I was raised under a steeple. Sunday mornings, Sunday nights, weekly Bible studies, Wednesday night AWANA clubs, events, and volunteering… The halls and rooms of the church I grew up in were my second home. I was blessed with a family who taught me about Jesus Christ and helped make my path through life as straight as possible. We made an extended family out of the members of our little church and our life was full and happy and beautiful. My church family and everything I learned about God and the Bible growing up laid the groundwork for who I have become.
I didn’t think I had “church hurt”. I’ve defended my experiences growing up before when people have insinuated that you cannot grow up in a church without some trauma. I had a different experience than my own brother even though we were side by side for most of it. Was it because I was easier than others? Because I didn’t test the boundaries I was taught? Because I didn’t push against expectations? I was sweet? I was kind? I don’t know. What I do know is that the only time I felt hurt by the Church as a child was right as childhood ended. As I was, for lack of a better word, forced to leave the only church family I had ever known.
For 15 years I watched, learned, admired, and loved those I grew up next to and those who taught us about God. I poured into children younger than myself and loved being in that building. It was a place I felt I belonged and where I was loved. When it came time for me to say goodbye for reasons I won’t get into, no one seemed to care. As my heart broke and as I carried my faith onto the shakiest ground I would ever walk, they all faded. A few would check in here and there. A few still do and have met my husband and children and for them I am so grateful. Most only if I happen to see them here or there for one reason or another. I grew up watching their examples and I still find myself watching. Maybe out of habit or hopefulness that everything I was taught was real to those who taught me it. All my watching is leading me down another path of “church hurt” even as I am digging my heels in and trying to run the other way.
You taught me the golden rule. You told me to be like Jesus. To be His hands and feet and love my neighbors. You handed out WWJD bracelets so we could remember to be like Him.
You taught me songs about the fruits of the Spirit. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. I still remember the motions to the songs and pictures we drew on white boards. You told me we would be known by our fruits.
You read to me that before I point out the speck in my brother’s eye, I should pull the log out of my own. You said we should confront one another in love when necessary.
We watched dancing fruit tell us that God loves us all the same, no matter what we look like or sound like. You told me to love like Jesus loved. The greatest of these is love. Love conquers all. Love, love, love.
You said to beware of idols. They can come in all shapes and sizes.
You read to me about how much Jesus loves children and how important children are to the Kingdom.
Well, you were good teachers. I listened. I learned. I clung to the truths I was taught as a child by people who I trusted. I still believe what I was taught. It’s what the Bible tells me. It’s what I feel convicted of. It’s what I believe undoubtedly to be true.
It isn’t what I am seeing practiced, though. I see division. I see judgement. I see idolizing men and weapons and “rights”. I see celebrating when those who disagree are unsuccessful in some way. I see silence when children are shot in their schools or are starved to death. I see “well you shouldn’t expect perfection” and “it’s just going to get worse”. I hear justifications for why people have been gunned down in the streets and why children have been taken from their homes. You tell me to research more. You tell me they’re trying to trick me and I need to be careful what I believe.
Some of you wonder why those of us who were raised in the church struggle with or even walk away from our faith. It’s simple. We believed what you taught us, but now we’re all grown up and we see that maybe you didn’t believe it yourselves. Or maybe something got lost in translation. That unconditional love we heard about seems to be almost impossible to find. I am exhausted. I am heartbroken for our world. I am discouraged. I am clinging to what I know to be true. I know how this will end. God already has the victory here. Everything is in His hands and I am here to do His will. I’m not even sure why I’m writing all of this. I think my humanity just needed to get some things off my chest and offer another perspective. If you’ve made it this far I pray you know I mean no harm towards anyone, I only want to share what is on my heart.
Be Real, Mama 