“Why don’t more people come to church? Why don’t more people keep coming to church?” One of the most commonly voiced mysteries of church council and evangelism meetings is finally clear to me. I know the answer--because churches are supposed to be communities and becoming fully involved and immersed in a community is really fricking HARD! At times, it is one of the more difficult things in my life, and I am a girl who likes a challenge. I am a middle school special education teacher, for one, so every day is a special kind of challenge. I love training difficult horses. I love lifting the heaviest weights I can manage until my muscles shake. Hard--I like it! But, being a part of a community built on the kingdom of God, that is really fricking difficult.
Communities disappoint us. Communities are built by people, flawed people, people who, even with the best intentions, drop the ball, make mistakes, and get angry. A church relationship is like most other relationships, it starts with a happy, honeymoon period of wine and roses and Eucharist bread. Everything is great and I go to church with a song in my heart, looking forward to the most peaceful and thoughtful hour of my day. But, after a time, things get real.
After a time, people disagree and argue and hurt each other’s feelings. People disappoint. People disagree. Conflict inevitably arises whenever more than one person embarks on a project. The problem with church conflict is that it’s entirely optional. When faced with a difficult conversation at work, sometimes I think, “Man! I don’t need this crap!” Well, when faced with a similarly difficult conversation at church, I may think, “Man! I don’t need this crap!” And, then I realize--it’s true. I am not paid to be here. I am not related to this person. I am not married to this person. I am not bound to this community by my work, my property, or my family. I can just walk away and never, ever come back.
Two weeks ago on Sunday, I wanted to run out of church during the announcements. I sat there, listening to updates on vestry decisions and I longed to escape. I had a visceral moment of fear and frustration, brought on by entirely mundane church business. Something deep in my belly tightened and I heard these words in my head, “You don’t have to be here. You can just walk out now and never turn back. You don’t really need church.” There is really nothing holding me to St. Ignatius, other than the relationship I’ve built with God through the community there, other than the community that has walked with me on my journey. The thing that holds me is exactly the thing that pushes me away--the messy relationships with other people of Christ.
The problem with churches is that they are filled with people. The problem with people is that we are filled with fear. We miss the point again and again. We let our fear lead us. We try desperately to make a change, but the new thing looks just like the thing we tried to change. We are flawed, broken people struggling up together. It is tempting to abandon the whole thing, to destroy it. After all, that is what people do, right? We build something, a home, a career, a church, a family, a faith. We build it and we are proud of it. Then, it loses its luster and we leave it to build something new. Or we can’t change it the right way, so we destroy it. Then, we start over again. The only thing that saves this cycle of production and destruction is relationship.
That Sunday sitting in the sanctuary, I didn’t walk out of my church. I was tethered to the pew by my children, but more than that, I was tethered to the community by the love of the people: people who, like me, come back every Sunday, even when it’s inconvenient, difficult, and frustrating, people who, like me, strive to love each other. If we cannot practice love with fellow followers of Christ, if we cannot serve with followers of the servant king, if we cannot sacrifice with followers of a kingdom built on sacrifice, what hope is there for the world?
Loving through growth, frustration, and conflict isn’t easy. Sometimes we are prophetic, loud, and angry sometimes. Sometimes we scream at those we love and sometimes we threaten to kick down the tower. After the dust settles, we have to come together. We have to hear the word. We have to make confession. We have to give the sign of peace and break sacred bread together.
The only place where we can save ourselves from the sin of producing and destroying is in church. The only place where we can hold the paradox of survival and sacrifice is a church. It is painful. It makes me angry. I can’t escape it, because I am part of it. I can’t escape it. The only thing I can do is weather the storms, love through the anger, and pray that we will all come out the other side together. If we Christians cannot love through conflict within our church, we cannot do it anywhere.
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