Oh, the People (in Church) You'll Meet!

Really the church is a bunch of big, 'ol sinners gathering together. The question is: "Do you really want to be in their company?" A soft urge on why you might be necessary.

(Last time I said I would address the question of “How and when do we know if it is time to give the church a try again?” I shall not delay, but it’ll take three posts to cover — one to address each bucket item: people, theology, and legitimacy.)

Let us not parse words. If you claim to follow Jesus, you are part of his Church. That is not in question. If you are still seeking God and finding your way to him, then keep on in this good direction of asking hard questions!

Today, though, we begin to address our desire for smaller “c” church — the local one that seems to wield even more weight on how we experience God than our default status in the capital “C” family.

I once heard someone returning to church after a season of wandering explain his maiden voyage back into the sanctuary this way: “I just needed to rip off the bandaid!”

😳😬

This may seem a bit hyperbolic, but for many of us, it’s our reality and ought not to be marginalized. Going back to church (or continuing on) after being hurt or jaded can be hard!

Ripping a bandaid off stirs up images of more pain — there was pain in the wound. And there is more pain in the ripping off.

But what this man said cannot be one-sided. We may dwell on the unpleasant image of the wound that caused the bandaid, but let us also not forget that as we rip off the bandaid, we believe that we will find healing underneath. May I ask you to hold this image as you read on?

In my last post, I listed some reasons I stopped attending churches: theological, communal, lack of trust, and jaded-ness to name a few. Apart from the first of these, the majority of the time our reasons for not going to church are lumped into one bucket labeled “People.”

My dad will say it this way: If it weren’t for people, the world would be great!

I clearly remember sitting in church about five years ago and listening to a sermon series on Exodus. It was interesting, but 40 minutes is a long time to listen to a sermon in a quiet, warm environment. Suffice it to say I *may* have nodded off for a quick second.

I was jarred to reality when I heard the pastor conclude, “It’s easier to get the people out of Egypt than it is to get Egypt out of the people!” I followed this up with some research and found a similar thought: “It took one day for God to get the Hebrews out of Egypt and 40 years to get Egypt out of the Hebrews.”

Egypt can of course be synonymous with many things — a desire for perceived better days, safety, and familiarity. But I want to throw out my semi-out-of-context-but-not-really-all-that-off idea:

Well, Hello, Big, ‘Ol Sinners!

Egypt can also be synonymous here with continuing to do wrong — with not going through the necessary changes in order to follow God well.

Those pesky Israelites just kept sinning in circles — for 40 years!

This reminds me a bit of my early days in the Catholic Church. In the confessional, I would confess my sins to the priest, say the proper amount of Hail Marys, and walk out the door and sin again!

Paul spoke of this ongoing sin in Romans 7:19:

“For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do — this I keep on doing.”

Not sinning is hard. Making the proper pivot to head in the opposite direction of selfishness and pride takes effort.

Now this sinful nature in all of us must be acknowledged if we are to truthfully answer the question if we even want to be back (or remain) in a local church context. After all, the church is neither an architectural structure nor a series of liturgical prompts.

The church is people, and all people have a sinful nature in them. Likely, the vast majority of those Israelites didn’t want to circle the wilderness.

“Fine, but…” you may say, with any number of addendums:

• “The people in my church just keep doing wrong — on purpose!”

• “The people in my church just don’t seem to care about me.”

• “The people in my church don’t look like Jesus.”

• “The pastors make it all about themselves.”

• “There has been egregious sin that is unrepentant.”

I See That I Am Not Alone in This Experience…

As I consider all of my church experiences, I can honestly say that to this day I have retained at least one relationship from each. Even in our most dismal of states, it’s important to remember what God said to Elijah when he felt alone:

“Yet I reserve seven thousand in Israel — all whose knees have not bowed down to Baal and whose mouths have not kissed him.” (1 Kings 19:18)

Even in church contexts that seem unredeemable, the chances are quite high that there are a few people who really do look like Jesus.

This morning I sat in the Adoration Chapel at my local Catholic Church. (If you missed my experience in this amazing place, see here.)

It was filled with people now that we are in the Lenten season!

As thoughts rumbled around in my brain, a woman came in — Hispanic, dressed in black, likely on her way to work judging by the way she was dressed. She knelt before the monstrance and prayed. She had a beautiful, disarming smile and presence and I could almost see the glow of Jesus in her! I think God whispered something to me like, “You too will find your way, Laurie,” but I can’t be sure.

I remembered Elijah who thought he was alone. I remembered how so many of us feel as though church is not worth attending anymore.

We could list any number of reasons that people might have told us for why we need to be in a local church: the Bible commands us, “iron sharpens iron,” to hear the Bible preached, to engage in corporate worship, and perhaps the one that causes the most guilt among parents… to show your kids why it’s important to attend church.

I can’t tell you why you might want to consider trying (or remaining in) a local church.

But I can tell you about that bucket labeled “People.”

I can tell you that occasionally you will meet people with a disarming smile and presence that will make you believe that God does dwell there. Sometimes you will find another person in the corner, sipping coffee alone, who is like you and is just trying to make their way in the world — and if you aren’t there, you won’t be able to make your way together.

If you aren’t in church, you may not hear the frail, beautiful notes from the woman who has held fast to Jesus despite what she has lost. Or you may not be there to hearten the one who is heartbroken, too.

An Attempt to Sum This Up

When we rip off the bandaid of church, we might find that although a scar remains, the wound doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

Think of the church and the people you’ve met. Some have hurt you. Others have not.

Now think of the people you could meet. Some might hurt you. And others won’t. Some might even need to meet you.

When you, or others, enter the church after being hurt or jaded, the church becomes a place where wounded people can heal, together. All of us broken, sinful, hurting people, together, make the church what it is.

Sure, we are all pesky Israelites wandering in circles at times, but a lot of us don’t want to be. We want to find the Promised Land, and maybe we need people like you to help get us there — people who understand what can happen when we rip off the bandaid.

That might be a reason to consider church again. Just think about it. No pressure. I love you either way. But that person in the corner might need your broken heart, too.

Much love to you,

💚 Laurie

(As a sidenote, if you have been hurt deeply by a specific church or if there is egregious sin among a certain community, I don’t advise you to go back. Hopefully, there is another church, though? If not, start one. Just joking. Kind of. Next time, I’ll address the second bucket item that might be keeping us away from a local church: theology.)