The Funeral Encounter That Reminded Me Why I Left the Church
How an Unsolicited Conversation Took Me Back to My Wounds
There are certain moments in life that pull you in two directions at once. Moments where you find yourself caught between the weight of the past and the clarity of the present.
Today, I had one of those moments.
Yesterday, I wrote about an upcoming funeral that I was dreading attending — not because of grief, though that was part of it, but because of the memories and wounds tied to the church where it was held. The funeral was for a young woman from my youth group who passed away at just 28, leaving behind two little boys and a grieving husband. Her husband and I have been walking parallel roads this past year as we’ve supported our wives through cancer diagnoses.
Today, that funeral came.
When I stepped into that church, I braced myself. It’s been years since I’ve been part of that world. A world I left for good reasons. Walking back in meant facing not just the grief of the day but also the ghosts of the past. There were people I genuinely loved seeing again — faces that brought warmth and fond memories. And then there were those who avoided me entirely, not even making eye contact, as if my presence disrupted their peace. Both reactions felt…
