Why I came back to church

(I'm never quite sure who reads my blog, so I'm not going to post names of former churches or our current one.  My intention is not to denounce one church while singing the praises of another; I simply want to sing the praises of a God who showed up when I was convinced that He didn't exist or care.)

"It don't matter if you don't believe,

Come Sunday mornin' you best be

There in the front row like you're supposed to.

Same hurt in every heart..."

-Kascey Musgrave

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I love country music for its honesty.  The song says it like it is; this is what we expect: Do the church thing regardless of what you do or don't believe.

There was a point in time, not very long ago, when I used to cry and feel physically sick before going to church most weeks.  In the one place where people should be able to come and feel safe when falling apart, I felt constant pressure to slap on a smile and pretend that all was well when my soul felt dead.  Despite the fact that most churches say they want you to "come as you are," they really only want you to come a certain way, because honesty can be uncomfortable and people with problems are a lot of work.

Another contributing factor to my anger and bitterness toward the church was Christians.  Christians can be some of the most ignorant, hateful, arrogant, and cheesy people that exist.  I wanted no part of that (and still don't).

So I gave up on God, and I was determined to walk out on church, too.  That's a big deal for someone who grew up in church every Sunday and has always done the "right" things.  I just didn't care anymore.

I don't know how I eventually stumbled into our current church, except that I came with dragging feet and a lot of encouragement from my husband.  I came with cynicism, doubt, and unbelief.  And in the midst of all of that mess, God came, too.

I don't understand it and I can't explain how it happened, but as I kept coming back to church, I started to find that I wasn't so resistant.  We had a family event a few weeks ago and couldn't make it to church.  And for the first time in years, I missed it.  Not because I felt pressured or obligated to go, but because I wanted to be there.

You see, Christians can still be hateful, ignorant, arrogant, and cheesy.  And unfortunately, those voices are often the ones that speak the loudest.  But as I have tried to figure out what Jesus is like instead of letting Christians influence my perception of God, I have learned that he is kind, wise, honest, and good.  I can't answer all of the tough questions about why He allows certain things to happen, nor can I prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that He exists; I only know what He has done for me and that in my darkness, He has proved himself to be very real.

I was determined to never be a member of a church again because of the perception that people generally have of churches.  But, we recently joined our current church, and I'm actually glad that we did.  Not because it is a perfect place, but because, with all of its faults, the Church does many things well.  I think that there is value in being a part of that.

Ultimately, I didn't come back to church because I suddenly started thinking that all Christians are awesome, that churches aren't full of hurt and hate, or that I was good enough to make an appearance again.  No, I came back precisely because I'm NOT good and I somehow found rest in a church and in a merciful God when I had nowhere else to go.  In turning my life upside down over the past two years and taking away many of the things that I wanted the most, He gave me the one thing that I needed the most: himself.  That is still incomprehensible to me, because I never would have wished for the events which have o ccurred since 2010, and yet I am thankful (finally) that they have happened.  More than anything, I am thankful for the grace that does not let me run away forever.