find a community of believers who will help you grow spiritually and support your journey in an authentic way. We come together to challenge and encourage one another, to learn patience, sacrifice and the art of cooperation. We teach one another what love really is and we do it intentionally. No church is perfect, but when our goal is to serve most churches will suffice. A large group with a common goal is much more powerful than the will of any individual.

The Security of Certainty

I feel really alone on my spiritual journey lately. I have a messy kind of faith; it rests almost entirely on a personal relationship with God. I do look to scripture for guidance and I seek counsel from those around me, but in the end it's between me and my Father. Some days I'm very good at living in His mystery but I just as frequently find myself desperate for the security of certainty. It's very tempting to believe that the answers are all there in black and white but the good book is full of metaphors, parables, vague and contradictory teachings not to mention a wide variety of translations. Who could possibly get it all right? There is no universal Christian belief system even among those who claim they follow Christ by strict adherence to His word as expressed in the Bible. To understand my leeriness it may help to hear a little about my spiritual journey thus far.

The Roman Catholic Church is the world's largest and oldest Christian denomination. It is also the church I attended most often during my formative years. It's where I learned about Jesus and the sacraments, hierarchy, hypocrisy and the abuse of power. I initially believed in the Catholic Church's authority to interpret scripture and share God's word honestly and accurately but as I grew to learn about the Crusades, the burning of heretics, the selling of indulgences, and the rape of children all trust was shattered. Yet, I sought to heal those wounds and repair my relationship with the Church so I left home and moved a thousand miles to Madonna House Apostolate; a very special Catholic lay community in rural Ontario. It was an amazing opportunity to experience a fellowship of men and women living simple, chaste lives focused on prayer and service. I had intended to stay months but after a few weeks it became apparent that I couldn't regain the blind faith I lost. The land, the lifestyle and the people were beautiful but my heart told me that I did not belong in the Catholic Church any longer. 

A few years later, desperate for reconciliation, I once again returned to the Church of my childhood. With a broken spirit and on bended knee I shared a confession that weighed heavily on my heart. The priest informed me that he could not offer me absolution (forgiveness) and I should refrain from sharing in Holy Communion because my marriage is not blessed by the Church and I am therefore in a perpetual state of sin. Ironically, my sin can be forgiven if I divorce my husband and have the marriage annulled. (Our marriage can never be blessed because my husband's first marriage was indeed a valid marriage.) This experience made me hungry for biblical confirmation of the Catholic doctrine. I read and read but could not find much support for many Catholic practices. At this point I officially became a Protestant. 

I say officially because although I continued to consider Catholicism my true home in the Church I did explore different denominations throughout my youth. A friend and coworker introduced me to the Plymouth Brethren  in the late 1990s and it was like entering a whole new world I didn't know existed in my own community. Brothers and sisters in Christ have very distinct roles: the men teach and preach but women are not permitted to address the congregation. Women also cover their heads in church to hide their glory; but men, being in the image and glory of God are not required to cover their heads. I was also surprised to learn there are no clergy among them -no priest, or minister, or pastor. Each of the men teach and preach as the Holy Spirit leads. They don't believe that unconverted people can really participate in church activities and they teach that gifts of the Spirit (such as speaking in tongues, healing and prophecy) were given to help lay the foundation of the church but cease to exist today.

I attended a handful of weekly services with the Brethren and joined my friend on a mission to Romania where we volunteered in an orphanage for three weeks. I couldn't deny that these people had a hunger for God but I wasn't convinced by the scripture they quoted to support their theology. I just couldn't make my square peg fit their round hole.

When I was in my twenties I also attended a few non-denominational services of a much more charismatic flavour. I saw people speaking in tongues and being brought to the floor as they received the Holy Spirit. I was approached and prayed over by a man and woman who were determined to get me to speak in tongues and drop to the floor. They kept trying to coax me to speak and when nothing happened they told me the 'spirit of resistance' was too strong in me. The man put his hands on my head and spoke strong words and pushed hard on my head. I laid down and closed my eyes just so they'd leave me alone. I do believe in miracles but there were no gifts of the Spirit on me that night and it turned me off completely.

I've also attended Presbyterian, United, Baptist, Eastern Orthodox and Anglican services. I've encountered very different groups of people who follow Christ and support their unique theology and practices by quoting the Bible. I'm not saying that any one of them is right or wrong in their beliefs; the truth is I have no idea because I've lost faith in any one, true authority for interpreting scripture. So, I'm at a place right now where I'm doing my best to continue asking questions and trying to keep an open mind about the answers I receive. Some teachings don't sit well with me so I don't adopt them as part of my personal belief system, but I can't close the door either. I'm not ruling out anything except for teachings that promote intolerance and abuse. I don't believe any father would pit his children against one another. It's not easy following Jesus like this. Most Christians don't know what to do with me. I've been told I'm not a real Christian; that I need to repent; that I'm intolerant of their beliefs; that I'm lukewarm; or that I just need to pray and keep at it, and I'll get there one day. ("There" largely meaning their interpretation of the Bible.)

Honestly, I'm starting to lose heart. I keep sharing my journey because I'm desperate for fellowship and the acceptance you feel when you speak honestly and are still accepted. But the truth is I'm not always accepted and it's a lonely path being the odd one out. The security of certainty, of being "one of us" is tempting, but in the end I can't commit to anything other than the truth of my experiences. I wonder sometimes if it would be easier to drop the Christian label, walk away from the institutions and just follow Jesus with no strings attached. I'm frustrated and confused and scared that maybe I'm doing it all wrong.