The One With the People
“I believe that much of the American churchgoing population, while not specifically swimming downstream, is slowly floating from Christ. It isn’t a concious choice, but it is nonetheless happening because little in their lives propels them toward Christ.”- Francis Chan
I just finished reading a book called Girl at the End of the World by Elizabeth Esther. In it, she describes her lingering symptoms after leaving a fundamentalist sect for “the real world”. She talks about how reading the Bible, she can only hear her grandfather’s voice, detailing all the sins and sorrows. How being in church was giving her anxiety attacks.
I have felt tinges of this in the last few years. During college, I was reading my Bible every morning, waking up early to curl up in a cozy chair to read my chapter for the day. I was praying fairly regularly, and even had a “prayer wall” full of post-its reminding me of all the things I couldn’t forget to pray about. I went to church at least twice a week, sometimes three times, and it all molded me in incredible and life-changing ways.
After college, I went through a period of depression where I stopped reading the Bible except in church and only prayed when my pastor asked me to write written prayers. I felt very alone and could not reach out to God, and I did not feel Him reaching out to me. I was sad and angry, but mostly just felt defeated, recognizing life at that time (newly married, first job, moving across the country to a brand new adventure) wasn’t what I thought it would be. I felt betrayed, a bit.
I never stopped going to church, though. Partially because it was habit. Partially because my husband expected me to go. Mostly because I felt like I was drowning and it was the only lifeline I knew how to recognize well enough to grab.
I cannot say I am recovered. I just recently started reading The Message version of the Bible because no other version seems to make sense to me, it just fades into unrecognizable mumblings. I still can’t pray.
But what I am realizing is that my community has sustained me. They continue to sustain me every single day. Their thirst for justice, their longing for reconciliation, their fervent desire to tangibly make the world a better place has fed my soul and inspired my hope. They are what kept me and keep me from drifting down the river until I no longer recognize God’s voice. They are my tether and my current, keeping me close to God even when I still cannot quite pursue Him.
I don’t know what comes next in this story. I hope I’m staying close enough that I’ll hear God if He calls out to me, that my heart will stir with the familiarity of the sound and my soul will feel nourished after its long absence. But currently, I mostly drift, paddling when a burst of energy swirls, and allow my community to reel me back when I drift too far. It is small, and it is everything.
