Last Sunday, I woke up filled with emotions. I felt sad, upset, frustrated, and in my storm of emotions, my instincts kept turning my mind to my phone. If I would check email, scroll through Facebook, or turn on a podcast, I knew the emotions would be numbed. Alcohol wouldn't help; too much gives me headaches. Drugs weren't an option; I don't even know how to find drugs, and if I did, I'm too frugal to pay those prices and too scared of the consequences. But, my phone is always right there ready to distract and numb me anytime, anywhere, with anyone.
What does phone numbing have to do with leaving church? Church contributed greatly to my participation in the rat race. Be at this. Be at that. Look right. Act right. Meet expectations. Then, I left church, and several extra hours appeared in my weekly schedule, I also found myself calmer and more intentional about connecting with God. Some might say a better choice would have been to take my family out of athletic and music activities, not church. But, the naked truth is that for us those communities are more life-giving and joy-filled than a whole lot of church communities. I'm grateful that's not the case for all people. So, last Sunday morning when I wanted to get on my phone, I chose silence, as I do most Sunday mornings at home. I chose to let my mind and my heart wander and work through the questions, the confusion, and the next steps. I chose to seek God's gift of insight and understanding. Two years ago, I would have used my phone as a quick fix because I had a fuller schedule and felt less in control of my own life. Now, I have more energy, joy, peace, and time. Some Sundays I choose quiet. This Sunday morning, I chose writing to connect with God. Either way, I always end up feeling better, stronger, and wiser on those Sunday mornings, which beats smart phone numbing any day.
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I had a lovely conversation this week with an art teacher at the high school where I've taught for almost nineteen years about how creativity nurtures the soul. For her, it's sculpture and pottery; for other friends, photography or baking; for me, this blog. In fact, this creation of mine has become a spiritual practice meant to honor THE Creator.
As my family and three other families came together fourteen months ago to create a faith-based community that meets in homes, one couple in our group wisely recommended that we read about spiritual practices, or disciplines, that could help us stay true to our vision and our faith while also establishing a rhythm for our gatherings. So, for our first nine months of creating this community, we read Faithful Presence by David Fitch and reflected on the seven spiritual disciplines he presents: the Lord's Table, Reconciliation, Proclaiming the Gospel, Being with the "Least of These," Being with Children, Fivefold Gifting, and Kingdom Prayer. Kelly Bean in her book How to Be a Christian Without Going to Church doesn't organize her work into practices, but through her story, practices emerge as she highlights the importance of beholding others, practicing hospitality, mentoring and being mentored, using money, and creating. In yoga, which I have practiced for over fifteen years, we have the Yamas and Niyamas, ethical practices that I think of as an "amped up" Ten Commandments: nonviolence, truthfulness, nonstealing, nonexcess, nonpossessiveness, purity, contentment, self-discipline, self-study, and surrender. (For more information, I recommend Deborah Adele's book The Yamas & Niyamas.) So, developing practices makes a lot of sense to me--both personally and in community. Our Saturday night home church is always evolving and flexible, but for now these are our practices. We begin with prayer, communion, and a shared meal. As the meal winds down, we gather in the living room for music and then read a passage from the Revised Common Lectionary. After Scripture is read, two adults help the younger kids make sense of the passage, another two meet with the older kids, and the rest clean up the meal and prepare dessert. When that time ends, the kids are welcome to stay for further discussion with the adults or play together elsewhere. After discussion, we end with prayer, just as we began. Developing these practices took more time than one would expect, but creating that rhythm and cycle, just as God's creation has its own rhythms and cycles, has enhanced our faith community. And, developing my own spiritual practice of creating to connect with THE Creator has brought me immense joy after leaving church. My city is big enough that I don't often run into the people I saw every Sunday and Wednesday before I decided to leave church, but it's also small enough that I sometimes do. And, when I do, it's always awkward.
What I want to tell them is every reason I left. Instead, I smile and make polite small talk. Usually, we avoid any mention of church, but when church comes up, I tend to say more than I need to say while the other person squirms. I end up vowing to stick to the weather next time. Why do I do it? Most of all, I'm excited about my spiritual journey. I'm connecting with God and others in ways I haven't for a long time and reveling in remarkable joy and peace. So, when I see someone who was once a part of my church family, I forget that leaving church has a way of turning family into strangers. Running into my former church family is also hard because they politely say what I used to politely say to people who'd left our church: "I'm so glad you've found a church that fits you well." I wish they would say--and I really wish I would have said--"I miss you and hope you are well. Tell me what went wrong." But, that's a bold wish when I never had the courage to create that conversation myself. I feared that level of honesty would be awkward and hurtful, not realizing that it would also be helpful for both of us. All in all, I guess I want to know that I mattered at my church and my absence is felt. My former churches probably feel the same. It's possible they would like to know that they mattered to me and their absence is felt. They did, and it is. I miss helping the elementary school we adopted. I miss the depth of discussion in adult Sunday school. I miss the heart-to-heart conversations with trusted friends. But still, I don't regret leaving church for this new faith experience that embraces a day of rest, emphasizes my involvement and presence in the community, and requires greater responsibility for my spiritual growth, as well as my family's. It's just awkward sometimes. Last week one of my former students sent me a beautiful and encouraging message. In it, he wrote, "As someone called to ministry, I realize this journey you've shared could one day put me out of a job. However, I hope it does." It won't.
Many people thrive in the structure and opportunities that mainstream churches offer. What's more, as I share my experience with small faith-based home gatherings, I often hear three additional reasons why home churches aren't for everybody. "I would miss corporate worship too much." Giving up twenty minutes of singing was actually a relief for me. The frequent military and royalty metaphors don't resonate with my understanding of Jesus, a man who flipped people's sense of hierarchy and power upside down. Even so, the peace and joy on people's faces during corporate worship is beautiful, and I appreciate that. In addition, as someone who practices yoga, I also cherish how singing unifies the breath of a community. "I would miss the education my children receive." Leaving church didn't release me of responsibility; instead, it heightened my need to be intentional and deliberate with my children's spiritual development, which has deepened my relationship with them and with God. In addition, the literalism that can show up in children's lessons contrasts my understanding of God, faith, and Scripture. Even more troublesome, the evangelical bent of children's lessons reminds me of the guilt my twelve-year-old self felt for not leading all of my friends in the sinner's prayer. I don't want that for my kids. Even still, my own two kids attend youth group at two different churches on Wednesday nights. Those faith communities are important to them, and faith communities are important to me, too,. "I would miss the option of sneaking in and sneaking out." As a person who leans toward introversion, I get that! The perfect Sunday morning for me when we attended church was arriving just after the requisite handshaking ended. To many that sounds cold or anti-social, but I also know many who feel the same, not because we are anti-social but because we struggle through contrived and superficial community-building efforts while we long for organic, deep relationships. In a small faith-based home gathering, sneaking in and out isn't an option (you'll be noticed), but flexibility is. If you can't make it, we will miss you, but it's okay. If you arrive late, we might postpone communion, but it's okay. If your absence gets more and more frequent, we will care about you, we will care for you, and we will probably get together for coffee to share our hearts. A friend who home schools her children once asked me if, as a public school teacher, I have negative feelings about homeschooling. My answer both then and now is that I'm grateful that diverse people have diverse options for education. Likewise, leaving church for small faith-based gatherings isn't for everybody, but I'm grateful I had the option. |