My parents didn’t go to church. Dad grew up Catholic and Mom – who went to college first – talked him out of it. But when I was 4, I asked to go to the big Presbyterian church we drove by on the way to the library. I wanted to know what happened in such a beautiful building, which eventually led my mother to rejoin the church after decades of atheism. Dad stuck by his decision for atheism, creating a rift with Mom that I think contributed to their divorce years later.
In grad school, I dug into feminist theology as an expression of leftist twentieth century philosophical trends. I needed my own understanding of God on terms I’d worked through for myself. The best expression I found of the nature of God was in adverb form: The Great Mysteriously.
I’ve attended Buddhist, Jewish, and a wide range of Christian worship services. To me, the quiet of Quaker meeting is the truest experience of the presence of the divine, but it’s not a great fit for toddlers. When we had kids, we began checking out churches. For a few years, we were very happy at a Presbyterian church with a great pair of pastors who happened to be married. The contrast in their styles, and the intellectual stimulation of their preaching, made for a constantly engaging experience. That church fully embraced our questioning about the fundamentals of faith. We were all on the same blind pilgrim’s path. Then we moved, and since then we’ve had trouble finding a church where one or both of us doesn’t come home after Sunday services saying, “Remind me why we did that?”
The last few years, we’ve showed up very irregularly at my grandparents’ church, Congregational merged with United Church of Christ. The pastor and congregants frequently invite us back, and nobody has asked outright why we don’t come more often. I’ve been thinking about that, because there have been times when having a church community has been a joyful, renewing part of my life. It isn’t anymore. Here are five reasons why.
1. Church takes me away from my kids.
My husband and I work full-time. We cherish evenings and weekends as family time. Ironically, going to church means either being physically separated from our kids or participating in activities that don’t allow us to interact. Even if we’re in the same room, we’re facing forward, trying to keep the kids quiet and paying attention. There’s a lot I’d like to discuss with my kids about God and faith and the dark hall of mirrors that is organized religion. I wish church were a better place to do that.
2. Church hurts people I care about.
In several congregations I’ve been part of, there have been serious schisms over everything from preaching style to fundamental dogma to visions for the church building to the hymns chosen each week. I’ve seen deliberately cruelty. I’ve got no time for that, especially in a place where the idea – if I follow – is to strive to be our loving, tolerant best. And modern Christianity in the larger sense is the source of some of the ugliest trends in America. It’s hard to be associated with that.
3. I have a teenager.
This is not universal, but teenagers tend to challenge what they’re told. When presented with religion as established fact rather than as a part of our culture and history that is important to understand to be an educated person, a fair proportion of teenagers will rebel, mine included. And whatever you say to my son at this point, it’s already been undermined by the ham-handed indoctrination and brain-dead activities handed out by untrained Sunday School teachers when he was younger. Good luck getting over that wall.
4. My faith is private.
With the obvious exception of writing about it on the internet, I like to keep what’s between God and me a matter for my own conscience. I’m a fan of the Jesus who said “And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full.” It raises my hackles when a non-religious service club insists on praying before every meeting and I’m uncomfortable with churchgoers who want more to be seen and shake hands all around than commune with the divine.
5. Any club that would have me as a member…
Churchiness has a place in my mind as being for people who have it all together. I know that’s wrong. I know that faith is about brokenness and doubt and crying to the stars for insight into this aching, transcendent universe. But I don’t want to put myself out as having anything figured out, or having a closer relationship with the divine than anyone else, or being in a position to judge my brothers and sisters who need only my love. I can’t wrap my head around religion that does that. I won’t get close to it.
I still go to church once in a while. I read and struggle and wait and watch for portents and signs and enlightenment. And adore the Great Mysteriously in the quiet cathedral of my own heart.
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