Is The Church a Place of Condemnation?
12 February, 2018 // in The Coffeehouse Cleric // by Alex Rowe.
Many people perceive churches to be places of condemnation; a building or a people so “sacrosanct” that any ordinary man or woman would burst into flames the moment they stepped through the threshhold. The typical line of thought goes something like this: get yourself “sorted” first, and then you can go — but don’t you dare bring along any of your baggage or brokenness.
One of the best pieces of television I watched last year was BBC’s Broken, a six-part series that teases out this very issue. Sean Bean plays Father Michael, a Roman Catholic priest presiding over a large parish on the outskirts of a major city in northern England. Busy trying to help others, all the while Michael wrestles with his own feeling of inadequacy, his own pain and shame from the past. It’s raw and gritty and utterly compelling.
One scene in particular, from the final episode, inspired this post. Father Michael is speaking with his confessor, a fellow priest. Michael shares how every time he stands in church and consecrates the sacraments, the bread and the wine, he has sudden flash-backs to the darkest hours of his former life. His past comes back to haunt him. The conversation goes like this:
Confessor: “But they’re at their worst during the consecration.”
Michael: “Yes.”
Confessor: “Why is that do you think?”
Michael: “Because I know, in here [holds hand to heart], that I’m not fit to be a priest. So at the supreme moment of priesthood, the consecration, this [beats chest with fist], this reminds me of all the dirty, filthy things I have done in my life. And of all the dirty, filthy things that have been done to me. And it says, ‘How dare you think yourself worthy of this!’”
Confession: “Well, you’re not alone.”
At school, Michael was preyed upon by a male teacher and he became a victim of sexual abuse. His later alcoholism was an attempt to numb the pain; his womanising, to prove his masculinity. Michael groped and stumbled around looking for love, and eventually he found the Church. In his community Father Michael is greatly admired, and many come to him for wisdom and counsel; but the story of Broken is above all, a story of Michael’s own faith and not those of his parishioners.
It is the story of Michael’s redemption, of his gradual journey towards healing and wholeness. It is messy and beautiful. Along the way, he realises that by embracing his own fears and failings, he can help others to confront theirs. When he refuses to hide his own wounds, he can become a source of healing for others. One day, the flash-backs at the consecration go away. He is set free.
Some people will not attend church out of principle. For whatever reason, they have learnt to understand churches as places of judgement. Others, after long periods away, are reluctant to return. They fear they are no longer welcome; like visiting an old friend, only to be met with resentment after years of absence.
Sadly, this problem is only compounded when churches present themselves as obstinately cheery. The comfortable middle-class drink their tea, dip their biscuits, and make their small talk. They hide their hurt under facades of smiles and superficiality. Everything is ‘just fine.’
Perhaps people perceive churches to be places of condemnation not because they think God to be particularly wrathful, but because of the smiley hypocrites they meet there; those of us — yes, even us — who still feel the need to put on a performance and act in pretence.
But unless we in our churches show vulnerability, and allow others to meet us there, our communities will never be places of healing. There are times for joy and joviality, but also sorrow and sadness; times for jumping, and times for sore bent knees.
The informed reader might recognise in the story of Father Michael parallels to that of Martin Luther in the sixteenth century, or echoes of the Donatist controversy in the fourth. Perhaps the reader might think of Henri Nouwen’s book, The Wounded Healer, which makes a similar point to the one I am trying to make here.
I hope, however, that the reader might also recognise her- or himself in Michael’s story. I certainly see myself there. All too often do I try to guard myself, to hide my own vulnerability, not realising that only when I open myself to others and allow them to receive me with love and compassion— only then, can I begin to heal, experience real community, and through them encounter the grace of God.
Is the church a place of condemnation? Sadly, it can be. But it can also be a home of healing and hospitality. After all, the person at the centre of Christian faith was Jesus, who suffered and died; who gave himself for the world and for me, in love and vulnerability; who having risen, having known pain and rejection, invites me to experience wholeness with him.
Thank you for reading. The Coffeehouse Cleric is a Medium publication dedicated to asking the big questions of life. It features writing on three main areas: minimalism, spirituality, and learning. If you enjoyed this piece, please do share it with friends and family on social media.
