I don't always post my "professional blog" stuff here, but this one has received special attention and is creating dialogue. I figured I'd share for those who only stalk this blog. After posting this last week, I received an email from the Rocky Mountain CRC Classis, asking to use it on their blog as well as during their upcoming classis meeting in Denver. They're seeking stories like this to use as a format to encourage dialogue in the leadership of the denomination. It's ironic that they're holding their meeting at our new, non-denomination church, which is mentioned in the post. It was destined to be. I'm not sure what will come of all this, if anything, but I'm thrilled that the words from my inner core can be used to create a forum for discussion. Even if it is awkward, controversial, uncomfortable...whatever. Talk away.
The post....
Our little family has lived a blessed existence here for 13 years, but the past year has definitely brought a wasp nest of change in our little family. Change that has encompassed new realizations, changes of heart, opened eye balls, growth, fear, joy, relief, anticipation, irrational thoughts, changes of career, digging, moving on.....we all go through bouncy ball seasons. It's tough to see just how bouncy we are in the midst of it, but once we're able to step back and take a bird's eye view of our path, it's almost comical just how bouncy our trail was/is. How anyone kept up with us is really astounding.
Part of going through seasons of bounce is re-evaluating what matters most. Finding your core and what you need to strengthen your core. Without that core, everything else fades and becomes blurry. Especially when little people are counting on you to be solid and firm in your ability to be you and be everything else they need you to be. And when your marriage depends on it.
Tim and I were born and raised in in the CRC church. Dutch blood equaled CRC inclusion as far as we were concerned. I loved my church growing up. It was honest and enveloping. Still is. The congregation stepped out of the cultural box at Hope and dealt with the glares from the other CRC churches as a result. I could feel that even as a kid, but I was proud to be a part of a church that didn't need to follow the norms just because everyone else did. Our women served loud and proud. It was a loss having to leave Hope when our marital path brought us West. I feared it would be a challenge to find a CRC “Hope” anywhere else.
We’ve been a part of a CRC church here in Denver for most of our 13 years as a married couple. We have served and served some more and then some more, attempting to become a part of the culture. I accepted an ask to sit on the pastor search team, then become a Deacon, and put myself out there as much as I could muster. For years I fought the feeling of not being at home in my faith, but I put it aside because we were in a CRC church. That's where we belonged, right? It's what we knew. It’s what was comfortable/ish. During the season of serving and trying to mold into the culture, we were bouncy balls everywhere else. We had no clear direction and our spiritual path was just as haphazard. We were drowning and I had to come to a place of throwing my hands up and admitting defeat. I couldn't council others and I couldn't pretend to fit into a culture that wasn't me. It wasn’t safe to talk about the fact that we were drowning. No one else seemed to be. The rituals and the beautiful liturgy and the smiles and reading the Apostles Creed were wonderful and what I knew, but I craved someone telling me that it's ok to be lost and pissed off. I craved raw and vulnerable and the willingness to drop to our knees and pray for mercy and healing and community. I craved the opportunity to cry in church and admit defeat. I needed others admitting that life isn't smooth and creamy. It wasn't and I needed someone to recognize that and to celebrate our need for a Savior. I needed to be surrounded by people who haven’t always known Jesus and who could offer different perspectives on God and grace and what that means to them. Our kids needed other kids who didn't attend the same Christian school/s. I guess we needed to be in a community where evil isn't denied and the acceptance of grace is strived for with passion and vulnerability. I wasn’t sure if that resonated with anyone on God’s planet other than us, but it’s what we needed.
So we left. It took months of discussions and check lists, but we left our CRC church. I wrote a letter to my fellow council men and women and to my district, we sat down for lunch with our pastor, who we greatly respect, and we left. Given our public school involvement, that decision ultimately meant our exit from the CRC world. That was a shock to our systems, but we knew it was a move we needed to make. It's not our place to wish change on a culture of people. We didn't believe God was asking us to do that and so we followed the call to find a new community of believers and questioners with whom we could wrestle with our faith and start fresh. Perhaps it's insensitive to admit this, but that felt amazing to me. Moving on was freeing and exciting and refreshing. We didn't leave with hostility or anger. It was calm and respectful and I received many loving and heartfelt responses to our departure. I still do and it has opened the doors for many other families to call and talk to me about their feelings, which aren't far off from our own. Turns out we’re not alone. I do believe the God used our decision to open doors for raw emotion to be unveiled. That's a blessing.
We wasted no time and visited four churches in four weeks. I was starving and those weeks were eye opening to how many churches existed that were in line with what I was starving for. It was an immediate uplifting of our spirits - of our marriage. For the past 8 weeks we've been attending Platt Park Church. It's non-denominational, we have a husband/wife pastor team, it's small enough to feel community but big enough to have diversity, the kids program is wonderful (not one kid attends the same school and it's certainly not expected or assumed that kids attend a Christian school), the people are already raw and broken, but raise their hands asking for grace each and every week. The small group opportunities are vast and welcoming and for the first time in more years than I can remember, we feel truly fed. We're growing and yearning and can't wait to come back for more. We're discussing matters of faith as a couple, challenging each other to keep asking questions, and we continue to pray and dig. I find myself longing to pray and dig. It's home for us right now. It's community and it's safe in a sense of admitting defeat and starting fresh.
One of Pastor Susie's enlightening sermons put our walking away into perspective we weren't able to offer ourselves. She explained Scott Peck's analogy of community. Within the church as a whole there exists authentic community and pseudo community. Pseudo community happens when we avoid conflict and act nice. We smile and bottle what makes us squirm. In order to arrive at authentic community, we need to enter the tunnel of chaos. We have to risk initiation, challenge each other, and open ourselves up to being vulnerable and transparent. We have to allow ourselves to be known and to take the time to know.
Problem is, we live in a culture of image management that only creates isolation. Community in an authentic sense is work - hard work - and so many churches are settling for the more comfortable Pseudo community. The tunnel freaks people out. What’s beautiful about the tunnel is that once your community commits to entering it, the tunnel attracts others. It’s magnetic for people who desire an authentic community experience. That's the case at Platt Park. That sermon was an "ah ha" for both Tim and me. Turns out we were hunting for a tunnel of chaos.
I understand a bit more now what it feels like to become a "born again Christian." I could never grasp that concept and have looked at people who had this glow about them with a freaked out type of awe. But I get it now. I get what it feels like to be in a personal relationship with God. Not just to believe in him and trust that it's all true and talk the talk, but to really feel it in my core and crave more. Rather than spout out memorized Bible verses and talk about the stories of Biblical heroes I grew up learning, I’m starting to see the Bible as a whole and connect dots I didn’t realize could be connected. I’m inhaling grace and the truth of how vital authentic community is to our survival as Christian beings.
I'm getting to a new place in my journey of faith and it wouldn't have happened if we didn't walk away. It's okay to walk away. It's necessary sometimes to walk away. You don't have to feel guilty about walking away. You're not walking away from God - you're following a path that leads to more God and new people who will walk alongside your new path. If Jesus were here, walking the earth, I can't imagine him saying, "What church do you go to?" I do imagine him saying, "How's your walk with me and are you a part of community that's growing and witnessing to the lost and those whose lives are bouncy?" That's what I think He would say. It's not about giving up on one in order to find another. God's will will be done through it all.
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