Yesterday, I ran across a link on Facebook: 10 Surprising Reasons Our Kids Leave Church. It made me truly sad–perhaps that isn’t what the author was after, but that is the response I have. A few years ago, when I was teaching an adult Sunday school class and we were studying Jim Wallace’s book, A Call to Conversion, we had a discussion about ways that we introduce children and youth to Jesus now vs. ways that this was done when we were young. Most of the adults in the group at the time were older than I was; and they all had memories of feeling much guild associated with their childhood conversions.
My conversion took place in a very solitary location; and no one was with me. It was very much a supernatural event for me but was also preceeded by much solid teaching by my parents and my church about Jesus, about repentence, etc. I did not feel guilt, but I had a definite awareness that specific behaviors in my life did not please God and that I did not have the ability to change my behavior–I had certainly tried over and over to change them. Of course, the proper response to such a conversion is public confession; and my parents assisted me in arranging this as was fitting.
One thing that was “right” for me was that I started on a foundation of repentence. I missed some other things along the way, but the foundation of repentence gave me something important to work with. It meant that when I fell down, I got back up again, and it meant that I didn’t try to fix things by myself.
The other “right” thing that the elders in my church gave to me was the understanding that God was with me through pain. I had a lot of pain during my adolescence. In fact, I have had a lot of pain, both social and physical, throughout my life. The best message that anyone ever gave to me about God is that in Him I have both Saviour and friend. Somehow I avoided the message that God would take away all of my pain, though it was ok to ask Him to take it. But I certainly got the message that God would hold my hand. Later on, I would wrestle with the issue of theodicy and questions about healing, what God’s role was in my life with illness, etc. But as a young person, I always had the sense that God was with me. It was an important foundation for me.
I remember, as a teen in church in the 80s, telling my parents that I was not happy with what I was learning in Sunday school. I remember learning a lot about how to handle dating relationships. I had no dating prospects; and I supposed there were so many times a kid could hear about sexual abstinance and it would either get through or not. I didn’t suppose it was getting through since not many people came and those who did were chatting and not participating.
I wanted deeper Bible content. (Imagine that, especially since I did not own a complete Bible in a format that I could read!) My parents offered to take me to a different church; but that wasn’t what I wanted either. I wanted it at our church–the rest of the family was happy there, and I didn’t want to sacrifice their happiness for mine.
Eventually we came up with a solution that worked; but it took several years for it to come to pass. There have been numerous times when the church has come close to losing me… I often feel disconnected while the rest of the congregation watches a video that includes images set to music. I have learned to strain to hear the lyrics of music when the band is amplified louder than the vocalists so that I can attempt to learn the music and worship along with the rest of the congregation. People often suggest to me that I just sing a random “hallelujah,” but I have sincere theological problems with doing this. That discussion belongs in another post. Ironically, many of those who read the lyrics onscreen opt out of singing out of self-consciousness or dislike for the contemporary music. How sad that we cannot worship together–some because of disability and some because of unwillingness.
Fortunately, God never loses me. I remain in the church because the church is where God’s people are found and because if I am God’s people then I also belong there. Some good things have happened along the way to encourage me in that process–I keep a list of them to help remind me that church is not always about me “just going through the motions”.
Perhaps at some point I will do for someone else what adults did for me in the 80s. Who knows? Perhaps it is not mine to know what I do for anyone else in the Body of Christ, just by being present and speaking a few words of welcome at the right moment. I know that if I am not there, I am not doing something that I am gifted to do. Sometimes, just encountering one familiar person in church can be comforting.
- Learning From My Younger Self - February 10, 2024
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- On travel while at ITD: reflections after day 1 - June 27, 2023
- ITD day 1 - June 27, 2023
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- Job Descriptions, Inclusivity, and Equity for People with Disabilities - October 15, 2022
- Traveling without a Guide Dog: Experience with Cane and Walker - October 14, 2022
- Disability and Church, Intersection - June 11, 2022
- Review: When Chronic Pain and Illness Take Everything Away - June 11, 2022
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There are many reasons why I haven’t found a church here. First of all, I feel that religion and colleagial dialog don’t belong in the same sentence. Therefore, I don’t bring up religion at work.
I know one of my colleagues is Lutheran as she’s mentioned it to me off site. I suppose your next question is why I’m not going to her church? Because she lives about 30 miles away so getting there would be impractical and expensive.
Although I found a church almost immediately in Rochester, this was because things fell into place. There was a volunteer in the keyboarding class who invited me to her church. She lived close to me so transportation wasn’t an issue.
I suppose I could find a random church in the yellow pages and show up unannounced, but I have many issues with that. First of all, not knowing how far away it is from my home, it’s anybody’s guess how much it would cost either in cab or parastranded fare. Taking parastranded is a recipe for disaster. Because of many past experiences, I have a deep distrust of the parastranded system in any community.
Socially, I’d feel awkward showing up unannounced. I feel as though religion is something deeply personal, therefore it’s hard for me to talk about my beliefs with people whom I barely know. I’ve worked at ASU for nearly 9 months now, but I still feel awkward bringing up this topic.
This leads into another topic. Geography plays a big part, at least in my experience, of how people discuss religion with one another. It was only in Anderson that I truly felt comfortable discussing my deep theological questions with others, whether they be pastors or friends. When I lived in New York, there was a group I was invited to participate in in which we discussed some theology topics. Unfortunately, we only met maybe 3 or 4 times before the group disbanded. After that, I never felt comfortable discussing deep topics with anybody, not really even the person who drove me to church each week.
Living in Arizona, it’s a very different climate and culture. The area is so spread out, and I don’t feel as though there’s a sense of community as was the case in Anderson. I know people in Arizona, but very few of them actually live within easy driving or walking distance of my home. Therefore, I feel as though my community is at ASU and nowhere else.
Is some of this my fault or problem? Maybe. Perhaps after the incidents in April and May, I’ve become reluctant to explore the area. Is this something that will improve? Only time will tell, but given the fact that I’ve never been one to explore, not even when Paul told me to “Go get lost,” it’s highly unlikely.
So now that I’ve taken up a bunch of space with my novel, have at it as far as disecting my theological disability or disease.
I am glad you stayed in church even during the trying times. That was not the case for me, especially during one incident. I had a good friend who was raped twice within a year of each other. The second rapist was caught, tried, and found not guilty. It was a hair’s breadth away from taking my faith. I think God gives us people that we need when we need them. The survivor of those two rapes still kept her faith, and that led me to regenerate mine.